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The Reenactments
For Nick Flynn, that game we all play—the who-would-play-you-in-the-movie-of-your-life game—has been answered. The Reenactments is the story of adapting Flynn's memoir, Another Bullshit Night in Suck City, into a film called Being Flynn. It is also a searing meditation on consciousness, representation, and grief. Flynn describes the surreal experience of being on set during the reenactments of the central events of his life: his father s long run of homelessness and the suicide of his mother. He tells the story of Robert De Niro's first meeting with his father in Boston and of watching Julianne Moore attempt to throw herself into the sea. Expanding on the themes raised by these reenactments, Flynn weaves in meditations on the enigmatic Glass Flowers exhibition at Harvard University, alongside Ramachandran's experiments with sufferers of phantom limb syndrome, to create a compelling argument about the eternal nature of grief.
320 pages, Paperback
First published January 7, 2013
12 people are currently reading
1185 people want to read
About the author
Nick Flynn
53 books386 followersNick Flynn is an American writer, playwright, and poet.
Librarian Note: There is more than one author in the GoodReads database with this name. See this thread for more information.
Librarian Note: There is more than one author in the GoodReads database with this name. See this thread for more information.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 61 reviews
December 12, 2016
Really enjoyed Nick Flynn’s Another Bullshit Night in Suck City. Actually, I thought it was fantastic! However, I was a bit reluctant to pick up The Reenactments. The blurb for The Reenactments claims, “For Nick Flynn, that game we all play—the who-would-play-you-in-the-movie-of-your-life game—has been answered. The Reenactments is the story of adapting Flynn's memoir, Another Bullshit Night in Suck City, into a film called Being Flynn.” That description didn’t really pique my interest and, truth be told, I wasn’t a big fan of the movie. But Flynn masterfully turns this game on its head. The Reenactments is only superficially about watching some film version of Flynn’s (or anyone’s) life. More interestingly, memory competes with reenactment here. If you could have actors depict significant scenes out of your life, how would you feel about being called on as source material, and what scenes would you choose as decisive? Which one, memory flickering inside your skull or reenactment has more power to tug at your emotion? Can you be drawn into a scene even if it differs from reality? This analysis has a meditative quality which really works. Finally, in this memoir, Flynn’s relationship with his father which was so central to Suck City continues to evolve. This was much more interesting than I’d thought it would be although I think it would lose something for those who haven’t read Another Bullshit Night in Suck City.
April 15, 2013
This is one of the most intense books I have ever read. But it's almost like it isn't trying to be intense; it's written in these short little snips—a quote here, a paragraph there, a page and a half next—flowing from subject to subject, at a constant remove, an increasing-then-releasing philosophical distance, twisting in and around on itself (what a perfect cover design, BTW), yanking you into and out of its intensity so many times that it leaves you breathless.
This is Nick Flynn's memoir of co-producing a movie based on his previous memoir, Another Bullshit Night in Suck City. So it's a memoir of a memoir of a memoir. Which, I don't really think that's ever been done before, has it?
And the original memoir—to give the briefest, most reductive summary—is about Nick's time, after his mother's suicide, of becoming an alcoholic and drug addict, of living alone on a boat, of working in a homeless shelter for years until the day that his father, whom he hasn't seen in like a decade, wanders in in search of a room. It then proceeds to catalogue several years in the lives of Nick and his father (delusions of grandeur, a frightening mess, often psychotic and abusive and always unstable). Dad getting kicked out of the shelter (again) for being psychotic and abusive and unstable, Nick finding Dad sleeping on the street in the snow, Nick finding Dad a apartment, Dad crumbling and crazying further, Nick stumbling through his own erratic love life and consuming addictions, on and on and on.
Here is the question that this book asks, that the writing of this book and the living of its story forced the writer through: What would it be like to watch a movie being made of your life?
For most of us: disassociating and megalomaniac probably, in turns.
But what would it be like to watch a movie being made, say, of your mother's suicide and your dubious self-distancing from your father's dissolution? What if you had to not just watch Julianne Moore read your mother's suicide note and then shoot herself in the chest, but then give her notes on the tone of her voice, the quaver in the hand with which she holds the pen, the gun? What if you had to listen to the cruelest, most damning things your father ever screamed at you spew forth from the mouth of Robert De Niro, after bringing him to visit the shelter you once were complicit in kicking your father out of? What if you had to tell the props mistress what the pipe you used to smoke crack out of looked like, to hold its replica in your hand, after years of being clean and sober? How could you live through reliving the rawest, most harrowing moments of your life, your deepest sorrows actualized before you, take after take after take?
