4 1/2 stars

I have never been a fan of Patti Smith. It wasn't that I disliked her, more like I was rather indifferent to her. I never had a particular interest in art, especially art with a capital A. I'm not a fan of poetry either or avant garde punk rock so she has always been hovering around the edges of my awareness... There but of no particular interest.

So it's somewhat ironic that I've now read 2 books written by Patti Smith. Two books that I was not indifferent to, but somehow, kind of, loved. She is a great writer (duh, say her fans) very poetic (uh, DUH!) in her imagery. She writes very movingly of everyday things liberally sprinkling the mundane such as a trip to the coffee shop with the sparkles of magic she is always expecting the cosmos to provide. She writes of being alone although she is not ever lonely. Her thoughts and impressions keep her great company. She lives in her own head so much that she is always losing things in her travels. She never becomes bitter because she understands the world some how needs her possession, for its own purpose, more than she does and she willingly lets go with a blessing. She never loses her childlike wonder and optimism in a world that sometimes deals her a shitty hand.

This book is basically about nothing. She tells you that right away. But this book, in describing her simple, everyday world gives one a look into her broken heart that she strives to keep hidden away. And her life is NOT simple and although she is alone, it is not empty; her world is filled with many people past and present who call to her and she is always ready to answer. We can all probably learn a lesson from Patti to be ever expectant for a sign, an arrow pointing the correct path or an echo reverberating through time that we can surely hear if only we'd listen.