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** spoiler alert ** I only finished this book so I can justify tarnishing it in this review. This book was absolute penguin shit. Not only was it the most boring load of crap I've ever seen, but also the most superficial. We all spring from apes, but Patti does not spring far enough. Why does she try so hard to make her life feel like a novel? She takes the reader's attention for granted, going on and on with unnecessary information that I won't remember by the next page, as if I HAVE to care for this load of crap. I am going to give concrete examples just to make sure NO ONE would even DARE to disagree with me, but please do excuse foul language (that I am trying my best to minimize), I have very low tolerance for assy writers.

Let's begin with the show. How obvious can it get that all her ideas about the book were last minute? She was just trying to write a book, she wasn't trying to make it memorable and she definitely wasn't trying to make it any good. How can she go from a paragraph about poetry, to one about her first pot experience, to one about some guy being on the 5th floor. Not just that, but I'm sure we all realized that Robert was very obsessed with Andy Warhol, yet she ends the book with a metaphor that compares him to Michelangelo who was only ever brought up once (on page 208). He was mentioned once. Like, why did she do that?

And the lousy timeline of 100 pages all about 1970 (supposedly "their year" but nothing even slightly memorable seems to happen?) and then 50 pages later you're at the end of the 80's 'cause Robert's dead. Evidently this had no previous planning, or any kind of outline.

Also, what's with the random dramatic paragraph endings??? I feel like I'm reading a very long, also very shitty, Tumblr post. For example, on page 6, she talks about her cousins and says that "with them in my corner, anything seemed possible." Ok, what??? These cousins are never mentioned again in the entire book, this means absolutely nothing!!!
ANOTHER EXAMPLE just cause this book is overflowing with reasons to hate this shit, on page 240, she ends a paragraph with "though no one knew it, the stars were aligning, the angels were calling." You know what? I'm glad she told me, because I didn't know either. And I still don't know. Nothing happened.
Page 245: "we too would take up arms, the arms of our generation, the electric guitar and the microphone." I hope you're all catching how cheesy this is. I hope you guys fully realize this chick is a grown woman talking like a 13 year old after being inspired by some shitty Hollywood film.
Page 233: "By New Year's Eve, we were ready for anything." Really? Anything? I want to eat this book and spit it at her.
Page 174 just because i can make it clearer how much I hate her: "still, the small rule-hating self within me did not die." That is, by far, the biggest load of crap in this book. Not only is it a remarkable sentence, but it's also false. Because right after this, she rejects a contract that would've gotten her big, and why? Because it was 'too easy'? This chick is absolutely nuts.

Moving on, the inconsistency, OH THE INCONSISTENCY, how at first she sounds all serious using big words and all that (eg. "I was a dreamy somnambulant child" who the flip uses the word 'somnambulant' to describe a child?) building a very formal style. Them boom, before you know it, she's talking to a stuffed raven. And if you all don't remember, then i will remind you: page 133, she has just identified to us a stuffed raven she bought and called Raymond.
"... The heavy glass door opened as if swept by wind and a familiar figure in a black and scarlet cape entered. It was Salvador Dalí. He looked around the lobby nervously, and then, seeing my crow, smiled. He placed his elegant, bony hand atop my head and said: 'you are like a crow, a gothic crow.' 'Well,' I said to Raymond, 'just another day at the Chelsea.' "
I dare you to tell me that doesn't sound like Hannah Montana talking. I dare you.

And, oh my God, the names? Lines and lines on names and names of so many different people. It's as if there's a flipping prerequisite for this shitty excuse for a book. On page 147, you had such a lengthy paragraph about a guy called David, who would serve as Robert's lover for some time, yet I still have no idea about HER HUSBAND?

We venture on. There are so many really really shitty metaphors. Like, if you can't, like why must you force it? Did no one edit this? Did no one tell her she didn't make sense?
Page 107: "we were like fishermen throwing out our nets. The net was strong but often we returned from our ventures empty handed." So deep. So so deep.
Page 203: "if Robert was the sailor, Sam Wagstaff was the ship coming in." Just please no, no. You can't even understand it until way later, when you know who Sam is.

Also, this book really feels like it's about nothing. Like I really don't get what she's getting at, she wastes so much space on absolutely meaningless things.
Page 249: there is a full paragraph about clothes. What she was wearing, along with everyone else. Why do I care? Exactly, I don't.
Page 250: there is a full paragraph about food. Again, I don't care.

Now we all know this is a book, and a book requires giving information, but am I the only one that ever thought 'okay, TMI.' I'm always weary not to hang out with people like this, where you trust them one day and then, the next, you're in a book. Or better yet, you ARE a book. Poor Robert.

Patti has a problem remembering that we are foreigners to her life. She talks about people without ever introducing them, as if we all know them. She talks about dates and events as if we totally had them on our calendar. I didn't even know Sandy was a dude until page 196, and that is SO her fault. Sandy is such a girly name! She should have made it clear!
Page 207: "it was my favorite outfit, the one in the picture." What picture?? There's a flipping million pictures in this book, the nearest one being of some writing.
Page 269: "on my birthday he expressed concern for Sam." I don't know when her birthday is! Too bad. I wanted to know.

Surprisingly, there is actually SO MUCH MORE that I just won't say. This is all excluding he random capital letters in the middle of sentences, and the shitty grammar! I can't skip that:
Page 171: "it was possible his tales were even taller than mine." Taller? Does she even English?
Page 169: a paragraph has the first sentence about Jimi Hendrix's unachieved dreams, and the second sentence about a trip to Paris with her sister. English 101: No.

And, for the grand finale, Patti Smith manages to come up with the worst sentence ever known to man.
Page 234: "Robert liked Sam's money, and Sam liked that Robert liked his money." Bravo. Bra-flipping-vo.

Patti manages to put the most words into the smallest ideas. I'm tired of thinking about this book. I'm so frustrated with trying to avoid swearing in this review. Patti Smith is by far the worst writer I have ever had the displeasure of coming across. I need a cigarette.