The Autobiography of Mark Twain

I expected wit and I got it.

I give this book 4 out 5.  There were some rants about the nature of man, versus the laws of man, and some slights against Christianity that made me pretty uncomfortable.  So I docked him.

I was really surprised by how exciting his life had been from beginning to end.  That and how many of his characters were based upon people he knew, things they had done and other real-life happenings.  I have read that fiction should be fiction, not autobiographical, but Twain has shot that theory all to pieces.  Most of what he wrote was relating the stories of other people, or himself.

The amount of death in his life is stunning and the way it comes on out of nowhere.  Reading about the death of his son, who became sick and died within (from what I remember) a day; then the death of his daughter, who was fine and then dead within two days; the death of his wife, who seemed to be getting better (oh the tragedies in that story are big enough to make you sob); finally the death of another daughter, who was alive and healthy the night before...  it's so much.  By the time he'd finished I figured out that his raging against certain machines was a response to this death and in the death of his youngest daughter I found that he believed something, enough to cry out to God.

This was a rollercoaster ride.  One moment you're laughing your fool head off and the next you are teetering on the edge of a deep dark precipice at the bottom gnashes the teeth of death and loss.  I suppose most everyone can relate to loss, so I think most everyone could find a plethora of comforting, understanding, sympathetic quotes in this book.  Twain was a remarkable man.  I wanted to argue with him and embrace him (which he would have hated).  I cried, but I was glad the book was over, because I'm not sure I could have faced the weight of more of his loss.  He is right when he says the dead are the blessed ones.  His death must have brought such relief.