In her memoir of early life with photography icon Robert Mapplethorpe, Godmother of Punk Patti Smith has crafted an evocative tale of how two kids from New Jersey and Long Island, once factory workers and hustlers, rose to the upper echelons of the art world. And she does a good job with that. Enough to win the National Book Award. Enough to appear on The Colbert Report and gobs of other shows.
But it wasn’t the starving artists plucking lice from each other’s hair moving on to rubbing louse-free wigs with Warhol’s dandies that got me hooked. What I liked most about this book was the dear