I picked up this biography from the gift shop of the Tate’s recent exhibition on Bowery, wanting to know more about the magical figure which I found the exhibition did not portray, more sketched, a full figure of.
It is a wonderful collection of stories, told in an elliptical fashion, that at times can weary (and if like me you are looking for psychoanalysis or a fuller sense of Bowery, may frustrate). But eventually what does ring true, and through, is the sense that Bowery was one of those people who are impossible to define, to box in, to ever fully know, regardless of whether he is alive or not.
I did feel like a tighter approach to chronology would have helped - I like that the chapters are themed rather than follow a strict through line of his life, but sometimes stories would jump around in the timeline of Bowery’s most active period (~1982-1994), and this could make it difficult to discern a narrative of his life; which is again, possibly intentional, but does make for a more difficult reading experience than is necessary.
I did appreciate that the biography does not shy away from what might be deemed a bit “problematic” in today’s culture, and I am grateful for that even in this newly published edition of the book. The exhibition at the Tate would mention some of the more unsavoury parts of Bowery’s life and work, but never displayed it - whereas here you get Bowery warts and all, which I appreciate for the unvarnished honesty.
It is a smashing collection of stories and anecdotes, and one I honestly find quite inspiring in a way. Bowery is such a fascinating persona, and his work on the body, shame, attention, awkwardness, is very interesting. I also have to say that I found the final chapters, on his illness, death, and legacy, to be extremely moving and haunting - Tilley’s writing really comes into its own here, oddly enough when she perhaps has more freedom to describe how she experienced an event.