My Booky Wook by Russell Brand

Perhaps you've noticed that I haven't been doing nearly as many book reviews lately. This is not for lack of materials to review, but more the lack of my own motivation to review them. Believe it or not, writing those critiques takes time and some serious thought, meaning that it's not exactly fun. But since I would like to be a book reviewer when I'm older, (one of my many desires,) it's good practice for me to do these little write-ups on the blog whenever I read a book I feel is worth tellign you about.
SO. Here's my latest noteworthy read: My Booky Wook by Russell Brand.

 Are you laughing? You're laughing, aren't you? Well, hush. I enjoy Russell Brand both on stage and on paper, and there is more to his tale than simple self-centered misadventures on a wayward journey to stardom.

He introduces his autobiography with his first day in rehab for sex addiction. From there, he goes back into his days as a saucy lad traipsing the cobbled streets of Essex, discovering his love for comedy, women, and drugs while popping in and out of boarding schools and arts academies. He shows us his repeated endeavors at young love, his innate compulsion to defy authority, and his intense feelings of maladjustment and isolation. We see his love for his mother, his endearment for his father, and his all-encompassing need to entertain. While upon first glance, Brand may seem the typical ex-junkie with flamboyant style and an inflated ego, this self-narrated history proves him to be more than just a funny Brit with great hair; he is a highly intellectual and insightful soul with a history of personal demons that he has both fought and overcome.

One aspect of this book that makes it different from any other autobiography I've encountered is Brand's unfailing sense of humor. Even at the most cringeworthy moments--like when he describes one of the numerous times he got smashed before going on stage and then, in a drug-induced rage, slashed his wrists with the glass of a broken bottle in front of the dozens of onlookers--Brand maintains his quirky and distinctively English composure. Through tweakings of the British lexicon and and a style of writing that has a voice so strong you can very nearly hear him reading the words in your mind, he makes each tragic episode both enthralling and hilarious. He even includes a glossary for us American folks who don't know recognize terms such as "fags", "birds", "rotters", "bumming", or "Weetabix" (Weetabix!) 

Take this brief excerpt, in which Brand describes his relationship with his dog, Topsy, as an example of just how astute, open, and amusing this man can be:

“When we first got Topsy, she would be allowed to sleep in the bed with me: I hope it is not necessary for me to stress the platonic nature of that relationship—not platonic in the purist sense, there was no philosophical discourse, but we certainly didn’t fuck, which is usually what people mean by platonic; which I bet would really piss Plato off, that for all his thinking and chatting his name has become an adjective for describing sexless trysts."

This book is definitely not perfect, however.  Though this is just my opinion, the discussion of phallic maladies and sexual conquests occurred much too often and made me slightly uncomfortable at times.  But then again I'm an awkward little prude, so if you're a salty dog you'll probably enjoy it.  I also got a vague sense of self-obsession, which Brand admits to quite readily, but that nonentheless annoyed me.  I'm sensitive to that kind of shiz: cockiness, extreme coinceit, puffed up egos; it really bugs me.  There were other minor faults within this book(y wook), but those two that I found most offensive.

As a whole, though, My Booky Wook is a good read.  It's entertaining and readable, and contains enough modern pop-culture to keep it relevant to the Facebook generation.  It won't provide much intellectual stimulation, unless you consider the vast vocabulary inspiring and educational, but it's definitely not shallow.  Be warned though: this book is not for the faint of heart.  With drugs, sex, and expletives on every page, Brand holds nothing back and will surely shock readers of a timid disposition.  7/10

Happy reading!