No Direction Home reads like the first draft of a truly great book.
Bob Shelton was personally acquainted with Dylan, wrote the review that helped Dylan get his first recording contract, was given Dylan’s official blessing with the project, interviewed all the important figures in Dylan’s early years—parents, siblings, love interests—and yet, with such a store of quality material, he did not manage to get his biography published until 1986, more than two decades after he started.
One would think that, with all that time to digest his material, he would have at least have whipped it into shape. Nevertheless, the book still reads like a spirited compilation of field notes, and sort of trails off after Dylan’s famous 1966 motorcycle accident, summing up two decades in a mad rush.
It is a testament to Shelton, then, that despite these serious shortcomings, the book is still both entertaining and rewarding. Whatever he lacks in analysis and thoroughness, he makes up for with the doggedness of a reporter and the enthusiasm of a genuine fan. He clearly loves Dylan’s music and considers him to be nothing less than the American Shakespeare. The quest to understand genius is what drives him.
Though the book skims the 1970s and 80s, Shelton’s coverage of Dylan’s childhood—a period that Dylan himself does not like to discuss—is excellent, as Dylan gave him permission to talk to his family. He paints a vivid picture of Dylan’s arrival in New York City and his rise to fame, having had consistent access to Dylan during this pivotal time. The climax of the book is undoubtedly during a plane ride shortly before Dylan’s accident. Shelton comes along and the weary performer talks and talks into the journalist’s microphone, giving a kind of verbal performance that Shelton dutifully transcribes. It feels almost like a private conversation.
Shelton is an energetic writer who, admittedly, sometimes lapses into bad taste: “He was majoring in music with advances seminars in coffeehouses, minoring in radical lifestyles, doing seminars in scene-making, preparing for graduate work in Woody Guthrie.” But at his best, he writes with the vivid immediacy of an eyewitness. I often had trouble putting the book down.
Dylan comes across as… well, Bob Dylan. He is a difficult man to pin down: saintly, rude, selfish, lazy, hardworking, confessional, private, abstract, literal, sociable, withdrawn, political, apolitical… If this book has any theme, it is that Dylan’s fans have tried to put him in a box from the very beginning, and Dylan has done all he can to avoid these labels. While this wariness might have been a weakness in a lesser artist—unable to commit to anything, and thus lacking identity—it is what has allowed Dylan to become one of America’s great artists, existing on his own terms. It does make him prickly and frustrating, though.