I just finished Mr. Brand’s first memoir, “My Booky Wook”, and it was a wild, articulate ride. While the phallus may be out, the facts are in, and as it’s been said, this bloke can write. I can’t wait to read his second book, “Booky Wook 2: This Time It’s Personal”. (I also can’t imagine how Russell could get more personal than his first book!)
The only stiff thing there could possibly be about this chap’s upper lip would be the dried remains of one of his many sexcapades. The man lives life as his art, and his art is extreme: extremely brilliant, and entertaining, and endearing, as many feel (myself included).
Mr. Brand employed so many memorable turns of phrase throughout his book that I can’t recount them all! He very eloquently describes his early life; the instability of his family, the variability of his moods, all mitigated by the fierce love of those close to him.
Leave it to Russell to inspire outrageous thoughts: when recounting his struggle and ultimate victory over addiction, he puts a novel spin on the universal sentiment connected to the schmaltzy poem “Footprints”: why should we believe God when He says that one set of footprints belonged to Him as He carried us during our time of need? After all, it’s only His Word against ours.
Mr. Russell Brand’s ability to string words together in such a pleasing fashion is only one of his talents, but it’s going to be enough to warrant my purchasing his second book. This dude’s incongruous qualities of cosmic creativity and batshit recklessness make him very compelling indeed. Stay attuned!