The rise of Barbra Streisand seemed a foregone conclusion. Even from the days of her adolescence, the American star was transparently, unusually talented. By 18, she was making a name for herself as a nightclub singer. By 20, she was singing on Broadway. In 1969, at the age of 26, she won her first Oscar, for her debut film role in Funny Girl, reprising a character she had originated on the stage. Her charisma, in films such as the screwball comedy What’s Up, Doc? announced her as a bona fide star. Her singing, on screen and on record, was electrifying and precise. More awards, best-selling albums, and acclaimed directorial credits followed; for a star known as a perfectionist – and, to many, a diva – this all seemed inevitable.
Streisand’s new memoir, My Name is Barbra, does little to disavow you of this impression. Over the course of 992 pages and 60 chapters, the actor and singer, now 81, walks us fastidiously through her life and career. The question of her talent was never really in doubt – for her or for anyone else. In Streisand’s book, though, there’s more than just talent; we are shown graft, intelligence, a winning, rare curiosity. Even for a celebrity memoir, this is a star-studded affair: pages are dedicated to encounters with US presidents (Bill Clinton and a fondly remembered JFK), kings (Charles III and Elvis Presley), and, of course, her Hollywood contemporaries. She remembers chatting about gardens with future friend (and future king) Charles, and getting Kennedy to sign an autograph to her mother (prompting her to remark, “You’re a doll” to the sitting president.... “Frankly, it just slipped out.”)
