Morrissey Autobiography - A Review

Last night, I dreamed somebody loved me I closed the final page of Morrissey's autobiography and sighed. As a pretty big Morrissey fan, (I even named by blog after him guys) I spend a lot of time defending him.

Oh, he cares about animals, is that such a crime?
I think anybody who manages to abstain from alcohol/sex/drugs deserves to be a tiny bit self righteous!
But listen to his lyrics, if nothing else, he is a genius!
Who even cares about the Monarchy anymore anyway? (ouch)
Not everybody can be full of beans all the time!

And so on. So when I heard he was bringing out an autobiography I thought, yes! A chance for him to demonstrate that he is more than a miserable has been with a superiority complex. Um, seems like he let that opportunity to pass him by. For me, Autobiography was difficult to read at times, particularly with the frequent sermon tone, and the hundred page long discussion about the Mike Joyce trial. There is also quite a bit of energy put into describing Manchester as some sort of horrid, torturous hell hole. Here are a few things Morrissey has to say about Manchester.

"...the always wet and windy North Manchester." (my territory Moz, watch what you're saying)
" All Manchester boys are mad, and they shout, and they laugh loudly, and courtship is a question of aggression rather than gallantry." (because nowhere else in the country will you find aggressive boys who laugh loudly)
"Manchester was rife with what were known as tramps."

From the off it seems Morrissey is very bitter that he wasn't born into an upper middle class, 2.4 children family in Kensington. The book reads as Morrissey vs The World, where the world always wins.

Where the book is mostly miserable, it does have some redeeming features. I like the frequent snippets of poems and lyrics throughout, and also how the book itself reads like an extended Smiths song - his sentences are long and poetic, and switch from reality to trains of thought, it feels as though you are sat there with him, having a cup of tea and listening to him grumbling chatting away. He is quite open about his childhood and the love he has for his family, and more open than I expected on his position of celibacy, and the relationships he has had.

A couple of things I don't understand about the book. The first is that it is written in American English, which is odd for somebody whose identity is so rooted in England and Manchester, although it could be be that since he lives in LA now, he may be trying to appeal to a wider audience? Or escaping his British identity, he has made no secret of his for many British institutions and what they stand for. Whatever the reason, it is pretty annoying. I am also somewhat confuddled as to why Autobiography has been published as a Penguin Classic. From my knowledge of the Classics collection, they seem to all be quite well accepted novels of the literary canon, and the word 'classic' implies a novel of considerable age. Morrissey's autobiography is none of these things, and the fact that it is published as such implies a considerable sense of (misplaced) superiority.

I began reading this book with the hope of getting to know Morrissey better, but 457 pages later, I don't feel like I do. I wouldn't recommend this book to anybody, not because its DREADFUL, because it isn't really. But if you don't have some degree of respect for Morrissey's music, both with The Smith's and solo, you won't be able to make it through. And if you do have respect for his music, this book may ruin whatever shred of compassion you have for him.

I still love ya Moz, but chin up eh? It might never happen.