Morrissey book challenge

I and Vauxhall

All good books (or films, say) take you to a transcendental moment, ‘the edge of no escape’ and then despite the shouted warnings and others’ misgivings, incredibly  you step forward  anyway. Miraculously, inexplicably having walked over the cliff you keep on walking, as if having nothing beneath your feet mattered in the slightest. Kept up by their implacable self-belief  you keep on walking – whether it’s Chauncey Gardiner or The Judge in Blood Meridian.

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Morrissey writes beautifully on his early Salford life (and funnily enough in early Smiths days while saying not a word about journies to the seaside, goes up to London and beholds the iconic Elephant and Castle shopping centre).

The book reaches an interminable nadir at the self-justification of the court case and its unfortunately hectoring vegetarianism, finds a life of sorts in the, I guess, posh houses of Camden and Regents Park. Just as you are about to give up, it finds its epiphany in an amazing gig in Fresno and the cheeky generousity of its appraisal of Julie Burchill.

With nothing but thin air beneath him Morrissey keeps on walking.