What do you think?
Rate this book
You'll Be Sorry When I'm Dead
From childhood dreams of prostitution to her unabashed passion for heavy drinking, from growing up wide-eyed on the set of Australian soaps to her infatuation with Bob Ellis, these are the outrageously entertaining and deeply revealing reminiscences of a multimedia star.
From stalking and eventually meeting her Young Talent Time idol when she was twelve, to a particularly abhorrent encounter at a high-quality swingers night, and a mildly perverse obsession with Bob Ellis, there is nothing Marieke Hardy won't write about. Welcome to a chronicle of broken hearts, fervid pursuits, passionate friendships, deranged letter-writing, the allure of the bottle, the singular charms of musicians, the lost song of youth, and three very awkward evenings with varying prostitutes--exactly zero percent of which the author's parents will want to read. Add to that a slightly misguided attempt to give real-life friends and ex-lovers a 'right of reply' to the stories they appear in and it's fair to say an extended stint in the Witness Protection Program beckons.
Confessional, voyeuristic, painful, hilarious and heartfelt, You'll Be Sorry When I'm Dead reveals the acerbic wit, unflinching gaze and razor-sharp insight of a writer at the height of her powers-or the unhinged fantasies of a dangerous mind with not enough to do.
From stalking and eventually meeting her Young Talent Time idol when she was twelve, to a particularly abhorrent encounter at a high-quality swingers night, and a mildly perverse obsession with Bob Ellis, there is nothing Marieke Hardy won't write about. Welcome to a chronicle of broken hearts, fervid pursuits, passionate friendships, deranged letter-writing, the allure of the bottle, the singular charms of musicians, the lost song of youth, and three very awkward evenings with varying prostitutes--exactly zero percent of which the author's parents will want to read. Add to that a slightly misguided attempt to give real-life friends and ex-lovers a 'right of reply' to the stories they appear in and it's fair to say an extended stint in the Witness Protection Program beckons.
Confessional, voyeuristic, painful, hilarious and heartfelt, You'll Be Sorry When I'm Dead reveals the acerbic wit, unflinching gaze and razor-sharp insight of a writer at the height of her powers-or the unhinged fantasies of a dangerous mind with not enough to do.
304 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published August 24, 2011
24 people are currently reading
627 people want to read
About the author
Marieke Hardy
11 books129 followersMarieke Josephine Hardy is a screenwriter, author, blogger, radio presenter, and part-time mud wrestler. She is a little bit taller than Uncanny X-Men lead singer Brian Mannix, though doesn’t fill out a pair of leather trousers nearly as neatly.
She makes host Jennifer Byrne’s life an abject misery once a month on the ABC’s The Book Club. A collection of her essays, You’ll Be Sorry When I’m Dead, was released in August.
She makes host Jennifer Byrne’s life an abject misery once a month on the ABC’s The Book Club. A collection of her essays, You’ll Be Sorry When I’m Dead, was released in August.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 147 reviews
December 30, 2011
A lot was made of this book's "upfront honesty" and it's true that Hardy bravely divulges details of her life that many would probably edit out. Her encounters with prostitutes, an evening at a swingers' party and vague yet frequent tales of debauched nights with close friends are all told here, often with wit. That's all well and good for a while, but it's not really the kind of honesty that makes a book truly interesting. After the first chapter about prostitution, Hardy prints a letter from her lover at the time who warns that she shouldn't just write "Marieke the caricature". I'm afraid that's all I got from most of these sadly vapid snippets of a privileged life. There are some redeeming qualities; the book isn't without its laugh-out-loud moments, and there is some nice self-reflection when Hardy writes about awkwardly growing to love her husband's child, for instance. But I couldn't shake the sense that all the misadventures were just a bunch of middle class kids rebelling against having a nice family, and there wasn't much insight about that. I wish Marieke had dug a little deeper.
March 5, 2012
Marieke Hardy, My Grandma & Me
... a review
Marieke Hardy comes from a famous family. Her grandfather was Australian communist writer of ‘Power Without Glory’, Frank Hardy. She is the grandniece of comedian Mary Hardy. Both of her parents were writers, producers and editors on many iconic television shows. Marieke Hardy was also a child actor – appearing in ‘Neighbours’ and ‘The Henderson Kids’. Later in life she became a television writer and co-creator. She has also been a radio host, frequent blogger, political commentator, columnist and book reviewer.
My obsession with Marieke Hardy started in 2007 when I first subscribed to the bi-monthly magazine of Australian hipster darlings, Frankie. I read a wonderful article of hers, titled ‘i'm sorry mum’ in which she lamented her rebellious youth and the impact it had on her relationship with her mother; concluding the article with a heartfelt apology and thanking her for having Zen-like patience. It was funnily ribald, concluding on a sweet note of honesty. I cut the article out and stuck it into a sketch-pad.
One day in 2008 I went to visit my grandmother and found her cackling over The Age Greenguide lift-out. Now, to put this into context; my grandmother is Austrian, and when the war started she became a nurse and later joined the people’s land army. She does not guffaw easily. So to see and hear her chortling over the TV guide caused me to raise my eyebrows. As it turned out, my grandma was laughing at the weekly opinion piece ‘Back Chat’, written by Marieke Hardy, in which she either bemoaned reality TV or gushed about her new favourite show or crumpet journo crush. My grandma admitted that she religiously read Marieke Hardy, and delighted in watching her be as funny on TV as she is in print, on the monthly show ‘First Tuesday Book Club’.
