I regret that it was Sinéad O'Connor's death that finally spurred me to read her book. I was a fan of her music in high school and college, but I admit I didn't much follow her personal life.
This is the second memoir in a row that I've read by someone who died shortly after the book was written, which adds a certain amount of gravitas to the book. It was heartbreaking to read her plans for her future: "So this is only my first memoir. My intention is to live a long life and keep diaries this time so I won't forget." (p. xii) Towards the end, she described her next album, which was never released.
I think Sinéad O'Connor is a good storyteller. Her prose was sometimes lyrical, sometimes cheeky. She wrote as if she were speaking, so the text is dotted with "ain't" and "dunno" and "gonna". Each chapter is a short vignette, most just a few pages long. Black-and-white photos are interspersed. The book is mostly in chronological order, but sometimes it jumps around in order to follow the full thread of a theme or person. I read the book with a certain amount of apprehension, knowing unpleasant things would be revealed.
She is honest and vulnerable, child-like and God-loving, especially in the first two parts that describe her childhood and early adulthood, yearning for love and being drawn to gentleness. The whole book is a reminder to have grace for others, and to treat others kindly, because you really don't know what they may be going through.
In the last part of the book, she wrote of her adulthood and later albums. Fans will appreciate that she explained the story behind many of her songs. She mostly provided only a glimpse of her personal life at that point, and in the chapter called "The Wizard of Oz," she explained that after she had finished writing up to and including the Saturday Night Live Pope photo-ripping incident, she "had an open-surgery radical hysterectomy... followed by a total breakdown... and by the time I'd recovered, I was unable to remember anything much that took place before it." (p. 267)
(An aside: As someone who has also gone through surgical menopause due to ovary removal, though my experience was not nearly as extreme as hers, I welcome any opportunity to raise awareness of women's health and GYN procedures. If you have a uterus and ovaries, please make sure you have a GYN doctor you trust, and if something unexpected should arise, be open with other women in your life; very likely someone knows something about what you're going through and can offer information, insight, or support.)
What is abundantly clear throughout the book is that through all her life's ups and downs, she had music. She genuinely conveys her deep, abiding, life-long love for music and singing.
Her rock-n-roll lifestyle may be shocking to some readers, but despite the way music executives tried to market her, she was always "a punk, not a pop star." (p. 149) She lived her life true to her lyrics in "The Emperor's New Clothes" - Whatever it may bring / I will live by my own policies / I will sleep with a clear conscience / I will sleep in peace. I was really struck by how principled she was: "To the great consternation of many, I refused all the awards I was personally offered for my second album. Because I knew... that I wasn't getting awards because of anything I stood for. Rather, I was getting awards because I'd... sold a lot of records. Commercial success outranked artistic merit. I made a lot of money for a lot of men who couldn't actually have cared less what the songs were about. And in fact would prefer I told no one." (p. 149) Those rich men did a good job enforcing their preference, because even when she tore up the Pope's picture on Saturday Night Live, I clearly remember how it was a big scandal and everyone was all up in arms about it, but as a young teen at the time, I had no idea she did it to protest child abuse within the Catholic church. I feel a bit guilty now for having been a part of the commercialization of her music, one of those people who enjoyed her songs without understanding how intensely personal they were, without really seeing her.
I was also profoundly moved by her account of how she was booed at a Bob Dylan celebration concert a couple weeks later. I searched up the video of this performance on YouTube, and it's incredible: As she walks onto the stage, you can see in her face how happy she is to be a part of an event in honor of one of her personal heroes. She's supposed to sing a beautiful rendition of Bob Dylan's "I Believe In You" (one of my favorite songs to listen to around Christmas), but then, you see the realization dawn on her face as she processes the booing. You can see the wheels turning in her head, she makes an on-the-spot decision to change her song, and she belts out "War" by Bob Marley - the same song she sang on SNL just before tearing up the photo - and you can see she is all anger and defiance and hurt. She was truly an extraordinary woman, standing up for abused children when no one else would even acknowledge the problem.
Quite remarkably (since there is so little reference to the covid-19 pandemic in contemporary culture), the epilogue was written in the spring of 2020; she described the state of the pandemic, and America, at the time, and was hopeful. Again, she had plans.
Reading her book, it felt like she was alive again. When I finally put the book down upon finishing it, the reality of her death was such a weight of sadness.