Does that give you some small idea about the intensity of this book?
And that's not all, not by a long long way. The book is also a thematic triptych, with the two other prongs being 1) an endlessly unspooling meditation on psychological and physical trauma and the recovery from same, with quotes and asides from literature, from history, from philosophy, and 2) the history of a glass-blowing family whose life's work was to make, out of glass, all the flowers in the (then-)known world—many of which are still on display in a museum in Boston where Nick's mom used to bring him as a child.
Around and around and around.
I only just closed the book minutes ago, so forgive me if I'm still reeling, still catching my breath, still parsing my overflowed emotions. I haven't yet gone back to reread all the gorgeous sentences I underlined, all the brain-twisting paragraphs I circled for return and reflection, all the heart-rending pages I dog-eared to quote from while trying to explain what a fiercely horrifying and spectacularly affecting book this is. I don't think I can go back in just yet. I will soon, I suppose, once the shimmer has worn off—but for now I'm going to go ride my bike around in the dark and try to process.
This is Nick Flynn's memoir of co-producing a movie based on his previous memoir, Another Bullshit Night in Suck City. So it's a memoir of a memoir of a memoir. Which, I don't really think that's ever been done before, has it?
And the original memoir—to give the briefest, most reductive summary—is about Nick's time, after his mother's suicide, of becoming an alcoholic and drug addict, of living alone on a boat, of working in a homeless shelter for years until the day that his father, whom he hasn't seen in like a decade, wanders in in search of a room. It then proceeds to catalogue several years in the lives of Nick and his father (delusions of grandeur, a frightening mess, often psychotic and abusive and always unstable). Dad getting kicked out of the shelter (again) for being psychotic and abusive and unstable, Nick finding Dad sleeping on the street in the snow, Nick finding Dad a apartment, Dad crumbling and crazying further, Nick stumbling through his own erratic love life and consuming addictions, on and on and on.
Here is the question that this book asks, that the writing of this book and the living of its story forced the writer through: What would it be like to watch a movie being made of your life?
For most of us: disassociating and megalomaniac probably, in turns.
But what would it be like to watch a movie being made, say, of your mother's suicide and your dubious self-distancing from your father's dissolution? What if you had to not just watch Julianne Moore read your mother's suicide note and then shoot herself in the chest, but then give her notes on the tone of her voice, the quaver in the hand with which she holds the pen, the gun? What if you had to listen to the cruelest, most damning things your father ever screamed at you spew forth from the mouth of Robert De Niro, after bringing him to visit the shelter you once were complicit in kicking your father out of? What if you had to tell the props mistress what the pipe you used to smoke crack out of looked like, to hold its replica in your hand, after years of being clean and sober? How could you live through reliving the rawest, most harrowing moments of your life, your deepest sorrows actualized before you, take after take after take?
Does that give you some small idea about the intensity of this book?
And that's not all, not by a long long way. The book is also a thematic triptych, with the two other prongs being 1) an endlessly unspooling meditation on psychological and physical trauma and the recovery from same, with quotes and asides from literature, from history, from philosophy, and 2) the history of a glass-blowing family whose life's work was to make, out of glass, all the flowers in the (then-)known world—many of which are still on display in a museum in Boston where Nick's mom used to bring him as a child.
Around and around and around.
I only just closed the book minutes ago, so forgive me if I'm still reeling, still catching my breath, still parsing my overflowed emotions. I haven't yet gone back to reread all the gorgeous sentences I underlined, all the brain-twisting paragraphs I circled for return and reflection, all the heart-rending pages I dog-eared to quote from while trying to explain what a fiercely horrifying and spectacularly affecting book this is. I don't think I can go back in just yet. I will soon, I suppose, once the shimmer has worn off—but for now I'm going to go ride my bike around in the dark and try to process.
February 26, 2013
Genius. I think Nick Flynn is my spirit animal.
January 5, 2013
I received a free copy of this book through Goodreads First Reads.
Having not read the original memoir I was unsure what to expect. This is a delightful series of short entries of the author on set of the making of the movie of his previous memoir! It is am engaging read with quick passages. It almost feels you are a part of the process. Now that I finished the book I think I need to check out the movie...and his first memoir!
