Quite brilliant. Well, the question came to my mind today whenever I saw FRAN COSGROVE�S autobiography had come into work. Who? Oh, yer man from Celebrity Love Islands. Silly me. I forgot. Used to know Westlife and ran a club or something. Genius. I really want to read that.
Now it�ll be no surprise to hear that newcomers to the book circuit John Blake Publications had the publishing rights to this one. They also published Jordan�s and Jodie Marsh's - did you know. John Blake� knowledge of how stupid the British public are is only rivalled by mine who actually sees what he�s doing here. He has seen how since Big Brother 1 six years ago, the British public has been obsessed with having their fifteen minutes (or maybe more) by any means necessary. Anything from getting their tits out (Rebecca Loos� most recent �last gasp resort�) to going on Jeremy Kyle to cashing in on being best buddies with a famous person.
The idea of having to read about these pretentious, attention seeking bores makes me wretch. I mean, obviously they have lived lives. They�ve done stuff. They�ve probably had near death experiences, have lost loved ones and have known what it is like to have their heart torn in half by a member of the opposite gender. My point is this: who hasn�t?
Kerry Katona is nothing special. Crying to Heat and Hello magazine about your mad depression, panic attacks, anxiety and suicidal thoughts is all well and good � but it was over BRYAN MCFADDEN. He�s an imbecile. The aftermath of a break up hurts like a bastard, but not everyone has that pillow of the glossy magazines to bounce back on. Some have a friend or two. Some can confide in their families. Some have NO-ONE. But I�ll save my tirade against the glossies for another day.
There�s another type of autobiography though. The stories of truly atrocious lives. The ones that give you a feeling of sickness at the anger you are experiencing at the perpetrator. The disaster ones. The �Jesus Harry Christ, can these GET any more upsetting?� ones. The first one that comes to my mind is the Dave Pelzer series of autobiographies. Four words: avoid like the plague. I�ve only read snippets of it and every single sentence has the weight to cripple even the most unfeeling of bastards (e.g. myself).
Who wants to read that? Who has a strong enough will to not be destroyed emotionally after hearing about what Mrs Pelzer did to poor Dave as a child. It was criminal. BUT WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO READ THAT? It�s harrowing! And according to a lot of people he does milk it a bit. His brother Richard B. also cashed in on it despite being guilty of tormenting Dave at an early age too! What a git!
Pelzer�s story is nasty. I�ll give him that. Just don�t expect me to spend any time reading it. I wonder if by writing the book he is getting revenge on his dead mother, rather than searching for forgiveness. Who knows?
Pelzer is not the only one. Child abuse is not pleasant to read about. But then neither is rape, interbreeding, grisly murders, paedophilia, humiliation, etc. I don�t care if they�ve got happy endings. You have to get there first.
My autobiography would be pretty tame. I could milk how I �COULD HAVE DIED! BLARGH!� in the road accident, or how I went through �NINE YEARS OF NOTHING BUT SUFFERING!!!� after being moved to Northern Ireland. I�d be lying though. I'm actually quite a happy bloke (believe it or not).
So, who is to blame for shit autobiographies? Everyone. Especially John Blake and parents who REALLY fouled up there.
