I went in not expecting too much and was delighted. The only actor whom I’ve read with this degree of skill is probably Gabriel Byrne, whose memoir was *amazing*. This, similarly feels written by someone who has studied poetry and internalized great writing such that it has a organic and lived quality that permeates the pages. When language reads like that, you’re doing it right.

Sentence by sentence this is really impressive. It’s engaging and punchy when it needs to be. Diction is great, especially with active verb choice. Cadence is organic and makes for a really immersive experience. There’s an endearing amount of truth in the point of view. Some people will probably dislike it, but I found it strikes the right balance with the steam of consciousness. It fits the character but is also unapologetically more interesting and intelligent than him.

This also feels like it’s at least somewhat autofiction. I don’t know enough about Hawke to say how much, but he was famous for cheating on Uma Thurman and being a fuck boy about it for a minute. This feels like it’s a person reflecting on their growth and dealing with similar issues that would be trudged up by such an affair.

It’s about an actor who pretty much has a mid life crisis and cheats on his universally adored wife, a rock star. He then completely spirals, not really being aware of what nourishment is, except for, ironically, when he is taking care of his children, a thing he has diminished in his life.

In order to reclaim his life he, a movie star, decides to take on a roll in a Shakespeare production. A part that demands more of him that he thought, and he utilizes to shift away from his life and not deal with his problems.

The result is a boom and bust cycle of a life. It’s a man who wants vengeance and contrition but doesn’t know, but has spotted Moby Dick in the mirror and tries to shoot his heart, a cannon, from his breast upon his own image as often and as messily as possible. But somehow never dying. It goes on. Putting himself in his acting and then returning to his lonesome self to fuck and snort coke and continue the descent.

Those parts, in my opinion, are the weaker parts of the novel despite their superficial attraction. Because Hawke proves he has a command of diction that can radically alter the tempo of dialogue or scene quite easily. Anything becomes interesting. Which means the cliché, though the actual point of the character and the theme being explored, beg for an intervention. It feels like it’s saying something interesting the least when he’s losing himself inside of another person. These could have been truncated in favour of anything else a person might do in a city and leave the fucking abridged.

However, that being said, the realization our actor has from his experience is better than average for these archetypical trajectories that feel too often artificial. The protagonists of our lives, we repeatedly cast ourselves in the role of the villain and it is only too right and just that the audience hate us for it.

The trick is realizing you’re in that role at all. Otherwise we retrace our scripted character’s steps day after day, night after night, never knowing the full context of who we are, what we need and what nourishes us, and how we might change, or have already changed. Everyone requires an audience participation and everyone is playing a role. If you don’t know what your part is it is, it is past time you actively participate in your life again and ask someone.