Thus, my grandmother and I had something in common: Marieke Hardy. And my sketch-pad started to grow as the ‘Back Chat’ articles were also ripped and stuck inside, along with her ‘Frankie’ gems.
I also went back and revisited the TV show Hardy wrote for, ‘Last Man Standing’, about three Melbournian bachelors living and loving in my hometown (so blokey good it’s a crime the show only ever saw one season!). And I was ridiculously thrilled when her new show ‘Laid’ got rave reviews. I bought the first season on DVD and constantly quote it randomly to friends (“It makes me want to live up a tree.”) Now I stalk her twitter feed for hints about Season 2, which is currently filming.
So when it was announced that Marieke Hardy had signed a multiple-book contract with Allen & Unwin, my grandmother and I were filled to the brim with unmitigated glee. And when an advance copy of ‘You’ll Be Sorry When I’m Dead’ arrived in my hot little hand – I was freakin apoplectic!
Marieke Hardy has left pieces of her soul scattered around Melbourne and the outer suburbs. Her childhood is imbedded in Whitten Oval, West Footscray. Flakes of her talent are scattered on the set and green rooms of Ramsay Street, Erinsborough. The Tote hotel in Collingwood was the final resting place of her hedonistic ‘bubble’ friendship group. A good portion of her heart seems happy to reside in a thin-willed Brunswick apartment. And her naked, painted backside even lives upon the wall of a bar in High Street. In ‘You’ll be Sorry When I’m Dead’ Hardy meticulously gathers these pieces, dissecting and lamenting some, proud as punch of others as she lays out the scattered ends for reader’s perusal and her future prosperity.
Hardy swings like a pendulum – between vulgar and witty, ironic and honest, superficial and then brazenly bare. Like her story about football. The ‘Maroon and Blue’ short begins harmlessly enough, as Hardy explains Victoria’s footy-obsession and her family’s loyalty to the Fitzroy Football Club. She talks about baking chocolate cakes for the footy players, crushing on number 24 and the family ritual of watching and dissecting the game. All fairly blasé stuff, the likes of which would appear in any Melbourne-based memoir worth its salt. But then Hardy unfurls. She reads between her own lines and makes something more and meaningful of the story. In this case, she talks about her rampaging teen years when following the footy was mortifying and she distanced herself from both her parents, and the game. Until, that is, the Fitzroy Football Club was disbanded and left for dead. They played their last match in 1996, and Hardy (then 20) flew interstate to watch the end of an era with her mother; realizing while she sat in the stands that this moment marked the end of something more than just a footy club;
I watched the team shuffle down the race into the rooms, heads lowered, full of shame and disappointment and a dark, confusing grief.
My childhood shuffled off with them. My family rituals shuffled off with them. When they had all left the ground, trainers trudging behind, I heard something click shut in my heart.
At that moment I felt my mother reach across and take my hand.
On the surface, ‘You’ll Be Sorry When I’m Dead’ is simply a collection of very funny stories by a very funny lady who seems to have been designated Melbourne’s pin-up girl. But it’s not until the short story ‘YTT’ that I really started to guess at another purpose of the book. ‘YTT’ is the story of Hardy’s obsession with a Young Talent Time heartthrob, Joey Dee, and how she once met him face-to-face with all the ensuing disaster of a pubescent girl meeting her pubescent idol. This story is triggered by an old friend of Hardy’s asking her to fill in the blanks of a long-ago childhood rift . . . something nearly impossible for Hardy to accomplish, since her mind is gin-soaked and stuttering, increasingly falling into a static ether of forgetfulness. Hardy hilariously explains (with pin-point accuracy) the fear/funny of literally losing her mind. And it was at this point that I decided the book was a sort of touchstone for Hardy. Like Leonard Shelby in ‘Memento’, writing notes to himself so he doesn’t inevitably forget.
The doors of my memory are closing in the most terrifying of ways, slamming shut with the clanging finality behind me like the credits of Get Smart. There are gaping holes where there should be anecdotes and pain and remorse. The lines between truth and fiction are so smeared I sometimes can’t remember if I was actually friends with the Goonies or whether they were just characters in a movie.
Apart from being very funny, Hardy is also audaciously honest (always good in a memoir/autobiography). But her honesty stretches beyond self-reflection and confession. The book includes e-mail exchanges with the people she (sometimes viciously) writes about. An old boyfriend corresponds with her after reading the short story about their prostitute-riddled relationship – an interesting e-mail in which he despairs the seeming lack of love she had for him, and is bewildered by her confession of his purely bad-boy appeal. An old friend carrying an old hurt responds to Marieke’s confessional story about the demise of their friendship – and it’s both awkward for being so relatable, while also brimming with surprising hope for social networking.
And of course the final story is all about Bob Ellis. This little quirk of Marieke Hardy’s is well-documented and met with scepticism and hopes of irony. She is obsessed with the Australian writer, journalist, film-maker and political commentator, Bob Ellis. He is a rotund and sweating man, visceral and mean. But he writes bloody brilliantly, as Hardy reiterates, and has even commemorated with a tattoo. She talks about their dancing around each other and eventually becoming sort-of friends and associates, explaining her deep loyalty and admiration for the man and the ramifications this love has had on her dog. And then, not surprisingly, she talks about her idol wobbling atop his pedestal.
