From one book of essays to another; from one book which I found essential to another which I found to be the total opposite, and it pains to me say that. I like David Mamet \u2013 I like his films and I like the plays that I have read; I’ve enjoyed a couple of interviews too, where I found his insight into human behaviour and the craft of writing to be interesting and invaluable; I picked up this book expecting the same, thinking the quality of the writing would be a sure bet. I was disappointed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I found Jafsie and John Henry<\/em> to be unengaging and on the whole outright boring. I really struggled with this book and it is not a big book, but I had to put it down, give it a rest, and come back to it. I wished to persist and get through to the end of it in the hope that somewhere in the back half of the book (I literally stopped half way) I might find something that made the whole thing worthwhile. While there was nothing that did this for me I can say that the remainder of what I read slightly tempered my opinion and turned me towards a less aggressive opinion of the book.<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n So, what was the problem with it? The choice of subjects? Perhaps. But I think it was the general feeling it left me with \u2013 that I was taking a very pedestrian stroll through trodden down areas with a guide who was just waffling on about stuff even he wasn’t that enthusiastic about; it was as if Mamet had been possessed for the length of this book by the spirit of Bill Bryson. I know some people will probably want to beat me for not liking the cuddly travel writer but his brand of smug, timid pussyfooting around everything has always bugged me \u2013 it is the textual equivalent of being smothered with a big wooly jumper and I honestly never expected to get that from Mamet. Please, stick with the screenplays and stage productions where I think Mamet really lives and breathes, and don’t bother with this.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"