Lauren Bacall (1924–2014)

Lauren Bacall was a wonderful human. Her talent is undeniable as an actress, wife, mother, activist, caretaker, thinker, protector, helper, writer. While she’s now primarily remembered for her work as an actress, I was surprised at how personable and well-written By Myself and Then Some is. It reads like a Jewish grandmother sitting and telling you about her life. Wonderful.

Death fills the latter half of this book. The highs are high, but the lows are so deep. Bacall lived long enough to see many of her friends and family die, and it has a sobering effect. She mentions at the end of the book that you don't think about death when you're young. She's right. I don't. Maybe things change once you experience the first death of someone close to you. Maybe you see the world differently. Maybe that's what it takes. It seems she did.

Perhaps because of this, the pathos that Bacall views all people comes through. Her thoughts and opinions come through, but they’re always tempered with either her inherent understanding of others or the perspective of years. Maybe both. In her descriptions of her own life, she pulls no punches as far as I can tell, acknowledging her mistakes, but at the same time, owning them. She had affairs with married men, notably with Humphrey Bogart (in a few short months, her husband), and concedes that was not an ideal situation. But when two people meet and better each other in such a passionate way, surely that’s something to not throw away? So her life goes. I highly recommend it.

What I would have underlined if this wasn't a library book.

-It wasn’t good enough, I thought, to have someone crazy about you if you felt nothing.

- Each time I was in love - this was it. The hunger to belong. Imagination is the highest kite that can fly.

- It was hard growing up. (It’s still hard.)

- Was all life to be proving yourself over and over?

- I could tell him anything - dream my dreams aloud and he wouldn’t laugh…

- My name would be on everyone’s lips, my words would be immortal - what was I to do with the me that was buried below all that, with the me I was stuck with, that was real?

- There was no way Bogie and I could be in the same room without reaching for each other, and it wasn’t just physical. Physical was very strong, but it was everything-heads, beards, bodies, everything going at the same time.

- No one has ever written a romance better than we lived it.

- I don’t know how I did it, except that when you’re twenty, it never occurs to you that you can’t.

- It was as though my brain shifted gears when I saw him – I reactivated the better part of it.

- It takes so long to understand things, so much time wasted.

- I’d become attached… to London. I wished I had a proper reason to stay there – once you’ve lived in that city, it’s a hard place to leave.

- Why can’t we be better than we are? Why can’t we enrich our lives with appreciation of the arts, with books? Why can’t that all be at least as important as making money, having a bigger house, a newer car? …why don’t we take the time to see what is around us - the earth, the sea, the sky?… (altro)

The writing is not stellar, but the view on the events through her life was interesting enough for me to finish it. I won't be keeping it, and I would only recommend it to die hard movie fans. Maybe a bit harsh, but after all, I had to wade through 506 pages to finish, and yes, it was a wade. Perhaps a mean editor could have helped. As it is, the writing of the minute details of her life ran on like, "This happened, then this happened, then this happened." I will say that there were a couple of lines I underlined as being wise, and the movie watchlist I gained will entertain me for some time. Okay, now I'm rambling, it must be catching.… (altro)

I feel really mean giving only 2 stars so have another 3/4. I enjoyed the beginning best and got a bit bored in the middle and by the end found myself skipping over pages. I picked up the book to spend some time with a lovely bright women - and she really is that - a wonderful person to spend time with, even if only via the printed word. Perhaps just too long for me - or perhaps most of the book is about people who I just don't connect with - she tells us what was going on, but does not fire my imagination to care myself about any of them except the family she came from. Enjoyed those parts the best.… (altro)