Having not read the original memoir I was unsure what to expect. This is a delightful series of short entries of the author on set of the making of the movie of his previous memoir! It is am engaging read with quick passages. It almost feels you are a part of the process. Now that I finished the book I think I need to check out the movie...and his first memoir!
December 10, 2012
as with nick flynn's other major prose works, the reenactments is a compelling, vignette-style memoir. flynn's 2004 another bullshit night in suck city was adapted into a film (being flynn) earlier this year, starring robert de niro, julianne moore, and paul dano as the young poet. the reenactments recounts flynn's time spent on set during production, where he engaged with the actors and witnessed the dramatized retelling of two of his life's most consequential events (meeting his father at a homeless shelter and the suicide of his mother). interspersed throughout the work are flynn's meditative musings on memory, sorrow, and struggle, inspired by literary, scientific, and philosophical asides. the reenactments, like much of flynn's autobiographical writing, is noteworthy for its insights on tenderness, tragedy, and the ways in which suffering often leads to greater awareness of the other. flynn's writing, per usual, is beautifully composed and achingly honest.
the urn that holds the ashes might be hand-carved, but the ash will always turn to paste in your throat.
July 15, 2018
Wow. This was the first of Nick Flynn’s books I’ve read and am now hunting among my dozen+ bookshelves to find his first memoir, which I bought some time back and never read. Flynn writes flawlessly. While the making of a movie out of a book has to feel amazing, it mostly brings back difficult memories for the author and he writes deeply and with emotion about his journey. It takes a near-perfect writer to be able to jump around, invoking philosophers and scientists throughout, seamlessly tying it all into his book - into his internal struggles. This author found a place on a small shelf of mine reserved for the most outstanding books I’ve ever read.
May 10, 2018
Memory, mental images, suicide, Glass Flowers, an impossible father, homelessness, a curious infant, no catharsis, Hollywood.
Poetic, layered, intense. Not easy reading, a work of art.
Poetic, layered, intense. Not easy reading, a work of art.
October 24, 2017
3.5 stars. I loved the style of this memoir most. Also keen to read/ see more of Flynn's work
September 11, 2018
If you have read Nick Flynn's other book, "Another Bullshit Night in Suck City," and liked it, you should read this. It is about the making of the movie and the author's having to view a dramatization of his own life being made. It's interesting.
July 21, 2016
Inspiration is a funny thing. Last week I saw and adored Swiss Army Man. Because of that, I’ve started watching every Paul Dano movie I can find. One of those is Being Flynn, the film adaptation of Another Bullshit Night in Suck City by Nick Flynn. But I’m not reading that. I’m reading The Reenactments, Nick Flynn’s musings on the process of making the adaptation.
I feel like I got in deep in a very short span of time.
I read this book in an even shorter span of time - just now, in one sitting
The concept is fascinating, though it can hardly be new. Nicky Flynn is not the first person to have a hand in a film about his life, and he can’t be the first one to have experienced trauma. He’s the first one whose account I’ve read, though, and I was enthralled by it.
It feels more like an essay sometimes than a memoir, with enough brief dips into theory and psychology to make me feel stupid for not catching them all but lofty for having enough background to at least catch the drift. Some are to the purpose of examination. Some seem to be more just the working vocabulary of the extremely well-read - he references Anne Carson’s introduction of her translation of Electra to describe how Julianne Moore screams in a particular take.
At least I know who Anne Carson is.
I only saw Being Flynn a few days ago, which I think is the way to read this. Everything felt fresh and vital - it was almost indulgent to read something so particular about something I’d just experienced. (Which is maybe an outrageously dulled-down echo of the book itself).
I also picked up Another Bullshit Night in Suck City from the library. Maybe I’ll read it, or maybe I’ll give it some time. Three views of the same story in one week might be a bit much.
I feel like I got in deep in a very short span of time.
I read this book in an even shorter span of time - just now, in one sitting
The concept is fascinating, though it can hardly be new. Nicky Flynn is not the first person to have a hand in a film about his life, and he can’t be the first one to have experienced trauma. He’s the first one whose account I’ve read, though, and I was enthralled by it.
It feels more like an essay sometimes than a memoir, with enough brief dips into theory and psychology to make me feel stupid for not catching them all but lofty for having enough background to at least catch the drift. Some are to the purpose of examination. Some seem to be more just the working vocabulary of the extremely well-read - he references Anne Carson’s introduction of her translation of Electra to describe how Julianne Moore screams in a particular take.
