"You all know how black humor started? It started on slave ships. Cat was rowing and dude says, 'What you laughing about?' He said, 'Yesterday, I was king.'"
Richard Pryor. That was one of the Big Names that I heard of when I got into stand-up comedy when I was a teenager. By that point Pryor hadn't done any stand up in years, but his work in the 70's was legendary. I also saw some of his movies of course, like Blue Collar (which he barely talks about in the book but shows incredible dramatic depth) and Lady Sings the Blues (hell, even in The Mack he's great, which he underrated as a low-budget exploitation pic, but I digress). He's the kind of dude that is actually funnier now than when I was younger - though the silly shit is always silly shit - as I've lived more of a life and understood more things about people, race, gender, sex, etc.
This book is some dark, depressing shit about a man who just wanted to look for some sunshine and flowers, and got completely fucked up along the way.
It's not a great book - maybe a few too many if the italicized quotes from his act, albeit they are there for a purpose, usually, which is to highlight how much the truth of his act bled into the truth of his life, as an artist of course it's kind of essential probably - but the pages went by quickly and there was a some humor along the way. It's mostly a tome of how the darkness and despair, of being beaten and (at one point) molested as a kid didn't fuck up a little silly kid from Peoria, despite (or because of) the whorehouses and the players and gamblers and weirdos, it all informed him for later in life.... or rather, they did fuck him up, but he persevered just barely to spin it all into the absurd, which is a gift.
There are some things that could have gone on longer. The book is a breeze to read through - read it in a day, which for a 250 page book isn't common for me - but he only briefly mentions his kids, when they were born at any rate, or about the conflicts with his family as they, as Pryor says, loved his riches and obviously got comfortable from his profits, but still treated him (at least he felt) like the dumb little kid who got raised by his grandmother instead of his actual parents.
Maybe it's for the best though; the book is really the story of a drug addict, or just an addict in general, and when it comes to addiction you only break the pattern or else it breaks you, I suppose. Pryor's candidness and matter-of-fact bluntness carries a lot of the book in such fascinating detail. Of course there's only so many times you can read about a dude doing cocaine, but in a way that's what makes the book so compulsively readable and interesting: even without knowing, say, that he set himself on fire while high out of his mind, or drove all of his (ex) wives crazy but ended up going back to them, you want to find out how, if any, redemption can come.
For a motherfucker like Pryor, redemption wasn't really easy, or wanted most of the time, except for those bits of clarity. Or the MS. Yeah, definitely the MS.
I actually rate this 3 1/2 stars or something - after a point, the repetition gets to be too much. But two things keep it worth reading and a good book: Pryor never loses his sense of humor, as dark and fucked up as it is (and the section on MS is actually quite funny even as he is a sad puddle of his former self), and he doesn't ever go too long in a section about being a sob story. He is clear eyed about his fuck ups, knows them well, but the artistic side isn't diminished either. I got a good strong sense about what his goals were as a comedian, as a performer, and he doesn't mince words about the bullshit he put up with in his career. Ultimately, the thing to take away from such a book is: ain't it something the guy is still alive? (at the time anyway, he died in 2005)