I love celebrity memoirs, and not in an ironic way. I don’t love them because they’re campy. I hate camp. I don’t love them because they’re full of Hollywood gossip. I’m not interested in Hollywood gossip. Even though I work for Time Inc., and the profits from People magazine probably pay most of my salary. I love them and read them because they are, to me, existential fairy tales about one human being’s triumph over the all-corrupting force of entropy. And I mean that seriously.
It doesn’t particularly matter to me who the celebrity is. I have read Andre Agassi’s memoir and Monica Seles’s memoir, but I have also read Anthony Kiedis’s memoir and Tommy Lee’s memoir
