“One thing led to another,” writes Barbra Streisand, recalling what she refers to elegantly as her first love affair. “I'm not going to go into details.” In her much-anticipated first memoir, released after a packed few years of celebrity tell-alls, it seems a stark statement of intent. It says “if you're looking for gossip, go elsewhere. I'm an artist.”
Indeed, in this doorstop of a book there are only a few moments where one imagines the legend of theatre, film and music hesitating to share something that might position her as anything other than an in-control icon-in-the-making. The sheer ambition of this intricately woven memoir, though, makes it a fascinating read.
All the hits are covered. A mercifully concise tour through her childhood (too many memoirs linger on the dull, stardust-free pre-fame years) bleeds quickly into the promising stage roles of Streisand's early career, before her stratospheric ascent to fame via films like Funny Girl and Hello Dolly. From there, it's a ride through a hit recording career and more film success in front of and behind the camera in The Way We Were, Yentl and A Star Is Born.
The memories are peppered with excerpts from gushing reviews. Lots of them. Pages of them, in fact. Streisand loves to quote other people talking about how talented she is, how beautiful she is, how elegant she is. That she was the best thing in otherwise mediocre work. But only those with no knowledge of her early performances will feel their eyes roll.
The Streisand of the Sixties and Seventies was a sensation beyond exaggeration. She's simply documenting it, quoting piece after piece so that, perhaps, she doesn't have to say it herself. The ego is, thankfully, balanced rather deftly with truly tender recollections of those who have touched her life out of the limelight. She writes beautifully of her friendship with Marlon Brando and her all-encompassing love for her son. And there is something quite special about how she describes the process of writing and recording songs, that feels so vivid and almost spiritual.
Streisand despairs of whispers of unprofessionalism, of media reports portraying her as a bitch or a diva. And, for the most part, she comes across as enormously likeable even at her most forthright. She fights her corner backstage when men attempt to knock her down. She begs for lines she loves to be kept in scripts, and argues about salaries and contracts.
The delicate pages (all 992 of them) bring to mind a Russian novel
She makes firm friendships, writing with real warmth and evident, genuine appreciation for the many talented men and women who have entered her orbit. But she is the Sun in this solar system. These individuals help her shine. Yes, you can feel the love that she holds for them as she describes the talent of the songwriters, directors or actors. But she rarely misses an opportunity to add that a crucial addition, change or camera angle was her idea all along.
It is impossible not to balk at the book's sheer size. The delicate pages (all 992 of them) bring to mind a Russian novel or, perhaps more appropriately for the many who view Streisand as akin to a deity, a bible. And yet, Streisand writes relatively succinctly, with warmth and wit.
There is, though, an excessive lashing of parentheses. When Streisand, for example, recalls a wonderful wig designed by a friend for her character in The Way We Were, she adds that this woman “(by the way, also made the best salad dressing, using ground sunflower seeds way before they were popular.)” Considering that she covers entire, formative relationships in ten words or fewer, such extras (though often charming) feel superfluous. As do the asides about the current whereabouts of items or objects she mentions here and there. A gift that she receives as a wrap present for Hello Dolly, for example is “displayed in the foyer to my Art Nouveau Room.” Relatable, she is not.
That may be the hinge on which the success of this book rests. For the Streisand super fan, this is a dream come true. An encyclopaedia-sized ode to a remarkable woman, by that remarkable woman, that only ignores questions that they would never be so inelegant as to ask. They do not expect modesty from their queen, and they will not be disappointed. But there's much to enjoy for the more casual reader.
Behind the sequins, beneath the wigs and through the glass of the recording studio, there's just a woman who dreamed of being famous and made it happen, on her terms. It's an accomplished and entrancing walk through a life well lived.
My Name Is Barbra is published by Century (£35 rrp, out now)
