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Like listening to your grandma (your crazy, crazy grandma) tell you stories. Except that your grandma is Katharine Hepburn. Except that the stories are replete with digressions about that candy shop she used to visit as a child(of course, it's been torn down now), and that time she went to Italy with that writer and drove his Maserati, except she didn't drive and she needs glasses, and anyway, they almost had sex, but didn't, probably because he was eleven years younger, and also, she's decided to tell you this entirely in script form. Also, here's her recipe for currant cake. It's what separates us from the animals.

It's kind of charming but also kind of horrible. And tedious. But I learned much more about Katharine Hepburn than I ever hoped to know, and it's made watching "The Lion in Winter" even more epic.

Also, it's provided me with several new catchphrases. As Katharine Hepburn says, "FUCK THE ROOTS!"

Upon re-reading this review years later, I can't believe I didn't mention this: much is made of her relationship with Spencer Tracy, while her relationships with women (ahem) are largely obscured. This is probably the greatest tragedy of this book. More stories about ladies; fewer stories about currant cake. Thank you.