Memoirs

I’ve spent six of the last seven days either traveling to the World Fantasy Convention in San Antonio, or attending, or traveling home.  I’m very tired now, and in retrospect I probably shouldn’t have tried quite so hard to have a good time. My reading on the trip out was Just Kids, Patti Smith’s memoir of her life with Robert Mapplethorpe.  The memoir is kind and loving, and it gets a few things just right, particularly the way a certain type of literary kid sees everything through the prism...