But throughout this final story I couldn’t help but think of Marieke Hardy as being my Bob Ellis. Hardy has tucked pieces of Ellis’s writing away and emblazoned his sentences; I have two sketch pads filled with Marieke Hardy’s words and witticisms, and a twitter follow to show my devotion to her thoughts. There are little snatches of paragraphs and lines of poignancy throughout ‘You’ll Be Sorry’ which I will tuck away and keep for myself;
We would have babies and get fat and quit drinking and not spend every waking moment together. We would turn up to events for which we had accepted invitations without texting absurd excuses. We had grown up.
It was an essential part of letting go, deciding which ribbons of the past we wanted to tie around our fingers and which were best left on the maypole.
I could weep for the unfairness of it all now. For the necessity in closing the door on the travelling salesman of youth. I could weep with such fondness for us all.
Marieke Hardy is one demoness of a writer and a rapscallion memoirist. I have two sketch pads full of ‘Frankie’ articles and ‘Back Chat’ pieces that prove I love anything she writes . . . but I wasn’t prepared for how much I would enjoy ‘You’ll Be Sorry When I’m Dead’. I made a giggling nuisance of myself on the train and tram while reading this. No doubt I’ll attempt to shove it down my friend’s throats and hound them with requests for reading updates (“have you read this bit yet?” or “are you up to the part where___?”) . . . but first, I think, I’ll pass the book onto my grandmother and happily anticipate the delighted guffaws to come.
November 11, 2011
I've been a fan of Marieke Hardy's work for a long time, so when I found out she had published a book I rushed to the bookstore with eager anticipation. As I began to devour the book on the way home from work, my disappointment increased. By the time I reached page 100 I'd had enough of the self indulgent waffle, that seemed like it was trying way too hard to sound 'cool'. All I can say is thank the pixel Gods for eBay because at least I can try and get some of my money back. If only I could buy back the time I wasted!
Ps. The one star is for the great illustration on the cover.
Ps. The one star is for the great illustration on the cover.
December 22, 2011
This was SUCH a surprise and SUCH a good read. The surprise wasn't that it WAS good - far from it, Marieke's TV columns in The Age have always been a pleasure - the surprise was that it was far more than, well, hilarious. It was gutsy, reckless and insane. It was sad. It was a pleasure. The chapter on Susan and Young Talent Time was just gorgeous, almost my favourite, with its final, guilty revelations, taking it into the sublime. I was moved! And Susan's own reply actually made me a little teary. The chapter on Neighbours was all too horribly true, but the ones concerning Gen's battle with cancer and the near-romance with housemate Dan were just superb. Marieke is a flippin' knockout of a writer. Well on the way to becoming a national treasure. This has definitely been one of my favourite reads for 2011. Loved it.
December 4, 2015
When I come across strangers with a book firmly clamped in hand, if I am not ignored, I get 'your a reader?', in the same tone as someone asking 'oh you collect commemorative stamps?'
With reading 'You'll be sorry when I'm dead' complete strangers felt compelled to repeat the title in a horrific question mark. The sketchy pink cover with the morbid title seem to unsettle people into outrage. Why would you read something like that? The cover does for once represent the content. Fluffy engaging stories with a slightly darker edge. Threesomes, drugs, swinging, child acting, prostitution, Cancer, alcoholic soaked pursuits in love and music are all explored.
With books such as these, there are the hit and miss moments. I really enjoyed the awkward swingers party, with visions of a leather and meshed clade man doing the dishes, the account of how to cope when a best friends gets Cancer, details of meeting your pre adolescent idol only to find flecks of moustache, and tacky board shorts. Reading this I constantly felt like a cocktail, and depressed that I was sitting in a train on the way work and not in a swanky bar on Little Lonsdale Street.
This book was an enjoyable way to spend a couple of days, and enjoying in the delight of outraged expressions of commuters.
With reading 'You'll be sorry when I'm dead' complete strangers felt compelled to repeat the title in a horrific question mark. The sketchy pink cover with the morbid title seem to unsettle people into outrage. Why would you read something like that? The cover does for once represent the content. Fluffy engaging stories with a slightly darker edge. Threesomes, drugs, swinging, child acting, prostitution, Cancer, alcoholic soaked pursuits in love and music are all explored.
With books such as these, there are the hit and miss moments. I really enjoyed the awkward swingers party, with visions of a leather and meshed clade man doing the dishes, the account of how to cope when a best friends gets Cancer, details of meeting your pre adolescent idol only to find flecks of moustache, and tacky board shorts. Reading this I constantly felt like a cocktail, and depressed that I was sitting in a train on the way work and not in a swanky bar on Little Lonsdale Street.
This book was an enjoyable way to spend a couple of days, and enjoying in the delight of outraged expressions of commuters.
August 2, 2012
I used to wake up to Marieke on JJJ and found her to be rather condescending and out of touch with the audience although she is great on 1st Tues Book Club. I enjoyed some parts of this but it’s a very inconsistent read & feels like the kind of book the author herself wouldn't enjoy if written by someone else. My negative reaction to this book can be summarised in the following points
- Bukowski is enjoyable but there is nothing more cringe-worthy than reading another writer gush about him – he’s only a tshirt away from being ‘the Ramones’ of the Book world.
- The sexy passages are to similar to another recent aussie book from A&U publishers kink aka the worst book Ive ever read and one would be forgiven for thinking it was the same facty chick lit shit book itself from the first 10 pages..
