First, I need to say that this boy is 🔥. No lie. I find him to be irreverent, brash and just deliciously sexy. He’s clearly bright, able to think on his feet and projects a certain vulnerability that makes him relatable. I would give any of his performances five stars. Unfortunately, in this book, he comes across as a bit whiny, extraordinarily immature and a poor writer. Sorry, Matt.
I love the fact that Rife laid bare his difficult childhood and allowed us a glimpse into what shaped him to be the man he is today. He admitted to making mistakes as he grew up in front of his fans, but he never seemed to take full responsibility for his missteps. This was particularly glaring in his recounting of “The Joke”. Anyone even vaguely familiar with Rife’s act knows that it is edgy, as he spends the majority of his stage time dancing on the edge of a dime—sometimes embracing and often antagonizing the “woke” crowd. Whilst he is an equal opportunity roaster (women, whites, blacks, those from Ohio…), he sometimes steps over the line of what is just good taste. “The Joke” was a bridge too far, and he knew it. Instead of taking responsibility, he told those who were offended to pretty much fuck off. It was a slap in the face to women who had supported him in his struggle to raise to the rock star status he currently enjoys. I expected to see in these pages a moment of introspection about the entire incident—not necessarily an apology but a humble nod to the fact that it was not his best moment. Consider me schooled.
As for the writing….it was just bland. There was no spark, in spite of the fact that many of the situations he encountered were flame worthy! I felt like he was skimming his life with a shallow net, allowing the reader to know ABOUT the events without helping the reader to experience them. The opportunity to engage the reader through actual “scene” based writing was completely overlooked. Instead of showing the reader, he TOLD the reader. On so many occasions I found myself wanting to hear the details—to experience the sights and sounds of the moment. I wanted to see it play out through his eyes instead of through a dreary narrative. The other issue with this book was the organization of the chapters. They were seemingly all over the place, as if he’d written each, tossed them in the air and published them in the order in which they fell. The continuity simply seemed to be nonexistent as he tried a chronological approach that often meandered into the past before slipping into the future, then finally grabbing the thread of intent with which he began. It was maddening.
While Rife is truly a comic genius, this type of writing is not his lane. He may be able to pen one hell of a joke, but he lacks the maturity in his writing to engage and maintain reader interest. If this was the work of a ghost writer, shame on the editor, agent and publisher for allowing this to go to print without some major rewrites to tighten up. I’m no less a fan than I was before I pushed through this, but it didn’t gain Rife any points as a Renaissance man. I fear instead he may be a one trick pony, a comedian who should leave writing anything other than jokes to the professionals, but damn, what a pony he is!