Patti Smith’s M
Train is a love letter to writers and the
romance of writing. It is also a memorial of sorts to lost people, places and
things: her husband, her brother, a café in the West Village, a beloved coat.
But for me, the
most refreshing thing about this book is the way Smith comes across as a real
person. She has a routine: she goes to the aforementioned West Village café
every day (the Café ’Ino, no longer there, for you stalkers), orders her black
coffee, brown toast and olive oil, and proceeds to read and/or write.
She’s also a fan
of TV detective shows. (The Killing, Law
& Order and CSI are just a few that get a name-check.) I love this
about her because it makes her tremendous accomplishments seem to be within the
grasp of ordinary mortals like myself. Reading about how she pieces together
her life—both creative and otherwise—from a combination of concerts, readings,
interviews, etc., helps demystify the process for me.
I also enjoyed
reading about her travels and the importance she gives to certain cultural
icons (Genet, Rimbaud, Mishima, etc.). A lot of her travels consist of
bringing certain things—a stone, some beads, etc.—to the graves of these icons
and bestowing them upon their gravesites. You have to admire someone who would
go to such great lengths for a symbolic gesture!
I think the
strongest chapter in the book deals with Hurricane Sandy and its affect upon
the Rockaways, where she buys a bungalow just before the hurricane strikes. As
someone who had to abandon his own apartment during that hurricane, I can
certainly sympathize.
I guess what I’m
saying is that I love Patti Smith because she doesn’t come across as some
remote, unreachable “rock star,” but as an authentic, living, breathing artist,
one that I have actually seen a few times on the streets of New York City.
One of my
favorite things that I read about Smith saying (albeit not in this book) is
“Just do the work.” And in this book, she does just that, giving us a glimpse
of her daily life, her thoughts, and her philosophy.
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