Year of the Monkey

What can I say? I'm a fan of Patti Smith's work, be it music or literature. And yes, this is literature of the finest kind.

”Marcus Aurelius asks us to note the passing of time with open eyes. Ten thousand years or ten thousand days, nothing can stop time, or change the fact that I would be turning seventy in the Year of the Monkey. Seventy. Merely a number but one indicating the passing of a significant percentage of the allotted sand in an egg timer, with oneself the darn egg. The grains pour and I find myself missing the dead more than usual. I notice that I cry more when watching television, triggered by romance, a retiring detective shot in the back while staring into the sea, a weary father lifting his infant from a crib. I notice that my own tears burn my eyes, that I am no longer a fast runner and that my sense of time seems to be accelerating.” This often reads as though it were written under a fever-dream and other times the random musings of the poet ”…plucking inspiration from the erratic air”, all the while trying to focus on the things which are established, and her memories of the years gone by. At this point in her life, she has just celebrated her 69th birthday, is contemplating turning seventy in the coming year, concerned over two friends whose health was rapidly fading, the then-coming election, all while drinking lots of coffee, and mourning those who have passed on, and feeling helpless toward those merely hanging on. ”There was work to be done, concerts to perform, lives to live, however carefully.” And the lives of two men that she loved would be gone before another year arrived. ”The wooden bed in the corner of the room seems so far away, and all is but an intermission, of small and tender consequences.” And as the new year starts winding toward the next one, the chants of the coming election seem inescapable, but her thoughts drift more often to her loved ones, both here and gone, the fragility and temporary nature of this one life we are given. Life, love, death, aging, politics, music, poetry, writers, reading, the economy, pollution, all these and more fill and fuel these pages. Some are filled with lovely thoughts, some with frustrations, and some with heartbreaking reminiscences. If you’ve read any of her former memoirs, you may remember of her penchant for including her photographs, ones that typically remind her of a time when someone she loved was there by her side, although there are many that are reminiscent of a place she visited. These things are not just ‘things,’ though, they are real moments in time, captured in some object whose significance may or may not be recognized by anyone else. Like a lullaby, they give her comfort. They are transportation back to that moment, allowing her to relive those feelings, those memories. ”I plodded up the stairs to my room reciting to myself, Once I was seven, soon I will be seventy. I was truly tired. Once I was seven, I repeated, sitting on the edge of the bed, still in my coat. “Our quiet rage gives us wings, the possibility to negotiate the gears winding backwards, uniting all time.” Years ago my brother sent me a box of books, and inside that box was a copy of her ‘Just Kids,’ and then when her ‘M Train’ came out, he sent that, as well – but after reading ‘Just Kids’ I would have bought my own copy, hoping that the magic was still there. I love the way she writes, and her personal stories that she shares. I didn’t think she could match her ‘Just Kids,’ and for some maybe she doesn’t, but I loved this as much, maybe just a smidgen more. I think for some it will be more relatable. ”…the trouble with dreaming is that we eventually wake up.” If you are not a reader who typically read the epilogue, do yourself a favour and make sure you read her final chapter, entitled A KIND OF EPILOGUE.

I read this while taking care of my 99 year old Aunt. I would get up before dawn and read this for several hours and take notes on authors and books she recommends. I’ve read it twice and will read it again. There is something about her writing that resonates within me. It reminds me of Gaelic once you give in to the rabbit holes all sorts of serendipity pulls you in.

The Year of the Monkey was a different animal from M Train, the preceding Patti Smith book I read. Poignant clarity characterized the latter, while Year of the Monkey lapses in and out of slightly hallucinogenic magical realism, still poignant. The book’s first and second halves (using the term loosely, not mathematically) don’t quite mesh. In the first, Patti embarks on an elegiac road trip that was supposed to include a friend, who fell mortally ill. It’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s not on this journey, as hard as it is coming to terms with a life bereft of friends one has known for 40 years. In the second half of the book, Patti reflects on the Van Eyck brothers’ celestial oeuvre and succumbs to its lure via a pilgrimage. Maybe because of all the loss she’s suffered, Patti seems to view everything in her environment, whether organic or inorganic, as weighted with significance. At first I didn’t get what other reviewers meant by complaining of name-dropping, but I finally realized they were referring to the literary and artistic allusions sprinkling the narrative. She has committed the ultimate sin, in the USA, of (a) being erudite and (b) not pretending she isn’t. How refreshing! Whatever the book’s flaws, I wouldn’t have missed reading it for the world.

Yet another great volume by Patti Smith.

Every time I read a book by Patti Smith i never know what to expect. In her latest, The Year of The Monkey, Patti Smith has created a book that is much like a painting.The story must be contemplated and observed to fully appreciate the narrative. One never knows where Smith will lead the reader, but the journey is absolutely breathtaking, exploring topics like death, aging, food, coffee, dreaming, topography and even politics. The Year of the Monkey manages to cloak Smith in mystery while inviting the reader to share her innermost thoughts and wry observations. The Year of The Monkey is a haunting and sometimes humorous read that i will return to again and again. I am so grateful to have Patti Smith in my life. She is a National Treasure.

Patti Smith is one of the most creative artists of our time. Her new book, "Year of the Monkey," is further testimony to the inventive mind of an original and innovative virtuoso. As she drifts up and down the Pacific Coast, and back and forth across the country, a “diary” of her thoughts becomes transformed into text, giving readers an intimate look into her mind and her thinking—Patti Smith about to turn seventy. Not only is the concept and the prose unique, but the grammatical and stylistic choices she has made with the book are singularly distinctive. Not sure I’ve seen another book like this since the days of the 1950s modernist writing. (Richard C. Brusca: author of "In the Land of the Feathered Serpert" and about two-dozen other books)

Patty Smith’s book , just like the last two books, didn’t disappoint me. This was well written, insightful, and a bit sad. Very good, I highly recommend reading this book. It’s not just for her fans, just because it’s a must read.

I could read this again to feel the feelings once more. Patti Smith never disappoints

I love Patti Smith's writing. This book was a fun hole to fall into, a quick meandering read that is nothing like Just Kids but I loved it just as much.

Patti Smith habe ich erst vor Wochen wiederentdeckt nach Jahrzehnten (LP Easter, 1978, als ich 20 war) und mir in der Folge die CDs billig holen können, war so beeindruckt, daß ich jetzt auch dieses aktuelle Buch von ihr gelesen habe. Eigentlich ein 'Road Movie' über das Jahr 2016 zwischen ihrem 69. und 70. Geburtstag; literarisch sehr gut, Themen wie: Drohende Trump-Zeit, Altern, Verlust von Freunden und Angehörigen, für mich sehr gewinnbringend dargestellt; habe manche Seiten doppelt gelesen, um meinem nachlassenden Englisch nachzuhelfen. Immer wieder bereichernd ihre Fotos, die eine neue Dimension dazugeben. Ein schönes gutes Buch, sehr empfehlenswert!

I feel like I need a notebook when I read Patti , to note all her references .... They are all fascinating , and inspiring and only leave me wanting more ...