I’ll start this review off by saying that I really wanted to like My Booky Wook. While I normally wouldn’t be drawn to memoir written by a thirty-something with relatively limited celebrity status, I’m a big fan of Russell Brand. His fast-paced stand-up and hilarious role as Aldous Snow in Forgetting Sarah Marshall and Get Him to the Greek reveal a quick-witted, cheeky personality that is surprisingly–and humorously–self-aware. With this in mind I thought My Booky Wook would be a light-hearted and amusing dose of the same. And to an extent it was. Except, as the memoir drags on, it becomes less and less amusing.
The writing style of the book is a carbon copy of Brand’s manner of speaking: witty and conversational. This is one of the positive aspects of this book because, for me, it never really got old. Brand’s ability to offer funny, quirky commentary on the life experiences that comprise the memoir is fun to read and the reason I like his stand-up.
Unfortunately, however, it’s the anecdotes themselves that left a bad impression for me. At 35 years old and with a somewhat limited resume, there is no real reason for Brand to write a memoir just yet. Yes, he successfully transitioned from a junkie sex addict into a sober (and now married!) actor/comedian. However, some of the stories he tells lead the reader to believe his journey to maturity isn’t over yet. Brand’s inability to keep his ego in check becomes more and more off-putting as the book ambles along, despite his knowledge of this personal flaw.
While My Booky Wook has its share of flaws, I will say that it does nothing to make me like its author any less. And even though I will not be reading the not unforeseen My Booky Wook 2, I will continue to count myself a fan of Brand’s stand-up and movie career.