A few weeks ago, back when the fall still held a hint of summer, I had a moment of panic. Twenty pages from the end of reading a library copy of Bob Dylan's first volume of autobiography, Chronicles, I lost it. Not the panic. The book. I had the book as I rode the streetcar to do errands and I didn't have it as I rode the streetcar home. I worried about replacing the book, and I worried about how I was going to review it, since all my reading notes were on stickies, poking out from the rough-cut pages. But it all turned out okay in the end: Some kind soul returned the book to the library, on time even. I went back and read the ending, and the feeling of the book came back to me, even if I couldn't reference all the details.
The consequence is that this review is a little less focused than it might otherwise have been. More flow, less detail. It's a more casual thing than my usual reviews. And yet, somehow, that seems kind of right. The anonymous goodwill, the lucky ending to a potential problem, the disorganized process - the whole experience is a little like the book itself and even Dylan's self-described life.
Chronicles reads like a stream of consciousness about the past. Starting with Dylan recounting his introduction to boxer Jack Dempsey and ending with a list of fellow Minnesotans with whom he has felt a kinship, the book jumps back and forth between times, places and themes. Dylan darts between stories highlighting his turning points and his influences, be they musical, personal or otherwise; influence is the zig-zagging thread that links the scenes (in every sense of that word) together. It is dizzying at times, but you want to follow along; I was breathless with the idea that I was getting a glimpse at how the mind of a creative icon works.
There is, in fact, a sense that Dylan is creating his own mythology or, perhaps more accurately, adding to that which already exists. He mentions the apocryphal story about coming into the city in a boxcar, explaining that he told it because he was frustrated with the inane questions of an interviewer. He drops names — John Wayne, Buddy Holly, Spike Lee, Odetta, Woody Guthrie — and you can't help but feel a sense of icon-by-association. Not that Dylan needs the help; he stands as an icon just fine on his own. From anyone else, the references would seem to be a means to puff themselves up; from Dylan, it becomes a metaphor for just how extraordinary his life has been.
Article comments
1 - Gordon Hauptfleisch
Great review, well-written (although you should know I'll be stealing the phrase "a sense of icon-by-association").
2 - Glen Boyd
I concur with Gordon but promise not to steal anything (though it is tempting).
-Glen
3 - Helen
Gratitude was the thing I noticed about Chronicles too. It was a really very surprisingly gracious and charitable book. I think that none of the many women Dylan mentions in it would be wounded by her portrayal there.
That, and the double fiercenesses: the fierceness with which he absorbed, perceived, learned, took it all in-- and the fierceness with which he defended his private self. Dylan is an icon but he's also a tireless iconoclast.
4 - Sarah Warren
I get no sense of puffed-upped stories, quite the contrary, this man retains his humility.
Also re-reading Jack Kerouac recently, it is interesting how Dylan is comfortable with this format where poetry and prose can meet.
5 - Bonnie
Thanks for the compliments.
Sarah, I think that's part of what I found interesting about the book, the way what felt like (or would feel like, were it from anyone else) the name-dropping existed side by side with this humbleness. I can't tell if Dylan is buying into his personna or if he is just giving us what we expect. Certainly, the same stories from someone less iconic would be self-agrandizing; the difference is that in Dylan's case, there's no need for self-agrandizement.
6 - Sarah Warren
Thanks for your reply Bonnie.
For me he is neither buying into his personna or giving us what we expect. The reason why most people are attracted to him is because he is that rare person who just tells it as it is. He talks in Chronicles of how he resented the assumption that he belonged to the people. He patently belongs to himself.