Year of the Monkey Paperback – Deckle Edge, September 1, 2020

”Marcus Aurelius asks us to note the passing of time with open eyes. Ten thousand years or ten thousand days, nothing can stop time, or change the fact that I would be turning seventy in the Year of the Monkey. Seventy. Merely a number but one indicating the passing of a significant percentage of the allotted sand in an egg timer, with oneself the darn egg. The grains pour and I find myself missing the dead more than usual. I notice that I cry more when watching television, triggered by romance, a retiring detective shot in the back while staring into the sea, a weary father lifting his infant from a crib. I notice that my own tears burn my eyes, that I am no longer a fast runner and that my sense of time seems to be accelerating.”This often reads as though it were written under a fever-dream and other times the random musings of the poet ”…plucking inspiration from the erratic air”, all the while trying to focus on the things which are established, and her memories of the years gone by. At this point in her life, she has just celebrated her 69th birthday, is contemplating turning seventy in the coming year, concerned over two friends whose health was rapidly fading, the then-coming election, all while drinking lots of coffee, and mourning those who have passed on, and feeling helpless toward those merely hanging on.”There was work to be done, concerts to perform, lives to live, however carefully.”And the lives of two men that she loved would be gone before another year arrived.”The wooden bed in the corner of the room seems so far away, and all is but an intermission, of small and tender consequences.”And as the new year starts winding toward the next one, the chants of the coming election seem inescapable, but her thoughts drift more often to her loved ones, both here and gone, the fragility and temporary nature of this one life we are given.Life, love, death, aging, politics, music, poetry, writers, reading, the economy, pollution, all these and more fill and fuel these pages. Some are filled with lovely thoughts, some with frustrations, and some with heartbreaking reminiscences. If you’ve read any of her former memoirs, you may remember of her penchant for including her photographs, ones that typically remind her of a time when someone she loved was there by her side, although there are many that are reminiscent of a place she visited. These things are not just ‘things,’ though, they are real moments in time, captured in some object whose significance may or may not be recognized by anyone else. Like a lullaby, they give her comfort. They are transportation back to that moment, allowing her to relive those feelings, those memories.”I plodded up the stairs to my room reciting to myself, Once I was seven, soon I will be seventy. I was truly tired. Once I was seven, I repeated, sitting on the edge of the bed, still in my coat.“Our quiet rage gives us wings, the possibility to negotiate the gears winding backwards, uniting all time.”Years ago my brother sent me a box of books, and inside that box was a copy of her ‘Just Kids,’ and then when her ‘M Train’ came out, he sent that, as well – but after reading ‘Just Kids’ I would have bought my own copy, hoping that the magic was still there. I love the way she writes, and her personal stories that she shares. I didn’t think she could match her ‘Just Kids,’ and for some maybe she doesn’t, but I loved this as much, maybe just a smidgen more. I think for some it will be more relatable.”…the trouble with dreaming is that we eventually wake up.”If you are not a reader who typically read the epilogue, do yourself a favour and make sure you read her final chapter, entitled A KIND OF EPILOGUE.

I enjoyed reading it, but it's definitely not a book for everyone. It wanders, but it's Patti Smith, so not unexpected at all. If you're looking for something out of the ordinary, you may want to check this one out. Her best book, in my opinion, is still JUST KIDS. Definitely the best.

The Year of the Monkey was a different animal from M Train, the preceding Patti Smith book I read. Poignant clarity characterized the latter, while Year of the Monkey lapses in and out of slightly hallucinogenic magical realism, still poignant. The book’s first and second halves (using the term loosely, not mathematically) don’t quite mesh. In the first, Patti embarks on an elegiac road trip that was supposed to include a friend, who fell mortally ill. It’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s not on this journey, as hard as it is coming to terms with a life bereft of friends one has known for 40 years. In the second half of the book, Patti reflects on the Van Eyck brothers’ celestial oeuvre and succumbs to its lure via a pilgrimage. Maybe because of all the loss she’s suffered, Patti seems to view everything in her environment, whether organic or inorganic, as weighted with significance. At first I didn’t get what other reviewers meant by complaining of name-dropping, but I finally realized they were referring to the literary and artistic allusions sprinkling the narrative. She has committed the ultimate sin, in the USA, of (a) being erudite and (b) not pretending she isn’t. How refreshing! Whatever the book’s flaws, I wouldn’t have missed reading it for the world.

The novel was a visual and narrative poem as the author enters her 70th year facing the loss of people who meant the world to her. Everything has meaning to her with layers and layers of memories on streets, bars, books, photographs, hotel rooms. Dreaming while haunted. I'm entering my 60th year and loss is happening. I will outlive people I've known all my life. I felt a sense of peace reading the book. You live long enough. daily life becomes a mix of dreams, memories, and present.

Patti Smith is one of the most creative artists of our time. Her new book, "Year of the Monkey," is further testimony to the inventive mind of an original and innovative virtuoso. As she drifts up and down the Pacific Coast, and back and forth across the country, a “diary” of her thoughts becomes transformed into text, giving readers an intimate look into her mind and her thinking—Patti Smith about to turn seventy. Not only is the concept and the prose unique, but the grammatical and stylistic choices she has made with the book are singularly distinctive. Not sure I’ve seen another book like this since the days of the 1950s modernist writing. (Richard C. Brusca: author of "In the Land of the Feathered Serpert" and about two-dozen other books)

i've always loved how patti smith writes and moves through life. i had this on pre-order the moment i heard it was coming out. what is real and what is not real is all real when i read her words. there is another channel in this universe and her words help me tap into that channel. the only reason for 4 stars instead of 5 is that i prefer M Train and Just Kids over this book. but i also prefer this book over almost all other books/authors, so i struggled in how many stars to give this. i wish we all had ernests in our journeys. perhaps we do and we don't notice them the way that patti smith does. maybe i will go back and give this five stars after all.

I feel like I need a notebook when I read Patti , to note all her references .... They are all fascinating , and inspiring and only leave me wanting more ...

Pleasure

Curious would be a good word to use. Not too sure what this book is about but I enjoyed reading it. It is much like Smith's other writings - full of clues and names that one can follow up on. She seems happy wandering with her boots and her polaroid, meeting odd people and drinking coffee in search of meaning. I love how the little things she encounters take on significance. In our lives, that is what we all need. This little book is full of small things that can take us to some bigger picture. We can all embrace the coffee and our dreams.....

I’ve read all of Patti Smith’s books. This one is the most dreamlike; flowing like lava or a slow stream toward beautiful memories and experiences.

Dreamlike,troubling,shady with shards of diamond light.Short though but Smith's writing always leaves one wishing for more.I look forward to the next book.