This book is criminally boring. It reads as though the biographer only had access to Jim Henson's secretary's day planner, and gives the driest rundown of what time Jim's flights were or when he went out to dinner... This man was a creative and philosophical legend. Where are the sketches and storyboards?! Where are the quotes from his personal journal? Where are the /color/ photographs? Why are there no interviews with any of the many, many, MANY celebrities who crossed his path? This book did Jim Henson a disservice by not being more visual, more colorful and elaborate, more /fun/.

And, if anything, this book /lowered/ my opinion of Jim Henson. Despite the author's reassurances that Jim Henson was morally upstanding, I found, the more I learned about him, the more Jim seemed to morph: another predator on the #MeToo list; an arrogant man who wouldn't hear criticism, especially from women, and who would spitefully fight his critics by writing them letters; a man who let fame go to his head and overspent frivolously; a man whose "creativity" was limited by whatever life hang-up he was going through at the time (Jim wants to break into movies, Kermit makes a movie. Jim lives in Manhattan, The Muppets take Manhattan, etc.). I cannot believe that this book made me fall /out/ of love with Jim Henson.