- It’s just good enough to make you to keep reading and not give up but makes you feel guilty for wasting the time after
I did like reading about her crusade to get people writing letters again even though it felt a bit ‘Hamish & Andy’ and also the one about a young hedonistic group of friends slumming about Melbourne which I could strongly identify with, if more for the sense of community and feeling of living our lives to the fullest than the degree of excess documented here. Try again plz Marieke..
- Bukowski is enjoyable but there is nothing more cringe-worthy than reading another writer gush about him – he’s only a tshirt away from being ‘the Ramones’ of the Book world.
- The sexy passages are to similar to another recent aussie book from A&U publishers kink aka the worst book Ive ever read and one would be forgiven for thinking it was the same facty chick lit shit book itself from the first 10 pages..
- It’s just good enough to make you to keep reading and not give up but makes you feel guilty for wasting the time after
I did like reading about her crusade to get people writing letters again even though it felt a bit ‘Hamish & Andy’ and also the one about a young hedonistic group of friends slumming about Melbourne which I could strongly identify with, if more for the sense of community and feeling of living our lives to the fullest than the degree of excess documented here. Try again plz Marieke..
October 20, 2011
What a turkey! Ugh!
Got half way through then decided life was too short ...
Got half way through then decided life was too short ...
September 24, 2011
Marieke Hardy is kind of like the half-crazy wildchild older sister you wish you had - as if the titular character in the Juliana Hatfield song came to life. Yet she also seems to be pretty polarizing, with people either loving or hating her free-spirited persona. I'm in the former camp.
This is a collection of essays / stories about her life as a child actor, script writer, literature enthusiast and heavy drinker. At times deeply personal, Hardy also lets us see a different side when letters of friends or family are also shared. One particularly revelatory entry from an ex-boyfriend tells how the persona of 'Marieke' in her tales is an exaggerated one for effect - letting us know the difference between the writer and the person. It's still an entertaining one that will have you laughing out loud one moment and then be extremely moved in the next. The chapter on her friend Gen's struggle with cancer balances this superbly with poignancy and black humour.
Hopefully this won't be the last memoir from Hardy.
This is a collection of essays / stories about her life as a child actor, script writer, literature enthusiast and heavy drinker. At times deeply personal, Hardy also lets us see a different side when letters of friends or family are also shared. One particularly revelatory entry from an ex-boyfriend tells how the persona of 'Marieke' in her tales is an exaggerated one for effect - letting us know the difference between the writer and the person. It's still an entertaining one that will have you laughing out loud one moment and then be extremely moved in the next. The chapter on her friend Gen's struggle with cancer balances this superbly with poignancy and black humour.
Hopefully this won't be the last memoir from Hardy.
November 9, 2011
I love Marieke on First Tuesday Book Club and follow her tweets, so wanted to support her by actually buying the physical book from an Australian bookstore (usually I cheat and get books from the library, book depository, or iPad versions). And yes, it was nice to own a brand spanker book again. Must do it more often.
I felt very much like I was reading Marieke's diaries, yes its self absorbed, but hey, why not. I get to live a little vicariously through this, and believe me, the lifestyle described is so very different from my own. So thank you Marieke for being so incredibly frank, and sharing as much as you do. You're there with Stephen Fry, two individuals with 'me' books that I love to watch from afar, and if I ever got the chance to meet, would want to give you both a big hug!
I felt very much like I was reading Marieke's diaries, yes its self absorbed, but hey, why not. I get to live a little vicariously through this, and believe me, the lifestyle described is so very different from my own. So thank you Marieke for being so incredibly frank, and sharing as much as you do. You're there with Stephen Fry, two individuals with 'me' books that I love to watch from afar, and if I ever got the chance to meet, would want to give you both a big hug!
April 6, 2012
This is the worst book I have ever read. It was dreadful, indulgent dribble and I wish i could get back the hours of my life reading this crap. Thought I would relate, have a laugh, no, it wasn't to be. Marieke Hardy's memoirs make her out to be a shallow, uptight, moron. Although she's terrific on the ABC book club.
October 12, 2011
I picked this up on sale (damaged copy) and read it purely because Marieka is on the Tuesday Book Club. Mistake, I found it self indulgent; a list of who she had slept with or taken drugs with. Oh well, each to their own. Obviously I am not the target reader for this book.
April 27, 2014
'She was topless on a bed reading the paper, Her breasts were truly magnificent. Oh dear I thought. This could be interesting.'
That's Dan writing. Ms Hardy has given him the right of reply – as she does all her subjects in this collection of extended vignettes from her somewhat, in various phases, hedonistic life story to date. And that is very fair of her as she calls it as she sees it – no beg pardons with Marieke, no protecting the not so innocent with aliases – even though her dad (who scribed the forward) informs that he fully expected this forthrightness would land her in deep do-do. She would cop the flack in the name of authenticity – a brave lass our author
Dan, having know her in a platonic mode for a while and having enough of couch surfing, was looking for somewhere to lay his head a little more permanently. Marieke was coming out of a shattered, shattering relationship and needed a diversion. Both had their reservations, especially when his proposed host's breasts were publicly exposed without inhibition, as is this lady's wont. Marieke writes honestly of her doubts about him as house mate too. Do they decide to take the plunge and if the answers in the affirmative, how will it turn out?
