Amazon.com Review
From the scandalous murder trial of a French art dealer's widow to photographer-designer Cecil Beaton's peculiar "romance" with Greta Garbo, this sinfully entertaining book lets readers brush up on 20th-century cultural history and the vagaries of human nature at the same time. While we wait for volume III of John Richardson's acclaimed
Life of Picasso, the 28 sketches assembled here make an agreeable diversion, revealing Richardson's lighter side and formidable knowledge of art history. Admiring portraits of Chilean collector Eugenia Errazuriz ("Picasso's Other Mother") and British painter Lucian Freud are among the very few laudatory pieces in a collection notable for its enjoyable emphasis on the less edifying traits of the rich and/or famous. The Sitwells were spiteful mythomaniacs. Armand Hammer was "a veteran con man." As for the sexual proclivities of Salvador Dalí and his wife Gala... well, Richardson gives you all the gory details, some of which would have impressed the Marquis de Sade. Richardson appears as a character in several pieces: he worked for Hammer, spent a summer with Truman Capote in Venice, and sat for a portrait by Andy Warhol. But these appearances seldom seem self-aggrandizing; they're integrated into the essays with the same smoothness that distinguishes his prose.
--Wendy Smith
From Publishers Weekly
Art writer Richardson (A Life of Picasso: Volumes I and II) scored a success with a recent memoir, The Sorcerer's Apprentice, an account of his life shared with the (arguably) bitchiest art critic of the modern era, Douglas Cooper. He follows up that gossipy opus with more dirt 28 articles culled and updated, according to Richardson, from decades of journalism in such slicks as Vanity Fair and House and Garden about the famous and infamous, mostly the latter. He trashes a wide variety of notables, from Salvador Dal¡ to his former employer Armand Hammer, termed "a veteran con man." There are a few admiring essays, such as "Braque's Late Greatness," but only a very few. Mostly it is unrelieved bad-mouthing of the likes of "that simpering ninny Anas Nin... whose narcissistic attitudinizing has addled many an adolescent mind." While some of the subjects seem to deserve this and worse, like the "ratlike ruthlessness" of art swindler Domenica Guillaume, others might merit a little more consideration, like Peggy Guggenheim, who is termed "a clown: an endearingly sad one of the `He Who Gets Slapped' variety," or the transsexual travel writer Jan Morris, whose sex-change operation Richardson violently disapproves of. With a talent for clearly describing intricate art scandals, such as the problems with painter Pierre Bonnard's legacy, Richardson also has an ear for plausible aphorisms, like "Pampered lunatics often reach a great age." Still, the near-continuous tone of grating disdain, which can entertain in a glossy mag article, palls over an entire book.
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