All three volume of Clive James's sharp and funny autiobiography where first we meet the young Clive James - dressed in shorts and growing up in post-war Sydney. With "Falling Towards England", we find Clive living in a Swiss Cottage B&B, where he practises the Twist, anticipates poetical masterpieces he's yet to compose, and worries about his wardrobe. Finally "May Week was in June" sees Clive at Cambridge University, where he enthusiastically involves himself in college life (generally female lives) until May week - not only in June but also a fortnight long - when he gets married. The rest is history, or awaiting a fourth volume of memoirs.
Really enjoyed the childhood memoir and the wonderful descriptions of post-war Australia. The other 2 books seemed to dwell on how poor, cold, and smart he was and I lost interest. +++
The above are the few words I wrote when I read this many years ago. Clive is so highly regarded, I often feel I should give him another go, but he has always irritated me for some reason. What we used to call "too clever by half".
Now that he's just died, I'm sure there will be a new crop of readers, so I look forward to their opinions.
James can really write, and he is - of course - funny. He can be a bit hard on himself at times (probably with good reason) although difficult to know how much has been changed to protect people. Probably bad idea to read the whole book, which is a compendium of 3 books, all in one go; should've read other books between each.
Now I need to track down and read everything else he has written.
Possibly the only book which has left both my husband and me literally prostrate with laughter. And no, I'm not abusing the word "literally" there: we ended up on the floor at one point.
The Cambridge bits appealed to me particularly, and I'm relieved to see that I'm not the only person to have fallen in that gutter outside Pembroke.
In some ways, this book deserves more stars, particularly some of the boyhood stories. But as he ‘matures’ I like him less. His attitude towards women is disturbing. There is an underlying conceit that doesn’t sit well with me either. I only read Book 1, I have no interest in reading further.
I knew Clive James for his comedy - my father was a fan of his, and we would always watch the Postcard From series if it happened to be on TV. I didn't know James was also a poet, and I had no idea that he could write like this. His trilogy of memoirs (there are more, but I don't have them - yet) are simply stunning, an achievement to elevate the name up towards that of Marcel Proust. You think I exaggerate? There is something obliteratingly funny on every page, but in there too is the kind of wisdom you will only find from the most sensitive and reflective souls. I was sad to reach the conclusion of this book - I wished it could have gone on forever.
The 3 volumes of James's slightly fictionalised memoirs in one book. The middle one is the weakest, his treatment of the women in his life is reasonably loathsome and his male friends don't fare much better. His turn of phrase, however, remains unrivalled and his deadpan wit is second to none.
I had read 'Always Unreliable' in hard cover several years ago, but it has now been joined with the other autobiographies to make it a very handy package. Hence there is a significant difference between the writing from the different periods. But what can you say about Clive? This is probably what many of his friends have said over the years. Brilliantly stupid. His Uni tutors must have felt the same frustration, as well as his dentist when he did deign to make a visit when most of his teeth were beyond redemption. But despite the inconsistency, the collected book is brilliant and has some of the best descriptive passages in it I have ever read.
Read each of these over a couple of years before the very witty, clever great man left this "earthly paradise". Each of the memoirs are sharp & witty but also informative. My favourite is the first one (also the best known). I remember when "Unreliable Memoirs" seemed to be in everyone's house about 40 years ago. Still a great read.
Fabulously written, unfortunately having three volumes of memoir in one proves detrimental, as the final two can't compete with the side-splitting brilliance of the first part, which must be one of the best autobiographies ever published.
This was a re-read for me. I first read these three volumes in my 20's and enjoyed them immensely for their humour. I enjoyed them immensely, and differently, this time. I still loved the humour, but am old enough now to appreciate the writing.
Clive James’ first three volumes of memoir collected into one book. It takes us from his boyhood in Kogarah to his eventual graduation from Cambridge. As you’d expect from James, it’s peppered with insight, witty bon mots and quotable lines and built on a foundation of solid self-deprecation.