Be like a duck. Calm on the surface, but always paddling like the dickens underneath.

Hello, hello, hello, it has been far too long, hasn't it?

I only just noticed that I am unintentionally working my way through British actors of the later part of the last century. I've already read the autobiographies of Michael Crawford, Dawn French and Michael Caine, and I'm almost finished Stephen Fry's one. I wonder if John Cleese and Rowan Atkinson have written any memoirs yet? Hmmm, according to wikipedia Cleese has and Atkinson hasn't. Guess what I'll be looking up at the library next time? :-P

I've decided to review these two books together because, well, just because I want to. It's been ages since I last posted something here, so it is certainly quite a while since I read either of these books. I had to take them back to the library a while ago, so there's a few things I planned to quote and compare that I can't now. Not ideal.

I loved The Elephant to Hollywood. It was one of those books I read aloud to irritated family members and quoted anecdotes from in conversations. Michael Caine's writing is not particularly stylish or writerly, but his method of going chronologically through his life and picking out interesting stories to tell is engaging. Throughout the book he exudes affection for the people and incidents described and his awe at meeting great actors is actually endearing rather than annoying. Even when Michael Caine talks about hard times he does it in a brief and interesting way - like sitting about in a cafe waiting for an agent's call - with Peter O'Toole and Sean Connery! Or, after shortly describing being neglected and abused by the family who took him in during the war, talking about how he loves to do work for children's charities now because of that. I really adored this book.

My reaction to The Fry Chronicles was more... complex. There's no doubt that Stephen Fry has a positive gifting when it comes to word choice and style. He's a born writer, to be sure, but I was more than a little bothered by the content of his book. I think that one could open The Fry Chronicles at any page and learn that Mr Fry has a self esteem issue. Which is incredibly frustrating for any reader; being told about his multiple achievements, positive traits and accomplishments in a self deprecatory tone very quickly grows aggravating. And even more aggravating is his awareness of the reader's aggravation and the apologetic tone he takes. Why can't the man forgive himself for being successful? He constantly deviates into long passages describing a personal trait of his own that he doesn't like or a reason that people might dislike him. I just felt so, so sorry for him after reading the book. And more than a little irritated. I know that Stephen Fry suffers from bipolar disorder, but the book left me feeling rather depressed - not a pleasant sensation for a book to leave for a reader! I didn't not appreciate the book for what it was, but I am somewhat conflicted about my overall response. Mr Stephen Fry, dear, please look into some sort of therapy.

Having a great intellect is no path to being happy.
Stephen Fry