And, as for those breasts, I can only agree with Dan. Yes, they are tastefully still available to googling – I've done my research you see. The whole affair of her bosoms is a piss-take Marieke felt compelled to issue on Rennie Ellis' iconic shot of the human headline, Derryn Hinch, in bed, perusing the local dailies, with a similarly unencumbered playmate. Naturally there is a bearded, simpering Hinch doppelganger sharing Marieke's bed in the rejoinder.
In 'You'll Be Sorry When I'm Dead' Marieke Hardy shares this, together with numerous other adventures, with us and she is certainly no shrinking violet. Her use of language and her libertarian values, as expressed and carried out in these pages, assure the reader of that. For her the execrable shock-jock Alan Jones is a '...sordid little cock stain.' with no right to '...pass judgement on the behaviour of young women in burqas whilst simultaneously being arrested for indecency in public toilet blocks.' Good call that.
I like Marieke Hardy. I like her very much and if I was mildly shocked by some of her antics, as revealed here, I am not put off. Watching her on 'The First Tuesday Book Club' - well it's a bit like Nigella sucking on her chocolate dipped digits. It's mildly titillating. Marieke is unafraid to push the envelope, unlike the majority of us. She gets high on the edginess of life, whether it be running with a pack of similarly charged damsels, engaging in a threesome with a prostitute, attending a party for swingers or sussing out a range of suitable bedfellows. I have seen her in the flesh and she is just as exquisite as she appears on the small screen.
I initially came across her in her former guise as columnist for the Melbourne Age; then secondly, as I drove to work each morning, trading jibes with the Doctor on the JJJs breakfast show. Sadly she has long given up both these gigs to concentrate on her other claims to fame – writing for 'Frankie' magazine, blogging, editing, running the charitable 'Women of Letters' – a 'performance' of which your scribe attended in 2013 – and some television. She is a throwback when it comes to letter writing, crusading around the country single-handedly drumming up business for OzPost by attempting to rejuvenate that format of communication. Recently, Marieke and her partner in crime, Michaela McGuire, have taken their 'WofL' roadshow international. Seemingly people cannot get enough of letter writers of note reading their handiwork, always on a certain set topic, out to a like-minded audience. The print version is into its third volume. Our author adores scribing and receiving hand written missives. For her a letter is akin to '... a long and leisurely afternoon lying naked on a picnic rug eating a Flake.' Her own writing, as represented in this tome, is engaging. Being the granddaughter of Frank and having Mary as an aunt, it is in her genes. A real gem is MH's description of the mayhem resulting when her dog, Bob Ellis, meets its namesake, the rotund scribbler, one of Marieke's obsessions. It is priceless humour.
Marieke's exuberant book is sassy, spunky and feisty – just like the woman herself. Live a long life the divine Ms H.
That's Dan writing. Ms Hardy has given him the right of reply – as she does all her subjects in this collection of extended vignettes from her somewhat, in various phases, hedonistic life story to date. And that is very fair of her as she calls it as she sees it – no beg pardons with Marieke, no protecting the not so innocent with aliases – even though her dad (who scribed the forward) informs that he fully expected this forthrightness would land her in deep do-do. She would cop the flack in the name of authenticity – a brave lass our author
Dan, having know her in a platonic mode for a while and having enough of couch surfing, was looking for somewhere to lay his head a little more permanently. Marieke was coming out of a shattered, shattering relationship and needed a diversion. Both had their reservations, especially when his proposed host's breasts were publicly exposed without inhibition, as is this lady's wont. Marieke writes honestly of her doubts about him as house mate too. Do they decide to take the plunge and if the answers in the affirmative, how will it turn out?
And, as for those breasts, I can only agree with Dan. Yes, they are tastefully still available to googling – I've done my research you see. The whole affair of her bosoms is a piss-take Marieke felt compelled to issue on Rennie Ellis' iconic shot of the human headline, Derryn Hinch, in bed, perusing the local dailies, with a similarly unencumbered playmate. Naturally there is a bearded, simpering Hinch doppelganger sharing Marieke's bed in the rejoinder.
In 'You'll Be Sorry When I'm Dead' Marieke Hardy shares this, together with numerous other adventures, with us and she is certainly no shrinking violet. Her use of language and her libertarian values, as expressed and carried out in these pages, assure the reader of that. For her the execrable shock-jock Alan Jones is a '...sordid little cock stain.' with no right to '...pass judgement on the behaviour of young women in burqas whilst simultaneously being arrested for indecency in public toilet blocks.' Good call that.
I like Marieke Hardy. I like her very much and if I was mildly shocked by some of her antics, as revealed here, I am not put off. Watching her on 'The First Tuesday Book Club' - well it's a bit like Nigella sucking on her chocolate dipped digits. It's mildly titillating. Marieke is unafraid to push the envelope, unlike the majority of us. She gets high on the edginess of life, whether it be running with a pack of similarly charged damsels, engaging in a threesome with a prostitute, attending a party for swingers or sussing out a range of suitable bedfellows. I have seen her in the flesh and she is just as exquisite as she appears on the small screen.
