Wrong about Bowie (factual inaccuracies hardly inspire confidence), wrong about the publishing industry ("a last minute dash to print"), apparently unable to comprehend either the purpose of autobiography or the nature of artists (egocentricity? Wow - what a surprise! What the hell did you expect??), is there anything BrummieBoy and his anonymous sidekick can intelligently and objectively digest without being subject to the usual trollish prejudices about one particular man? There is nothing sadder or more undignified than these last desperate gasps of the dwindling band of trolls who populate this site, stubbornly insisting that black is white: in the face of a book that races to the top of the bestseller chart (obviously not just the acolytes buying it), in the face of a musical legacy that will last longer than this website, in the face of an obsessive worldwide fanbase, still these silly little boys of tiny intellect and enormous jealousy insist that Morrissey's career is over, that he is on the cusp of artistic oblivion, that his fans have deserted him (no evidence, naturally), that he's a vile human being (none of whom know him intimately, of course), that he "can't write" (an odd claim given that he's the one with the bestselling book and one of the greatest back catalogues of lyrics in the history of pop music). Face it, boys - you are WRONG, plain and simple. And that's not opinion, that's fact. While you may get a momentary thrill out of acting as though you alone have the "true" insight and unbiased perspective, it's clear to all that precisely the opposite is true: you are more prejudiced, more biased, more unwilling to see the bigger picture than all those "he can do no wrong" fruitloops at whom you frequently sneer. The only mystery, as always, is - if you truly despise a pop star to this ridiculous extent (itself a rather sad and infantile pose to adopt), is it really a meaningful and dignified use of your time to spend hours and hours on here, churning out endlessly repetitive, rambling, angry prose in support of your hatred and prejudice? What exactly do you hope to achieve by this? You never succeed in "proving" your point, you only succeed in demonstrating that you CARE enough to devote so many hours, so regularly, to such wasteful, undignified industry and to so little effect. I don't think any other artist on the planet inspires such a small, but dedicated (and impotent) group of haters, and such polarised opinion is of course emblematic of greatness. No one walks away from great art and great artists merely muttering "It was ok..."
Why do you bother BB? Just look at the volume of posts you've made over recent days... I don't think Morrissey's narcissism/egomania and "execrable writing" comes anywhere close to yours.
As BB's newly-appointed anonymous sidekick, I shall address this rather odd post. First the tone: you write in the fashion of a psychotic drunkard at 8 am, just before popping his pyjamas off (his clothes) and sliding/wobbling naked into an unmade bed, having just spent the wee hours blaming the entire world for his predicament. Only, you're doing it all on Mozzer's behalf. Accusations of bitterness and jealousy directed at critics of this laughable book are hilariously inappropriate given the bitterness/jealousy/delusions of grandeur evidently smeared like peanut butter across much of his writing.
You think the sales figures prove "it's not only the acolytes" buying it? How few acolytes exactly do you suppose Mozzer has left? He's only sold half as many books in the UK as he sold copies of Maladjusted, despite the paperback first edition! Let's pause and see how many he sells over the coming weeks, since one presumes all the acolytes and former acolytes are likely to buy it up in the first week or two.
I can't comment on factual inaccuracies on BB's part. I can, however, tell that you have absolutely no literary education, formal or otherwise, glancing at your comment. You appear to have no opinion whatsoever on the literary merits or otherwise of 'Autobiography' (which was the basis of both our criticisms) and instead appear Hell-bent on arguing that its success (which is itself debatable) is the only criterion that matters, or could possibly matter. On this basis, is Jordan's multi-volume magnum opus also beyond criticism? What about Mills and Boon? Up your alley?
The only point I can see within your hastily-hammered words - if indeed there is a point, and I'm not sure - is that might is right and we cannot possibly find the literary standards deplorable, the plot non-existent, and the whining-angsty-teen-diary intonation numbingly wearying; NO! We must be jealous! - after all, how dare we criticise success in 2013?! In this post-modern world, the vacuous nature of the world is a given and we must simply accept this celebrity dross, however poor it is, because it sells!
Incidentally, given that I - and I'm in a small minority here - adored YOR and stated so in my opening comment, your folie-a-deux paranoid delusions about my intent to besmirch and demean the former object of my admiration rings a little hollow. Loved YOR. Hate the book. He is a genius lyricist and an awful, awful author of prose. Contradiction? No more than in the case of one who likes seeing Katie Price's blow-ups, but has no wish to read her life story, or one who adores Marr's guitar playing and song-writing, but feels nothing but aversion to his 'singing.'
Morrissey is the greatest artist in popular music in my opinion. However, he cannot write prose. The book is wearying, pointlessly bitchy, depressingly badly-written and desultory to the point of knight's move thinking; and what on Earth is it with all the puns and clang associations? Vile!
Instead of presuming imagined noxious motives drive us to critique this awful book, why not read it and give an opinion? Do you seriously think this is a great book worthy of a Penguin Classic, or even a very good one? Really? Can you even read?
As for the misguided notion that a healthy fifty-four year old with numerous properties, a hefty income stream, and over £20 million of assets needs his bedsitting, bedwetting fans to defend him from criticism on So-Low is risible. He is furious at criticisms of his weight on this site, yet his book calls half a dozen people 'fatso.' He cannot abide prejudice which affects him, yet more prejudice pours forth from the book, like rotting coleslaw. He is so precious about his 'professional reputation,' yet he has done more than anyone else to smear the reputations of countless artists and mere singers during his 30 year career. He mocks the McCanns and belittles mass murder in Scandinavia. Yet he cries self-indulgently into his muesli over criticisms of his session musicians (he is the one who removes them every few years, not me, or not I in MorrisseyWorld).
His hypocrisy demonstrates his intractable narcissism: one rule for him, and another for the cultural plebs.
The last thing he needs is useful idiots like you reinforcing his aberrant worldview and self-image.
The book is mediocrity itself. Period.