Oh the Glory of It All [Paperback]

The test of a great book is whether it stays with you, not just from the standpoint of recommending it to your friends, but also whether it changes the way you think. I could not get this book out of my mind for days after I finished it. This is the best book I've read in 2005.

Not only is this a fascinating commentary on how the rich and famous live, it's also heartrendingly honest, tragic, and laugh-out-loud funny. Sean's recollection of his trip to Russia on his mother's first "peace mission" is so funny it should be mandatory reading for creative writers. His honesty about his efforts to be the cool kid made me laugh and cry at the same time, particularly since I was the same age as Sean in the 1980s. I did not think less of Sean as he told of his prep school experiences and less-than-flattering behavior. On the contrary, the courage to write such a memoir generated my respect. Sean came through a terrible childhood where he was treated with less regard than the family dog, yet he still emerged a decent and thriving human being.

As for Dede Wilsey, who supposedly is threatening to sue Sean Wilsey, I believe every word about her in this book. The proof speaks for itself. For starters, she just donated $10 million to the De Young while her stepsons were left penniless after Al Wilsey's death. We reap what we sow. The world would be a better place if every wicked stepmother had a book written about her while she was still alive and kicking to read it. It's such great poetic justice.

Entertaining, moving and strong. To me, a memoir's strength rests in its conclusion. And this story concludes elegantly and powerfully. Once you're there, the energy of the preceding 450 pages fold back on themselves like a wave breaking on the beach. If you're prospecting for the much publicized scandal and dirt in here, you'll find it. But if that's your sole motivation for reading this, sadly, you'll miss the point. I've read many memoirs and this one was a highlight in the pile. Glorious!

In my teens, I was enthralled by "Falcon Crest" and would have travelled across the continent in a moment to see that Victorian house; Sean Wilsey and his dad would play games where they'd fly over the house in his dad's helicopter. This and other details of Wilsey's younger years make up the captivating first third of this memoir. I haven't flown through non-fiction this quickly since ... well, ever. The story of his parent's marriage and nasty divorce is as dishy as anything you'd ever see on an 80's prime time soap and stepmother Dede Wilsey (who threatened to sue to block publication of the book, but either changed her mind or was unsuccessful- ha, take that Dede!!!) is the nastiest character to come along, real or imagined in years.

Wilsey made me feel for him and all that he went through, partly because I am a sucker for survivors of emotional abuse and also because it was nice to read a memoir from somebody my age (we are a year apart) where I could relate to the era he was referring to.

The book unfortunately begins to lag as Wilsey chronicles being shuttled from school to school and his rebellion against his parents. As interesting as this is, this part book should have been cut down to half its size; after reading about all the people in the schools and every last detail of a skateboarding routine, the type started to blur on the page. And then we get to Amity which Wilsey describes lovingly? ironically?

To me, Amity just seemed another school for troubled rich kids that bore no resemeblance to the reality many people face. Most juvies don't go to opulent settings in Italy to deal with their problems. As a former member of a religious Youth Group for teens, one that seems to share more similarities to Amity than I am comfortable with (though much less concentrated, of course), I recognized a lot of the tactics of getting in touch with one's emotions and the initmacy and touchy-feeliness that can develop in a situation. Color me jaded but I don't necessarily feel such tactics really are a cure-all, despite the good they did Wilsey, who really, really wasn't such a bad person anyway, just very lost and very depressed.

By the time Wilsey goes to the New School and gets a job at the New Yorker, I found myself wishing I'd been a teen rebel and failed out of every school so I could be working at the New Yorker or editing a cool quarterly - apparently that's all it takes. See - that's how this book has affected me; it's these strange moments of pitying Wilsey, then writing him off as just a rich kid who got more chances than most people would, to pitying him again that make this book such a strange and unique experience that has left me blindsided. I am profoundly touched by this book (the book does pick up again in the final, tearjerking chapters) and can't easily get Wilsey out of my head (and I mean that in the nicest way possible); I suspect I'll spend a lot of time thinking about this story.

Some reviews have accused Wilsey of being too self-pitying and self-centered; well for goodness sake, which teen isn't? Teen trauma is all about them, to the exclusion of everybody else, even the AIDS epidemic in San Francisco; Wilsey lived just a few short miles from one of the epicenters and dealing with enough troubles of his own, he never mentions it. It may not even have registered with him at the time; after all, his (fascinating, complex, wacko, wonderful) mother focused all her efforts overseas and not down the road.

Like Wilsey, I live in New York now as well and know how easy it is to recognize people people on the street, and it's amazing to me that Wilsey bravely bared so much of his life in these pages. Good Lord! If Wilsey ever writes a part 2 in 35 years (come on, his story isn't over yet, I'm waiting for Dede to reappear with a poisoned apple), I'll definitely read it.

Sidenote: Both Wilsey and Alison Bechdel in her recent graphic novel memoir heavily focus on their relationship withy their fathers and mention the same pivotal scene in "Coal Miner's Daughter". So who ends up reviewing "Fun Home" for the NY Times Book Review, perhaps not coincidentally? Our man Wilsey!