In the preface to volume one of Cher’s memoir, she gives us a heads up on the kind of story that is to follow. “Often when I think of my family history,” writes the 78-year-old superstar, “it sounds like the opening of a Dickens novel.” Cher, an Emmy, Grammy and Oscar winner, isn’t known for the modesty of her statements, but in this case she isn’t exaggerating. The book, which takes us up to the 1980s and the beginning of her acting career, is so fraught with drama, danger and reversals in fortune that it unfolds like an American picaresque.
One thing that has always elevated Cher above the vast majority of people in her fame bracket has been her ability to poke fun at herself. The voice of this memoir, which has somehow survived seven years of rewrites and many fired ghostwriters, sounds at least as authentic as her outbursts on X. The young woman in these pages is bouncy, guileless, sardonic, flip – as keenly sensitive to her own absurdity as she is to that of others. “Oops,” she writes, when something bad happens. Of her entry into the music business: “I was utterly clueless.” Her wide-eyed enthusiasm survives early success so that, years into her celebrity, she still exclaims, “I felt like a million dollars!” after getting herself a new dress.
