What's Your Story?

I love reading biographies. More specifically, I enjoy reading autobiographies. Most specifically, I enjoy listing to audio autobiographies, especially when they are read by the author.

However, not all autobiographies are created equal. Some are very candid and honest, others, not so much. But all reveal more about the author than even the author realizes.

Rob Lowe, Penny Marshall and Valerie Harper spring to mind as the best autobiographies I've read recently. They put it all out there, the good, the bad and the ugly, and let you figure it out. I like that. Their stories are funny, heartbreaking, compelling, but never dull. And they are not afraid of making themselves look bad. It is just part of whom they are.

I have slogged through many autobiographies that read like a laundry list. "I was born here, I lived there, I did this, then that, then something else..." I haven't finished every one of them, but more than enough. In their quest to tell the world about their time on earth, they don't realize they aren't really telling the story of their life. There is a difference. Reading between the lines, you come to see the author is either just stumbling his/her way through life without a clue or is so concerned about revealing too much that they emerge at the end of the book as a cardboard cut-out.

Sometimes the subject of the biography is more fascinating than you would think. For example, I remember reading a book about Harpo Marx. Yes, I knew he was one of the Marx Brothers. What I didn't know was what an intellectual he was. That he was part of the Algonquin Round Table, palling around with the likes of Dorothy Parker, Edna Ferber and Alexander Woollcott. He was also a second father to Groucho's children. Oddly enough, I was less impressed with Groucho's story. He was very quick witted and incredibly entertaining but a less-than-stellar human being.

There have been many instances when I wished I hadn't read about someone I admired. Because once their true self was revealed, it tainted my appreciation of their talents. I have read enough about the Beatles, for example. I'd rather just listen to their music. For all of his shouting about peace and love, John Lennon did not bring much of either to many of the people in his life. Maybe it can all be forgiven because he was such a talented person. Maybe. There have been a lot of charismatic, intelligent, gifted people throughout history who were just lousy human beings. Is it okay that they trample over those around them if they produce something lovely in the end?

It does make me evaluate my own life. If I were to write a book right now, what would it reveal about me? If someone were to write my story, what would they say about me? How honest would either of us be?

All things considered, maybe it's just as well that I'm a nobody!