Moab Is My Washpot

As another reviewer stated, his frequent ramblings off the main thread of the story are sheer joy and make you feel he is in the room talking to you. And he can't resist teaching us a new word by including it then demonstrating its meaning e.g. rhotacism, or explicitly correcting a widely used grammatical or spelling error! All very familiar Fry stuff.

Stephen says himself that his life is at once as unremarkable as they come and stranger than fiction, when you put it down at the end, you feel he is spot on. Only once towards the very end did I see a quality in him that you could be unashamedly proud of.

Don't worry if you don't like his novels, this is one of the most absorbing and satisfying autobiographies ever written.


'A little to much information', as they say.   May 25, 2004
 4 out of 22 found this review helpful

I have always been something of a fan of Stephen Fry and this was the first, but not the last, of his books that I was to read. The phrase that comes to mind is 'to much information'. Although he has clearly had an interesting life, I'm not sure it was in his, or my, best interests for him to write it all down. I imagine it was something of a therapy for him, which if I remember resulted in him disappearing for some time. Quite understandable. I'm no prude, but parts of this book where reminiscent of the potting shed scene in the film 'Scum'. Contrary to other reviews I didn't find too much to laugh at in the book and felt it lacked the qualities of Stephen Fry I find so appealing. I have read several of his other books, which I more than enjoyed and thought where very well written. I would recommend these books, but unfortunately not this one.


This book changed my life   December 14, 2003
 16 out of 18 found this review helpful

I first read this book when I was thirteen, desperately in unrequited love (although with an older, not a younger man) and wracked with teenage angst. No one understood me, I had no religion, no one to talk to and this love took up my every waking thought. What a relief then, to stumble upon this masterpiece and realise that I wasn't completely alone in the world.

I totally understood everything that Stephen had to say about the world, he made more sense than anybody ever had before. It seemed strange that the man who understood me most in the entire universe wasn't my own father, or even the object of my thirteen year old affections, but this man twenty-eight years my senior that I had never met and had nothing in common with.

You'll be pleased to hear that I'm almost nineteen now, and although not out of my teenage years, I'm out of my teenage angst. I still love the man who inspired those thirteen year old tears, but he loves me too these days, and I feel somewhere deep down, that if Stephen knew, it might inspire a smile. Thanks Stephen.

Also, could I speak for everyone in saying I'm well on my way to being Anonymous Amazon Book Reviewer BA (Hons) in English Literature, I'm not a daft carrot, and I found the idea of stripping a gooseberry bush faster than a priest could strip a choir boy very funny indeed.


The picture of Dorian Fry   August 4, 2003
 5 out of 36 found this review helpful

A couple of months ago, I met an english student at a party who was completely delirious about Stephen Fry. She made me feel this was really an author that could not be missed and hailed "Moab" as a genuine masterpiece. I just finished it, and I really wonder: why? Why? WHY? Why did everybody give this light, lazy and narcissistic novel five stars?

Everything about this "autobiography" is constructed, fake and banal. This book is basically an endless enumeration of boyhood traumas which include homosexuality, being jew, the size of Frys manhood (too small, duh), full details of his "deflowering", his suicide attempt and journey to prison. We read uninspired, mandatory descriptions on how lucky he is with his parents and how he caused them so much pain. But most pages are devoted to anecdotes illustrating what a witty and tormented genius he actually is.

The most irritating characteristic of this book is Frys inability to hold a plotline. From page one, we get flashbacks, flashforwards and rococo embellishments. When he falls in love, Fry spends pages to describe how its like "the chord Max Steinder brings in when Bogart catches sight of Bergman, the swell and surge of the Liebestod from Tristan, Liszts sonata in B minor". Etcetera. Etcetera. And of course, for Fry a page is lost if theres no gag. So be prepared to countless platitudes such as "My mother can strip a gooseberry bush quicker than a priest can strip a choirboy". If you think this is funny, dont bother my review. Youll love the book.