As a non-fan of Motley Crue (I mean a complete and total non-fan; I didn't care for them during they're heyday), I came to this book for the well-advertised decadence and debauchery. While the bandmembers' nefarious escapades (as well as Strauss's clever, 18th-c. picaresque chapter frames) sustained me for a while, I eventually grew tired of spending time with the Crue. However, the book did have the interesting effect of simultaneously raising and lowering the band in my esteem. Musically, I still think they're pretty terrible. They don't hold a candle to their heroes, the New York Dolls, and they don't come close to hard rock peers like Guns n Roses, who seemed legitimately dangerous in the late 1980s. (That I know better now does not change the feral ferocity of their "Appetite" years one bit.) But I was pleasantly surprised by the frequently self-aware criticisms (of their music and behavior) offered by Nikki, Tommy, and Mick. (Vince, well, he seems douchey through and through.) At the same time, those same guys would turn around a chapter or two later and utter some of the most arrogant and insensitive things without a hint of self-perception. Sure, I shouldn't get frustrated with the messiness of human inconsistency, but it did. I probably would have cared less if the band didn't get so sanctimonious in their post-Feelgood/post-"sobriety" phase.