Customer Reviews

Morning, Noon and Night

5 star:		(5)
4 star:		(1)
3 star:		(2)
2 star:		(1)
1 star:		(1)

 

 

I stumbled upon a discount copy of Spalding Gray's Morning, Noon and Night and was morbidly compelled to read it. Basically, he recounts a day in his life when his youngest son was still an infant.

Other of his works are better written and with sharper wit and insight, and to plod through this one - to get it - you have to hear Spalding tell it in your head, see his expressions and mannerisms.

This memoir is something of a reflection on parenthood, and, well, everything, in true Spalding fashion. The book is full of sentiments that everyone confronting parenthood can relate to. I found myself angry at him for saying some of it though (OK, so I'm not finished with my anger just yet). Toward the end he writes:

"Here it is only ten-fifteen in the evening and I'm wasted, and I didn't even go to work. I don't know how people do it. I don't know how people raise families and work at the same time. What's more, why would they want to do it? With only one life to live, why bring more life into the world to be responsible for? It's absurd. It's ridiculous, I think. Why complicate your life with more life that you are ultimately responsible for? I love my children, but they could only be accidents born out of a kind of blind passion. I could never have had a child if I had to think about it."

Although he didn't go to work, he didn't do much parenting either. His girlfriend, working from a home office, also cooked, managed the household renovations, tended to the baby. He was selfish and spoiled - yoga, bike-ride, drinking.

But in the light of his death this work also sketches a portrait of a very sad, confused, scared - desperately scared - childish man. (Lots of inky water imagery too.) The humour and the wonder had already started leaving him.

http://magnificentoctopus.blogspot.com

I had the opportunity to see this work performed by Spalding Gray at UCLA and I must say that some of the grit and edge in Gray's earlier monologues was no longer present.

However, I am always amazed at Gray's ability to tell simple stories and I remain in awe at his facile use of language and description.

A true artist evolves over time, so even if I don't enjoy the kinder, gentler Spalding as much, I must still respect him for for what he is--one of the greatest monologue-ists out there...

As an aging hipster and middle-aged mother of a young child I could easily identify with the subject of this book, which is, roughly, about settling down to the family life and enjoying its blessings despite all expections. But more than that, I was moved by the grace, directness and humor of the writing. Gray's unique sensibility is so disarmingly present in this short meditation that our restrospective awareness of his death makes the reading quite painful. Still, a wonderful little package of feeling and intelligence that deftly explores the ambivalent joys of belonging to family.

One sentence of this monologue might describe Gray himself--"a different kind of show." Having seen him perform this monologue, I can't read this piece without imagining his voice behind it and mourning his suicide. Reading it, however, I'm curious what writing had to do with Gray's effectiveness. Homemade or homespun, Gray's writing is full of ellipsis, repetition, and those sort of "A equals B equals C" moments that could easily be cleaned up and cleared up. However, a good part of its immediacy rises from its seeming in-creation rather than created. A steady stream of wonder courses through wording that--I'm assuming--was deliberately crafted to be appropriately imperfect. Maybe I'm prejudiced by having heard Gray and by my grief--which persists--but his unpolished prose throws more crafted work into an odd perspective. At one moment in this piece, Gray describes how seeing street entertainment on the way to David Copperfield made the master magician appear pure artifice. For me, that's what Gray does--he shows the joys of real and messy creativity.

What a Gemini! From tortured NYC artist to peppy suburban papa riding bicycles and buying ice cream. What's next -- Republican golfer? Raving homeless man with shopping cart? I can't even guess. As a parent, I laughed out loud at dinner table scenes, etc., but was bothered by the fact that although he's madly in love with his kids (which is good; most parents are), he barely mentions Kathie, his partner. And what happened to Renee (is that her name? ) -- the woman he was married to when he got Kathie pregnant? I'd love to hear her side of the story!

Mr Gray has discovered the sublime terrors of family. This is a masterful exposition of the feelings one developes at fatherhood. Beautifully done!

the other reviews here are from mags and such. this review is by a big fan of spalding. yes, if you are looking for the absolute hilarity of swimming, this is different. yet, it is a work of brilliance. spalding is god... a work of heart... and besides now i don't have to cycle around bar harbor... if you are a fan of spald as well, please email me at uptonatom@hotmail.com

This is the most recent of Spalding Gray's monologues and as much as I love his work if he ends his autobiographical pieces here I would be happy, there's a feeling of closure and joy to this work.
If you've read (or seen or listened to) much of his work and have warmed to Mr Gray this will delight you and make you feel very happy for the man - he's finally laid many demons to rest.
After the anxieties of Monster in a Box and Gray's Anatomy this finds Gray much more relaxed and surprisingly content. Having to form a family due to a surprise conception with a lover (see It's a Slippery Slope) Gray has had forced upon him one of his major fears, children of his own.
But the converse of "you better be careful what you wish for..." seems to be true for Gray. It tells the story of one day in his relatively new family's life, also flashing back to the birth of his second son during a torrential storm, and finally Gray is too busy to obsess about - well about anything he wants to obssess about - he can now see the world afresh through his baby son Theo's eyes.
Also, the conversations with his nine-year-old son are hysterical and portray a bonded, wonderfully balanced relationship.
A tale of leap-frogging the mid-life crisis and finding contentment where there was once fear. A true delight - but only read it after you've read more of his previous work - it'll be worth the wait.

Hip America's favorite self-indugent whiner suddenly discovers, as he approaches 60, that other people in the world exist.

But he's still essentially a self-absorbed whiner, and his pepetual adolescence pose has worn thin.

Domesticity may make him happy, but it sure doesn't do much for his monologuing. This, alone among all his monologues, is flat, rather boring. There's something to be said for transgression, at least as a topic for art.