When asked to picture a traditional selection of Christmas presents, the answer will undeniably change from generation to generation. And for our generation, thanks to the inexorable rise of the cult of celebrity over the last decade, those expensive hard- bound volumes featuring our favourite celebrities, com- plete with big Hollywood smiles, airbrushed cheeks and piquant titles that they may or may not have conjured up themselves, have become an essential staple in the Christmas market.
So is this a bad thing? If executed properly then no, but that’s just the problem; the majority of these releases are rushed, patchy, insipid, and fall into three very pre- dictable clichéd categories.
The first is reached by the logical thought process of “Well I’m famous now, a household name, the film/ album/tour was a commercial success, now where’s the next buck coming from?” Then; brainwave! Or more ac- curately, celebrity’s agent’s brainwave: “Autobiography!” Rather than wait and see if their fame takes them any- where worth writing about, they rush release a rather bland account of their journey to stardom. Take Michael McIntyre’s re- cent release; Life & Laughing, a funny enough account of his rise to fame, but painstakingly average. Bright parents with showbiz connections, produce equally bright, socially awkward son, who made it big when he realised that his agonizingly middle class background, which had he lived in his parent’s generation would have hindered his route to stand- up comedy, actually catalysed his. Predictable.
The second category contains a lot more emotional angst; it’s the “I’ve had an appalling year, and instead of forgetting about it over the festive period, I’ll write a book which basically re-hashes everything I’ve said for the past couple of months in my numerous exclusive interviews in the red tops.” Prime candidate this year; well who else but ‘The Nation’s Sweetheart’ Cheryl Cole. Fresh from chucking Ashley and battling Malaria, Cheryl returns in time for the Christmas market with Through My Eyes. A spectacularly photograph heavy documentation of the past year, it has been critically lampooned and savaged by plenty of fans too, for its lack of detail. But I have a hunch that this detail will be saved for the third and worst offender of celebrity autobiographies…
I am of course referring to the penny-pinching and completely unnecessary second autobiography. The as- pect that really puts the contenders in this category to shame is the obscurely short amount of time that has usually passed since the first one. Take Russell Brand’s imaginatively titled Booky Wook 2. Now the first Booky Wook wasn’t actually that bad; drug addiction, sex addiction and a quite bizarre relationship with his father helped lift it out of the flat sea of dross autobiographies that are usu- ally thrust upon us. But, in the same amount of pages used to explore his eclectic life story up until age 33, Booky Wook 2 is simply filled with the details of the past three years of his life. He’s stayed clean, he’s fallen in love with Katy Perry, and his life is dandy. That’s about it.
It has to be said though that Brand’s second book is a truly dense and com-pelling read when compared to Katie Price’s fourth autobiography in six years. Yes, you read that correctly. With the publication of You Only Live Once, (an ironic title when you consider she’s decided to write about it four times) Miss Price has surely produced the crème de la crème of this year’s staggeringly banal autobiographies.
So are there any good autobiographies at all this year? Alan Sugar’s What You See Is What You Get is an interest- ing read, though I daresay that, when you consider the nature of his profession, a second will almost certainly see the light of day by the time you’ve read this article. Then again, I hear Peter Andre has released a fascinating and absorbing… Hmm. Perhaps it’s best if you stick with a Terry’s Chocolate Orange and a pair of socks this year.