One chilling ghost story, skilfully delivered, allows Morrissey (and the reader) to retrace the steps of a victim. Other news of the day, like the ‘Moors Murders’ by serial killers Brady and Hindley on the Manchester outskirts, seem to be a bigger influence on Morrissey’s worldview than anything in his personal circle. Naturally my birth almost kills my mother, for my head is too big… my sister Jackie is interrupted four times as she attempts to kill me, whether this be rivalry or visionary no one knows.
Snippets of the story that might edge us closer to understanding what made Morrissey so miserable (heaven knows!) are obfuscated by humour. He speaks highly of his parents, particularly his mother and grandmother, but their tall pedestal keeps them at a distance from the reader. Morrissey’s early home life seems harmless enough, although aspects of his school days clearly haunt him. The book is long, wordy and florid, yet true personal insights remain enigmatic. He paints us a picture of a struggling, working class family (with heart) where strong women raise disillusioned children while disappointed men hunt and gather. Morrissey is the child of Irish migrants, growing up in a 60s UK that’s not yet swinging – at least, not in his neighbourhood. The safe streets are dimly lit, the others not lit at all, but both represent danger that you’re asking for should you find yourself out there once curtains have closed for tea. The artist formally known as Steven Patrick Morrissey was born in 1959, though you could be forgiven for thinking it was closer to Dickensian times based on the bleak descriptions of pre-Madchester Manchester. Despite living a life many might view as not-so-bad-really, Moz retains the melancholy demeanour that made him as he shares his memories of growing up in Manchester before taking his music to the world. So which one is it? A work of poetic genius or a self indulgent waste of words? Morrissey’s Autobiography is nothing if not divisive – and I suspect the author wouldn’t have it any other way.Īfter many years as a writer of lyrics, Morrissey goes long form for this, his first book. “… a beautifully measured prose style that combines a lilting, poetic turn of phrase and an acute quality of observation, revelling in a kind of morbid glee at life’s injustices…” Neil McCormick, The Telegraph “…a heavy tome, utterly devoid of insight, warmth, wisdom or likeability.” A A Gill, The Sunday Times
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