I initially came across her in her former guise as columnist for the Melbourne Age; then secondly, as I drove to work each morning, trading jibes with the Doctor on the JJJs breakfast show. Sadly she has long given up both these gigs to concentrate on her other claims to fame – writing for 'Frankie' magazine, blogging, editing, running the charitable 'Women of Letters' – a 'performance' of which your scribe attended in 2013 – and some television. She is a throwback when it comes to letter writing, crusading around the country single-handedly drumming up business for OzPost by attempting to rejuvenate that format of communication. Recently, Marieke and her partner in crime, Michaela McGuire, have taken their 'WofL' roadshow international. Seemingly people cannot get enough of letter writers of note reading their handiwork, always on a certain set topic, out to a like-minded audience. The print version is into its third volume. Our author adores scribing and receiving hand written missives. For her a letter is akin to '... a long and leisurely afternoon lying naked on a picnic rug eating a Flake.' Her own writing, as represented in this tome, is engaging. Being the granddaughter of Frank and having Mary as an aunt, it is in her genes. A real gem is MH's description of the mayhem resulting when her dog, Bob Ellis, meets its namesake, the rotund scribbler, one of Marieke's obsessions. It is priceless humour.
Marieke's exuberant book is sassy, spunky and feisty – just like the woman herself. Live a long life the divine Ms H.
November 13, 2011
To the one and only: Marieke Hardy,
I am writing this letter not to portray myself off as a needy helpless star-struck fan of yours, Whilst I am all of those things crumbed and blended with onions into a delicious human meatball, but I write it simply because I must. Like your emotional, Knowledgeable, interest with Bob Ellis... Well I have a similar connection to you... Excluding the need to become physical with you, well I wouldn't be ignorant to experience. I find you amazing!
Pissing in your pocket was not my main goal when I put finger to keyboard but this is the road I have taken because you are so wonderful to me. Your talent is amazing, Your Hilarity and your innate ability to put all of who you are out into the world. I envy your inhibitions. I envy your Creativity and mostly, Ms Hardy, I envy you.
You amazing creature with your words and your hilarious story telling abilities. Nearly every page had me laughing with my whole belly. Rugged up in bed or at the coffee shop surrounded with strangers, I let my own inhibitions down, unintentionally, when faced with a giggle ridden page of laughter that I couldn't keep to myself. And when I wasn't laughing like Santa on Boxing Day sipping a cold one, I was gasping in shock, Thinking to myself "Really? I can't believe she's done that, Said that, Been there, Seen that!". Then Shedding a tear when faced with your hardships and the beautiful way you invite others in to share and understand them. All the while still keeping light and making a joke along the way. Life's too short, right?
Ever since I first came into contact with you, whilst listening to JJJ, I was hooked. Mostly because of your great taste in music but also because I would be in fits of laughter. Listening as you and your co-hosts bounce off each other between tracks was a highlight to my day... My very own "Kit-Kat" to sit down and enjoy. From that moment on I began to stalk your movements (hypothetically speaking) and became entangled in "The First Tuesday Book Club" and how you always voiced your opinion precisely, With a touch a Marieke Flare of course, much to the often opposing opinion of your Host, Jennifer Byrne. It was in those moments that I started to feel I could relate to you. Often sharing similar ideas, later evolved into watching each month with a pen and paper, paying direct attention to your selections knowing that I would love anything your golden fingertips Flicked through.
(This system rarely fails me) Oh! and...
... "Thank you for introducing me to Sarah Silverman".
Now with your very own book I have the ability to get to know the Woman behind the Voice/Chair/Writer and see what the Friend, Girlfriend, Daughter, Woman, Marieke Hardy, is really like. Thank you for putting yourself and those that are close to you out into the world so that Fans, such as myself, and people who just like a good read can enjoy all you have to offer (which is a lot).
Your book is one of my favourites to turn to when all else seems dull or I am need of a little pick me up. So much of what entangles each page is relatable. When I come across stories about friends and family I find myself daydreaming about my own stories and those key life moments... What would go in my book? and I'll laugh out loud when they creep to the surface, along with yours.
So, Marieke, (Oh! we're on first name basis now) I say, Thanks a bunch! If you're ever in Melbourne and notice a red haired, chubby, twenty something girl standing, undoubtedly, beside a tall, skinny, roped along male friend... Give us a wave hey? Cos no doubt my arm will be not far from falling off.
Your, dedicated (non-stalker) fan,
Shannon
x
P.S. I RECOMMEND THIS BOOK TO EVERYONE! No really...... Read it! It's the goods.
I am writing this letter not to portray myself off as a needy helpless star-struck fan of yours, Whilst I am all of those things crumbed and blended with onions into a delicious human meatball, but I write it simply because I must. Like your emotional, Knowledgeable, interest with Bob Ellis... Well I have a similar connection to you... Excluding the need to become physical with you, well I wouldn't be ignorant to experience. I find you amazing!
Pissing in your pocket was not my main goal when I put finger to keyboard but this is the road I have taken because you are so wonderful to me. Your talent is amazing, Your Hilarity and your innate ability to put all of who you are out into the world. I envy your inhibitions. I envy your Creativity and mostly, Ms Hardy, I envy you.
You amazing creature with your words and your hilarious story telling abilities. Nearly every page had me laughing with my whole belly. Rugged up in bed or at the coffee shop surrounded with strangers, I let my own inhibitions down, unintentionally, when faced with a giggle ridden page of laughter that I couldn't keep to myself. And when I wasn't laughing like Santa on Boxing Day sipping a cold one, I was gasping in shock, Thinking to myself "Really? I can't believe she's done that, Said that, Been there, Seen that!". Then Shedding a tear when faced with your hardships and the beautiful way you invite others in to share and understand them. All the while still keeping light and making a joke along the way. Life's too short, right?
