Spoiler alert!!! If you're looking for a book that paints a spectacular picture of a figure of fin de siecle Paris, this book is for you. Lennon's narrative is hyperbolic, grossly under-researched, disgustingly barren of references, and is horribly inaccurate--she obscures the facts of Jarry's life and the premiere of "Ubu Roi" in just about every respect in this book. Her purpose was obviously to champion Jarry as a rebellious figure of the late-nineteenth, early-twentieth century, because nothing else can be ascertained from this junk-heap of celebratory nonsense. So, if you can pardon her misinformed, misguided, and misrepresenting "biography" of Jarry, I commend you for your ignorance, and say, "I'm glad you made it through the book."
Seriously though, if you're looking for a mythical iconoclastic persona to idolize, an introduction to Jarry through this book will certainly give you what you're looking for. When I was an undergraduate, I would have believed everything Lennon says. Now that I know better, I can see why Lennon wrote what she did and how she could get away with it, but know it all to be founded on baseless anecdotes and false tales from people who knew or purported to know Jarry. Jarry's life and works remain perplexing and unresolved to even the most learned and expert scholars, because the guy was a brilliant prankster. Why couldn't his ultimate prank be to make us all, 100+ years after his death, take him seriously and believe him to be worth writing about?