This is a chatty, readable autobiography from Olivia Hussey. I remember studying Romeo and Juliet in high school (I'd been hoping, fruitlessly, for Macbeth) and the teacher showed us the Zeffirelli film. It was excellent, and so when I saw this book at the library I picked it up out of nostalgia, I guess. Hussey's recollections of the filming was the most interesting part of the book, and it makes me want to see it again sometime.

The rest of the book's adequate. Damning with faint praise, I know, but there it is. Hussey comes across as kind and - as she herself admits several times - almost painfully naive, but while both these characteristics are sympathetic they're not really the issue here. The book consists of a series of (often very) short chapters that are more individual memories strung together than a cohesive whole. It's all a little bit superficial, is what I'm saying, and when the acknowledgements came at the end, it became clear that the book was written with the help of her son, a "first-time writer." It shows. I think the word that most comes to mind regarding both the prose and the narrative is "workmanlike." Interesting woman, interesting life, and I enjoyed the book, but I can't help but think it could have used a little polishing.