From the Publisher
With the 20th Anniversary Edition of Mommie Dearest, Christina Crawford becomes one of the only authors in publishing history to re-issue a number one best-seller. "The new edition is published as I intended it. More than 100 pages - mostly that delve into my adult relationship with Mother - that were left out of the original version are back in," said Ms. Crawford. "I've also added eyewitness accounts from people who came forward with information after the book was initially published, a preface to reflect the whirlwind that has happened in my life since Mommie Dearest was first published, and an afterword on adoption reform." When it was released in 1978, Christina Crawford's Mommie Dearest made an indelible impression on America's cultural landscape: it enjoyed 42 weeks on the New York Times best-seller list, spawned a cult film classic based on the book, and placed the issue of family violence in the national spotlight. Issues of family violence brought to light then have yet to be resolved today and the book still stands as a catalyst for change. Christina Crawford is an internationally recognized, best-selling author and advocate for adoption reform, the rights of women and children, and a pioneer in making family violence an issue of national concern.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
DEAD. New York City, May 10, 1977 at 10 a.m. Eastern Daylight time. Official cause of death: coronary arrest.
As the wire services sped the news around the world we heard a brief obit on the radio all-news station on our way to the airport.
The only time so far that I had cried was when an old fan had called to tell me about the TV news station coming to film his collection of her clothes and photographs in his living room and to ask it he could have her dog...if no-one else had asked for it. Would I bring the dog back with me? She's barely cold and someone wants the dog! It was the same story all over again - the old clothes and the anklestrap shoes and the 8x10 autographed glossies and the goddamned dog. The rage made me shake and tears spilled down my fact...yet somehow my voice sounded ever polite. I hung up the phone.
Superstar is dead. Now the closet door will open and every weirdo in America will be on parade waving their faithful notes signed "God bless...Joan." I cried. But it wasn't sorrow, it was anger...a flash of the old rage like one of those violent thunder and lightening storms that sweep across the eastern sky and are gone.