Ever since I first came into contact with you, whilst listening to JJJ, I was hooked. Mostly because of your great taste in music but also because I would be in fits of laughter. Listening as you and your co-hosts bounce off each other between tracks was a highlight to my day... My very own "Kit-Kat" to sit down and enjoy. From that moment on I began to stalk your movements (hypothetically speaking) and became entangled in "The First Tuesday Book Club" and how you always voiced your opinion precisely, With a touch a Marieke Flare of course, much to the often opposing opinion of your Host, Jennifer Byrne. It was in those moments that I started to feel I could relate to you. Often sharing similar ideas, later evolved into watching each month with a pen and paper, paying direct attention to your selections knowing that I would love anything your golden fingertips Flicked through.
(This system rarely fails me) Oh! and...
... "Thank you for introducing me to Sarah Silverman".
Now with your very own book I have the ability to get to know the Woman behind the Voice/Chair/Writer and see what the Friend, Girlfriend, Daughter, Woman, Marieke Hardy, is really like. Thank you for putting yourself and those that are close to you out into the world so that Fans, such as myself, and people who just like a good read can enjoy all you have to offer (which is a lot).
Your book is one of my favourites to turn to when all else seems dull or I am need of a little pick me up. So much of what entangles each page is relatable. When I come across stories about friends and family I find myself daydreaming about my own stories and those key life moments... What would go in my book? and I'll laugh out loud when they creep to the surface, along with yours.
So, Marieke, (Oh! we're on first name basis now) I say, Thanks a bunch! If you're ever in Melbourne and notice a red haired, chubby, twenty something girl standing, undoubtedly, beside a tall, skinny, roped along male friend... Give us a wave hey? Cos no doubt my arm will be not far from falling off.
Your, dedicated (non-stalker) fan,
Shannon
x
P.S. I RECOMMEND THIS BOOK TO EVERYONE! No really...... Read it! It's the goods.
April 8, 2012
My only knowledge of Marieke Hardy is from The First Tuesday Book Club, where I like her comments, her reviews, how she is not afraid to disagree, and her choice of books. And yeah, I like how she sits there looking so sedate and almost prim, whilst wearing a ridiculous flower in her hair and girly dresses with an armful of ink. I remember thinking, "I bet that's one seriously wicked woman."
She is a delightfully wicked woman, and oh boy, can she write. Others have said her memoir is smug and self-indulgent. I didn't find that at all (although memoir is, by definition, self-indulgent). Her writing is fresh, original and witty. It's bloody hilarious at times, wistful and bleakly honest at others, but it's always page-turningly interesting. Hardy confesses to some artistic license and an imperfect memory in the recollection of events, but my impression was she didn't shirk from being honest where it mattered, even if it meant portraying herself in a less than glorious light (the chapter about her friend Susan and the YTT star).
I loved how there was no apology in the writing. While many incidents in her life to date have encompassed things that society now deems to be undesirable, there's no mouthings about how she wouldn't do it again. She loves sex and heavy drinking and (by implication) drugs. She's seen her father with an erection and the entire Fitzroy Football Club naked before she'd grown boobies. No, she just tells it how it is (more or less) and doesn't give a rat's arse about the pearl-clutchers. Good onya, Marieke! *applauds*.
I hear she's signed a multi-book deal - can't wait for the next one.
She is a delightfully wicked woman, and oh boy, can she write. Others have said her memoir is smug and self-indulgent. I didn't find that at all (although memoir is, by definition, self-indulgent). Her writing is fresh, original and witty. It's bloody hilarious at times, wistful and bleakly honest at others, but it's always page-turningly interesting. Hardy confesses to some artistic license and an imperfect memory in the recollection of events, but my impression was she didn't shirk from being honest where it mattered, even if it meant portraying herself in a less than glorious light (the chapter about her friend Susan and the YTT star).
I loved how there was no apology in the writing. While many incidents in her life to date have encompassed things that society now deems to be undesirable, there's no mouthings about how she wouldn't do it again. She loves sex and heavy drinking and (by implication) drugs. She's seen her father with an erection and the entire Fitzroy Football Club naked before she'd grown boobies. No, she just tells it how it is (more or less) and doesn't give a rat's arse about the pearl-clutchers. Good onya, Marieke! *applauds*.
I hear she's signed a multi-book deal - can't wait for the next one.
July 22, 2012
This really was one of the best autobiographies/memoirs/collections of essays I've ever read. Traversing territory from heartbreaking to hilarious, you feel almost like a voyeur for reading. Hardy lays not only her heart on her sleeve, but her liver, kidneys and grey matter too. She can be both insightfully witty and achingly poignant. It's a rare thing for a writer to be able to successfully depict such a broad spectrum of human emotion. I loved this book like it was a person that I wanted to become best friends with, having champagne picnics under fireworks and then subsequent hungover breakfasts of entire packets of oreos and bloody Marys. I want you to read this book too, and then talk about it with me and we can be best friends and perform the aforementioned activities.
October 4, 2012
A tell-all memoir from self-confessed wild child Marieke Hardy that left me with mixed feelings. She set out to shock, and so I was obediently shocked at some of her stories. Others left me rather cold – we have all had our own adolescent rebellions and yet she seems to cling to this idea of herself, so much so that it could be tying her back and preventing her from growing. The writing was at times fierce, brilliant, and surprising, and I laughed out loud once or twice. However, I was as much saddened as anything by her memoir … lost lovers, lost friends, lost chances. In a way, the power of the book is that I felt such a range of emotions while reading it. In hindsight, I think what remained with me was the razzle-dazzle of her writing and the sense of potential as yet unrealised.
