by Billy Porter
I found myself liking this guy very much. And the memoir--the parts that are memoir--I liked as well. I very much admire his strength, his intelligence, his determination; I loved his humor; I smiled with delight when he was able to strike back at racist and homophobic casting directors, producers and fellow actors.
Because of all that enjoyment I was able to stick with this audiobook to the end. But I want to warn you, fellow listeners, he seems to be using the book as a healing aid--a sort of catharsis tool. Time and again he abandons the narrative, jumps into present time, and goes off on long, self-cleansing rants about 911; politics; black shooting deaths; and the orange-faced clown in the white house. It's his book and he has a right to do what he wants with it, but sometimes I sure wished he'd stay on topic. A judicious use of the "fast-forward" button was required.
I'm not criticizing. I mostly agreed with his complaints. If you don't, you'll hate the book and either fail to finish to finish and bellyache about it. Which isn't fair. You shouldn't have to agree with everything an author thinks--you just have to agree that he was honest, introspective, and had a totally cool story to tell. And, did he!
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