At least I know who Anne Carson is.
I only saw Being Flynn a few days ago, which I think is the way to read this. Everything felt fresh and vital - it was almost indulgent to read something so particular about something I’d just experienced. (Which is maybe an outrageously dulled-down echo of the book itself).
I also picked up Another Bullshit Night in Suck City from the library. Maybe I’ll read it, or maybe I’ll give it some time. Three views of the same story in one week might be a bit much.
September 13, 2013
I have read everything Nick Flynn has written, and loved Another Bullshit Night in Suck City so much. I felt that somehow he had written my memoir, trumped me, even though the family roles were mixed up. I enjoyed the movie but loved the book so much more, so when I saw this book, a memoir of the making of the movie, it was a no-brainer. I started and finished it in one day.
It's beautiful. As one of his blurbers said, only poets should write memoir (though I might quibble with that "only"). But she's right that the poet gets at the inarticulable stuff in between. This book is pure Nick Flynn, as he circles around and goes into other things, bringing them into the orbit in a way that illuminates EVERYTHING. He talks about glass flowers. He talks about consciousness research and theory. He talks about Ramachandran's phantom limb work with mirrors to relieve the pain. And those things deeply expand the story of making the movie, of his mother's suicide.
When I read anything he writes, my book ends up with about 1/3 of the sentences highlighted, maybe more. I read this book on a long flight and had to keep putting it down, collecting myself, gathering myself, wiping away tears, clutching my chest. If I hadn't had a window seat, I'd have been up and walking around, trying to absorb and hold the insights. Some were so personal to me (my father shot himself when I was the same age as Nick) that the highlighted passages might not mean as much to others, but I'll be posting some of my favorite quotes later. For now I just want to sit with the book, sit with the deep hurt, sit with the loss, sit with his (and my) heartbroken effort to repair the wound, his intelligence and depth. This was a wonderful book, one I'll read again and again.
It's beautiful. As one of his blurbers said, only poets should write memoir (though I might quibble with that "only"). But she's right that the poet gets at the inarticulable stuff in between. This book is pure Nick Flynn, as he circles around and goes into other things, bringing them into the orbit in a way that illuminates EVERYTHING. He talks about glass flowers. He talks about consciousness research and theory. He talks about Ramachandran's phantom limb work with mirrors to relieve the pain. And those things deeply expand the story of making the movie, of his mother's suicide.
When I read anything he writes, my book ends up with about 1/3 of the sentences highlighted, maybe more. I read this book on a long flight and had to keep putting it down, collecting myself, gathering myself, wiping away tears, clutching my chest. If I hadn't had a window seat, I'd have been up and walking around, trying to absorb and hold the insights. Some were so personal to me (my father shot himself when I was the same age as Nick) that the highlighted passages might not mean as much to others, but I'll be posting some of my favorite quotes later. For now I just want to sit with the book, sit with the deep hurt, sit with the loss, sit with his (and my) heartbroken effort to repair the wound, his intelligence and depth. This was a wonderful book, one I'll read again and again.
May 29, 2015
I have a problem with memoirs on addiction and mental health issues, especially when told through the prism of the author's family history/structure. The problem is that I will read every last one of them.
Nick Flynn is absolutely a favorite. Five years ago I read Another Bullshit Night in Suck City, his debut memoir. His story is, frankly, absurd, in a "you can't make this shit up" way. And yet he handles its telling with such precision!. I read his second memoir, The Ticking Is the Bomb, a few years later. The Ticking was good--dark and quite sharp--but his first book had become so dear to me that his second unfortunately made less of an impression.
The Reenactments is Flynn's third memoir. Third memoir? Are you groaning yet? Stop, because this book is actually good as hell. On its face, this book is about the author's debut memoir being made into a major motion picture. Yet Flynn uses the story of the filming of this movie as a base to discuss and gently prod at the neurological and psychological underpinnings of memory, while also diving backwards into remembrances of his past which the process of filming (not to mention his director's insistence that Flynn evaluate settings and scenes to see if anything's missing, if he's "got anything") triggers. There are also jumps in the story to explore Flynn's relationship with this young daughter and his father's worsening health.
This book was great, even though (or especially because) it was responsible for the development of some pits in my stomach. I'm always eager to read more of Nick Flynn's work, and I'm going to make it a point to check some of his poetry out of the library.