January 17, 2013
The reason I couldn’t read Marieke Hardy’s book is the same reason I don’t watch television. So many disconnected images passing by in the slipstream, as if they have meaning in themselves, but only having meaning if the hooks on them connect with some meaning within ourselves. The few that do for me, have no context or substance within her stream to carry me on to others which make the meaning in any way greater. It is not even a sense of humour to me, and for the very same reason. It is like a constant irritation. I don’t need to go to the chemist for a cream to ease it. Prevention is better than cure in this case, as in many others. I’d enjoy reading her suicide note more.
June 20, 2017
I've wanted to read Marieke's book for a long time now and found it very enjoyable and easy to read. I particularly loved the "YTT" chapter as I too, was madly in love with Joey Dee as a young girl. How could you not with a mullet like his?! 😁
January 9, 2013
Horrible self-indulgent, selfish and not funny. A gen y anthem
January 29, 2012
The first chapter of the book was deceptively easy and too word-playful for my liking. Further essays in this collection of autobiographical essays (some published previously in newspapers and magazines) are a lot more revealing, deep and sad/funny, although with the same approach to perfecting the vocabulary that made me reach for English dictionary (and here I was thinking I covered vast majority of the English words since I first started my journey reading unabridged literature in English!).
Some themes I found so close to my heart (such as the attitude to children "...I just wanted her [the kid] to stop staring at me like Bride of Chucky"), and towards some themes I felt quite indifferent and yet mildly curious (such as Marieke's obsession with Bob Ellis).
Overall, after reading all the subsequent essays (after the first one), I felt respect for Marieke's courage, ability to reveal deep emotions in such a quirky and yet frank and "naked" way, her amazing linguistic aptitude. I always liked her comments on First Tuesday Book Club (Australian monthly TV show on books and authors) and now I will listen to her comments with even more interest.
Some themes I found so close to my heart (such as the attitude to children "...I just wanted her [the kid] to stop staring at me like Bride of Chucky"), and towards some themes I felt quite indifferent and yet mildly curious (such as Marieke's obsession with Bob Ellis).
Overall, after reading all the subsequent essays (after the first one), I felt respect for Marieke's courage, ability to reveal deep emotions in such a quirky and yet frank and "naked" way, her amazing linguistic aptitude. I always liked her comments on First Tuesday Book Club (Australian monthly TV show on books and authors) and now I will listen to her comments with even more interest.
August 12, 2016
Not one for your Mum, well not mine anyway, but I enjoyed peeking into someone elses life stories. I dont usually take to short stories but these read more as chapters than segmented tales. This is a collection of very honest and frank parts of Mariekes life. Those who are written about are allowed the right of the reply, and they all seem quite ok with sharing such intimate details, and if anything just show pride in their friends work.
The stories range from the less than standard dabbling with prostitute threesomes, or a swingers party, to the admitting of a past wrong to her best friend of her youth. This confession no doubt prompted by her friend contacting her on facebook all these years later to ask just what happened..
The stories range from the less than standard dabbling with prostitute threesomes, or a swingers party, to the admitting of a past wrong to her best friend of her youth. This confession no doubt prompted by her friend contacting her on facebook all these years later to ask just what happened..
October 30, 2011
I am the same age as Marieke, and remember watching her in The Henderson Kids all those years ago. I bought the book to read hoping to find out a little about what she has been doing since that time in the 1980's. I was surprised to read about her sex life, the drugs, heavy drinking etc, like that has been her greatest achievement so far. I feel she comes across a little immature, and doesn't really have a nice word to say about anybody that isn't in "The Bubble".This could've been something she wrote when she was in her twenties and not in her mid thirties. Having said that, I still found it an interesting read, and she is an intelligent girl who writes really well.
August 7, 2012
better than i expected. don't let the pinkness of the cover fool you - to me this book looked to be aimed at women but i quite enjoyed it. am now more interested to read more by marieke in frankie or wherever her pieces are published. i found the way she makes everyday, normal scenes really interesting very appealing and quite enjoyed most of the pieces.
May 1, 2016
A book that seems written with poetic humour and honesty. She has lived well and she has lived full and is yet on the cusp of turning 40. I feel this book barey touches the surface. An inspiration, inspired by other inspirational people (including those we outright disagree with at times). Giving opinion to the people, writing the wrongs, enjoying life, achieving great things, encouraging.
October 15, 2011
I bought this last night to read over my weekend of hibernation, finished it this morning. I enjoyed it much more than I expected, I even laughed out loud in parts. It was exactly what I needed, fun and easy to read, like a magazine, only better written.
December 31, 2015
I love how Marieke gives the people she talks about tne chance to respond at the end of each chapter. And reading about her obsession with the Henderson Kids and YTT was definitely a trip down memory lane!
September 12, 2011
This was hilarious and quirky, and very moving. I already loved Marieke but now she is one of my favourite people on the planet. Such a wonderful read :)
March 1, 2012
Self-indulgent, narcissistic. Every new experience she has she faces with drunkenness or scorn. Didn't finish this, waste of time. Ms Hardy, no I won't be sorry.
May 26, 2013
Hooked, completely & totally.
July 25, 2023
I usually enjoy Marieke Hardy but this was self-indulgent dribble with the aim of looking cool. Very disappointed.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 147 reviews