I'm back already because I have finished my books. Already. I finished Dear Fatty last night because I got two thirds of the way through it and realised that if I didn't finish it in one sitting I never would finish it at all. Dawn French has lived an interesting life and she knows how to talk about it in an interesting way. But I found the 'series of letters to friends and relatives' thing didn't really work for me. I kept forgetting who it was that she was addressing in any given letter and feeling annoyed because I felt unincluded. It simply felt like a bizarre love match between prying into someone's personal correspondence and reading a proper book of memoirs. Parts of it were boring; most of it was warm and interesting. Buuuut - I wanted more about Vicar of Dibley! I know, I know, it's such a cliche - the one role that will follow the poor actor about forever, haunting them inescapably... but I was interested. My curiosity and desire for Dibley anecdotes still remains unsated.
Alan Alda's memoirs read more like a normal autobiography. Which was refreshing - and he managed to hit that balance between human honesty and storytelling, without becoming impersonal or spending too much time despondently navel gazing a la Sean Astin. I enjoyed his sense of humour and the personality that infused the pages - he involves the reader in his story very effectively. Aaand he talked about being in M*A*S*H*! So he beats Dawn French a little bit.
It's odd - reading people's autobiographical stuff - it's the things they're reticent about that keep you wondering afterward. Both of these actors mentioned a sort of breaking down in their personal faith in God (or the church at least) but (even though Alan Alda spent some time talking about it) neither really seemed to come to any personal conclusions. Which baffles and perplexes me. How can you lose your faith and just leave the whole existential question to gather dust at the back of your mind? I know that if I didn't have an actual relationship with my Father in Heaven I'd be a horrible gibbering wreck most of the time, worrying about how nothing at all makes sense, but I guess life might make a good distraction if you're good at being distracted.