Nick Flynn is absolutely a favorite. Five years ago I read Another Bullshit Night in Suck City, his debut memoir. His story is, frankly, absurd, in a "you can't make this shit up" way. And yet he handles its telling with such precision!. I read his second memoir, The Ticking Is the Bomb, a few years later. The Ticking was good--dark and quite sharp--but his first book had become so dear to me that his second unfortunately made less of an impression.
The Reenactments is Flynn's third memoir. Third memoir? Are you groaning yet? Stop, because this book is actually good as hell. On its face, this book is about the author's debut memoir being made into a major motion picture. Yet Flynn uses the story of the filming of this movie as a base to discuss and gently prod at the neurological and psychological underpinnings of memory, while also diving backwards into remembrances of his past which the process of filming (not to mention his director's insistence that Flynn evaluate settings and scenes to see if anything's missing, if he's "got anything") triggers. There are also jumps in the story to explore Flynn's relationship with this young daughter and his father's worsening health.
This book was great, even though (or especially because) it was responsible for the development of some pits in my stomach. I'm always eager to read more of Nick Flynn's work, and I'm going to make it a point to check some of his poetry out of the library.
March 25, 2013
I think is my favorite prose work by Nick Flynn. The book is written on so many levels that I am certain that each time I read it I will see something new (and learn something new about myself).
The chapters are all very short - the longest being maybe four pages and shortest being only a few words. If you have read all of his non-fiction, you can see a progression and a synthesis of style "The Reenactments," which uses the making of "Being Flynn" as the unifying element into which he weaves memory and research to give us a book that investigates that inner movie that each of us watches within our own mind.
I really enjoy Flynn's writing style, which I'm sure is not for everyone. I like the way that he looks at the world, and also the way that he connects disparate things in ways that only poets can in order to reveal those thoughts to us.
I happen to be a fan of Richard Brautigan, and I would suggest this book to anyone else who is. I think that Flynn's writing is much more polished than Brautigan, and perhaps more nuanced, but for me at least, I get the same joy in seeing the world in odd angles from Flynn as I do from Brautigan.
The chapters are all very short - the longest being maybe four pages and shortest being only a few words. If you have read all of his non-fiction, you can see a progression and a synthesis of style "The Reenactments," which uses the making of "Being Flynn" as the unifying element into which he weaves memory and research to give us a book that investigates that inner movie that each of us watches within our own mind.
I really enjoy Flynn's writing style, which I'm sure is not for everyone. I like the way that he looks at the world, and also the way that he connects disparate things in ways that only poets can in order to reveal those thoughts to us.
I happen to be a fan of Richard Brautigan, and I would suggest this book to anyone else who is. I think that Flynn's writing is much more polished than Brautigan, and perhaps more nuanced, but for me at least, I get the same joy in seeing the world in odd angles from Flynn as I do from Brautigan.
January 3, 2013
I think Nick Flynn is a remarkable writer. I recommend his book(s) without reservation simply because his turns of phrase, his minimalist style, and his thoughtfulness always impress me. And yet, I reluctantly give this book two stars because I couldn’t connect with it like I did his two previous memoirs. I couldn’t picture the Agassiz exhibits that housed such a large portion of his childhood memories. I wasn’t enamored with the glass flowers, or as intrigued by how the mind is shaped by memories. His descriptions of watching his life story being filmed in front of him were engaging, but overall, I kind of slogged through, appreciating many an individual sentence, but rarely the larger metaphor. I really loved the Ticking of the Bomb-it worked for me in ways that the Reenactments decidedly did not. It was almost too meta – a book about a filming of a book about trying to find his father’s book? It just didn’t translate as well as I had hoped. Still, I look forward to whatever he writes next.
November 9, 2017
How to describe this book? A first-person study of the psychology of grief? As seen in the making of a movie starring Robert DeNiro and Julianne Moore? Nick Flynn's "memoir" is much more and much less than that. This is no emotional, chronological narrative of his mother's suicide and his dad's raging alcoholism. Instead, it's a pointillistic portrait of these key triggers in his life, and his attempts to reconcile them with his life today, set against the "real" scenes being filmed about those moments. Flynn sets an intensely personal experience into a larger study of grief, family dysfunction and recovery in a wide-open frame that readers can enter wherever and however they can.
March 13, 2013
I've never read anything like "The Reenactments," Nick Flynn's memoir about the making of "Being Flynn," which was based on his book "Another Bullshit Night in Suck City" (possibly the most compelling title ever...)
