|About the Book|
Richy Publisher: Howd ya like to write a novel?Bob Dylan: Dude, I would love to do some blow.What a drag. Anyone who knows me even sort of well knows that Im a HUGE Bob Dylan fan, so please dont think I read this in order to publicly hate it. Quite the contrary. If Im in a terrible enough way, Dylans one of only a handful of musicians I can listen to, and he always manages to set me back on the path to right-headed. Ive even gone to see his feeble ass perform twice (he was actually standing upright and playing guitar one of the times!) because I just felt like I owed it to him for all that he has done for my imagination and my sanity over the years. He was one of the first musicians in my life who really showed me just what a songwriter is capable of achieving within his particular niche in the creative spectrum. Never have I ever tired of him in all the years, but rather his music still completely shines like new for me every time I hear it. I love him. To the death. For always, eternally. Hes just my beacon, is all. His magnetic movements still capture the minutes Im in.Needless to say hes one of my favorite lyricists of all time, so it was quite natural for me to eventually find myself reading his novel. Those quotation marks? There for a reason. This = not a novel. You would be more on the right track calling Like a Rolling Stone - which he would have astonishingly been writing around the same time as this mostly unreadable collection of brain matter - a novel, considering it actually has, ya know, a story and stuff. This, on the other hand, is a bunch of scrambled pictures clumsily stitched together before being thrown in the magicians hat and pulled back out as money. Majorly disappointing. Im not even kidding, there are songs from Dylans Christian period which mean more to me than this did. I really hate having to say all this, but I just refuse to lie to myself or you about how sloppy and shoved out this insufferable novel is just because Bob Dylan so happened to be the one to write it, it being nothing more than a nonsensical ramble scraped from the innards of Bob Dylans cocaine-addled mind. I am being presumptuous about the cocaine thing, but I seriously cant think up a better or more likely explanation. Theres this Built to Spill lyric I love which sums it up perfectly: No one cares what you dreamt about unless you dreamt about them. Emphasis on the no one cares. Seriously, your cerebral gunk means nothing to me unless you shape it into something which touches me. And if this book touched me, I would file charges.Meh, Im not going to beat myself up for hating this. Not everyone gets to be Leonard Cohen.