Flynn combines the surreal nature of watching a movie being made about some of the most tragic moments of his life, while reliving those moments--while reading philosophical and scientific studies on the nature of memory. It all gets jumbled up into a gumbo that's part memoir, part philosophy and completely engrossing.
Flynn combines the surreal nature of watching a movie being made about some of the most tragic moments of his life, while reliving those moments--while reading philosophical and scientific studies on the nature of memory. It all gets jumbled up into a gumbo that's part memoir, part philosophy and completely engrossing.
March 28, 2013
A fascinating, lyrical reflection on the author's life, memories of that life, and the writing and filming that allowed him to re-experience those memories. Flynn wraps his mind around the complexities of difficult subject matter (the suicide of his mother, his father's homelessness, his own psychological obstacles, the movie Being Flynn--which is about all of this) with candor, philosophical and scientific scrutiny, as well as poetic beauty. This book will make you think in ways you normally don't. A fantastic read.
July 13, 2013
The initial project, as the book presents itself, is fascinating--a book that gets meta multiple times removed. It's filled with fascinating thoughts on neurobiology, on trauma, on memory and how it preserves itself. The book never lags, and its moments of brilliance are unforgettable--Flynn's father asking De Niro, "So you do a little acting?" and the final scene in the book particularly stand out.
January 19, 2016
Filled with interesting anecdotes about the nature of consciousness, impressions from his childhood, and the shadows of his troubled parents, memory and fiction come together in this memoir by Nick Flynn as he observes the movie about his life being filmed in real time. For any fan of Maggie Nelson and her work, Nick Flynn is an easy recommendation. He is, as I'm told, the man in the blue shirt in 'Bluets.'
June 7, 2017
I've read most of Flynn's work. It tends to be dark and haunting, as to be expected dealing with suicide. This memoir was still dark and haunting but it felt more like Nick accepting what has happened in his past as opposed to allowing it to control his life. A great read if your a fan of Flynn's writing.
January 2, 2017
Don't go into this book expecting a behind-the-scenes peek at how movies get made. Ostensibly, that's the point of The Reenactments (author Nick Flynn serves as a consultant on a major motion picture based on his two memoirs), but this book is actually about the deeper, lyrical, spiritual meaning of events around the author, rather than the events themselves.
It's written in Nick's trademark style -- even though I read Another Bullshit Night in Suck City more than four years ago, I instantly recognized Flynn's prose -- so it feels more like an extended poem than a novel. Which, I suppose, is the point: Flynn has a knack for filtering already-extraordinary moments through a lens of awe and armchair psychology. Certainly, helping to make a movie about your own life is a weird-enough undertaking, but Flynn finds a way to wring even more meaning and existentialism out of it.
That being said, I kinda wanted a lighter, juicier explanation of what it feels like to watch Julianne Moore portray your mother on the day of her dramatic suicide, or what a mindf*ck it is to see Robert DeNiro "become" your alcoholic, megalomaniacal father (who is still alive, BTW). Flynn gives us poetry, but by diving so deep, it feels like he missed some exciting details on the surface layers.
This is not a bad book, by any means; it's exactly the kind of book you'd expect from this author... but not quite what I wanted from him.
It's written in Nick's trademark style -- even though I read Another Bullshit Night in Suck City more than four years ago, I instantly recognized Flynn's prose -- so it feels more like an extended poem than a novel. Which, I suppose, is the point: Flynn has a knack for filtering already-extraordinary moments through a lens of awe and armchair psychology. Certainly, helping to make a movie about your own life is a weird-enough undertaking, but Flynn finds a way to wring even more meaning and existentialism out of it.
That being said, I kinda wanted a lighter, juicier explanation of what it feels like to watch Julianne Moore portray your mother on the day of her dramatic suicide, or what a mindf*ck it is to see Robert DeNiro "become" your alcoholic, megalomaniacal father (who is still alive, BTW). Flynn gives us poetry, but by diving so deep, it feels like he missed some exciting details on the surface layers.
This is not a bad book, by any means; it's exactly the kind of book you'd expect from this author... but not quite what I wanted from him.
August 1, 2018
First I was lucky enough to hear Nick Flynn read at Goddard College this summer, and then I read his memoir about working in a homeless shelter in Boston-- a book also about his father, unhoused for years and later a client at the same shelter where Flynn worked. I highly recommend this book, originally titled "Another Bullshit Night in Suck City" and retitled "Being Flynn." I was even more forcefully affected by "The Reenactments," which is about memory, filmmaking, Flynn's parents, suicide, brain science, addiction, and the exhibit of antique hand-blown glass flowers at the Harvard Museum of Natural History. Among many other strong writerly qualities, Flynn offers precision without sacrificing complexity and ambiguity. I think this is why I felt hope, even elation, along with vivid sorrow while devouring the brief sections that accumulate to this three hundred page book. (Also, I should mention that there are movie stars.) Read it.
June 30, 2020
I purchased The Reenactments at a reading. The book is a memoir about Flynn's thoughts while on the set of Being Flynn. Having read Another Night in Suck City and seen the resulting movie, I was intrigued by how Flynn could write a memoir about making a movie about his memoir without simply cannibalizing his own work. How many reiterations about a chapter in one's life can be captured and remain fresh? I had to find out.
I was so pleased to see Flynn elevate his experiences one more time. The story is like reading Flynn's journal and poetically presents the meanderings of his consciousness while weaving philosophy, history and psychology into observations on set. There is wisdom, gut-wrenching feelings and insights. He neatly ties them together and left me wanting to sit with him on a bench and discuss pain, setting boundaries, and how we, as writers, traverse this insane world.
I was so pleased to see Flynn elevate his experiences one more time. The story is like reading Flynn's journal and poetically presents the meanderings of his consciousness while weaving philosophy, history and psychology into observations on set. There is wisdom, gut-wrenching feelings and insights. He neatly ties them together and left me wanting to sit with him on a bench and discuss pain, setting boundaries, and how we, as writers, traverse this insane world.
September 16, 2020
This book was unexpected, even though I have read others by Flynn, which I also adored. This one, however, it lingered; it lingers still in my mind and on my heart. The words are genius, but the gentle pacing, the amazing way he unfolds the story, the riveting details and allusions kept me glued to the page. Because I often read over my lunch hour, the constructions of the chapters in this book were perfect form for reading, thinking, and digesting before moving to the next page. I absolutely love this book. In theory, it's "about" the making of his previous memoir into a movie. In fact, though, it's not really about that at all. I literally starting softly crying on the one page that had a teensy illustration: his mother's chair that he has carted around with him all these years. Brilliant. Another book I will read over and over.
July 1, 2021
I started reading Nick's work with his poetry collection "I Will Destroy You" (he did). Then I read "Another Bullshit Night in Suck City," which became the movie "Being Flynn" which is what this super meta book is about. In this memoir, he writes about making a movie of the book he wrote about his life and the psychological impact of watching traumatic events from his life be reworked and acted out on a set. He writes in bite sized excerpts, most are less than a page and none are longer than two, which really worked for me. A few of the excerpts got a little too heady into the philosophy and psychology of identity for my taste. Not that I don't appreciate the topic, I just found his personal thoughts and experiences to be much more engaging than academic references. I have been wanting to see "Being Flynn" even though I've heard it isn't awesome, and after reading this I am going to.
October 14, 2025
Not as compelling as “Another Bullshit Night in Suck City,” but nonetheless a really good memoir – heartfelt, intellectually challenging, and unique. The basis of the book is the author's experience of having his first memoir filmed, and the painful and not-necessarily-reliable memories sparked by watching actors playing his parents at pivotal moments in his life. There is no doubt that Flynn is a complex, incredibly talented man, and his writing about memories and grief is equally complex, layered, and moving.
January 12, 2021
This memoir has a fragmented feel. It lives in a space between the film and how Flynn is seeing him and his parents being portrayed in the film. How odd must it be to see yourself in other people who are acting like you? This is what Flynn is experiencing. He also talks about the difficulties of making a film and having the budget and support to do so. Flynn's language and his gift for putting the reader within the scenes is admirable.
September 19, 2020
Another deeply beautiful lyric memoir from my favorite author/poet Nick Flynn. In this he manages to dig into the nature of how we process trauma, looking at it from a variety of angles, as a movie is being made of his first memoir Another BullshitNight in Suck City. This has a lifetime of concepts and revelations and reenactments to think about. It won't leave me anytime soon.
November 20, 2020
Somewhere right between a good memoir and a great one, told in Flynn's trademark brooding lyrical style. Some profound observations on identity, memory, and loss. And it's as relatable as a memoir about watching the making of a film based on your life in which Robert DeNiro is playing your father could reasonably hope to be to the average reader.
May 8, 2020
but a 3 w sentimentality
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