This is where I exist in society. I am just this guy. I am transgender, and I exist. But I also do comedy, and I do drama, and I run marathons for charity, and I'm an activist in politics. These are the things I do. How you self-identify with your sexuality matters not one wit. What you do in life – what you do to add to the human existence – that is what matters. That is the beautiful thing.Despite protesting that he's had a basically boring life with moments that were “windswept and interesting” (pace Billy Connolly), Eddie Izzard's story seems ripe for exploration: He lost his Mum when he was young; was sent (unhappily) to boarding school; spent a decade “in the wilderness” trying to carve out a creative niche; built his stand-up into a world-wide phenomenon; has succeeded in dramatic film and television acting (his first love and childhood ambition); has raised millions of dollars for charity with his marathon running; all while having the courage to express what he calls his “alternative sexuality” (described as an “action transvestite”; a full man with half a girl thrown in; able to switch from “girl mode” to “boy mode” and attracted to women, he's essentially a male lesbian). Nothing about this is “basically boring” but his memoir, Believe Me, kind of is. I was pleased to have received an ARC of this book (so quotes may not be in their final forms) and I suppose there's hope that some parts will be tightened up before publication. As is, it was just okay.
As a professional storyteller, I expected Izzard to be able to translate the spoken word onto the page, but I had so many problems with his writing. This is a representative example of a frequently dull and meandering style:
I took grades six and seven on the clarinet, and ended up with grade eight merits. You could get a pass or a merit or a distinction, but I never got a distinction because my sight-reading was so crap. I hammered my way up these endless grades playing music that really didn't interest me at any time, though the occasional Mozart clarinet concerto was quite beautiful and created a wonderful sound even if I was making it. If you watch Out of Africa you can hear Mozart's Clarinet Concerto in A Major, which is beautiful. Even the animals think so. I think I could play that now and achieve a more beautiful sound, because you have to put emotion into it and I feel that I can now play with emotion. I even listened to a recording of Mozart's Clarinet Concerto in A Major in the mornings in Africa when I was there running my marathons in 2016.More issues: Izzard frequently repeats himself about peripheral details – he writes again about listening to this Mozart concerto during his later chapter on the South African marathons – and these don't serve as comedic call-backs (if that was his aim?), they just made me sigh, “Yes, I remember you saying that. And that.” He uses far too many distracting footnotes that either tell a related story that could have found a spot in the body of the book, or he defines words that don't need defining, even on this side of the pond (“wee” means little and “gigs” means shows; really?). Related to this point, he writes that when he first came out to a friend, her reaction was “cool (positive)”: if he felt the need to define which meaning of “cool” he was using, why didn't he use a better word in the first place? Izzard writes early that he knows there is no God – I have no issue with that – and then he makes frequent reference to God (or rather “god” since he writes that he refuses to capitalise the name of something that doesn't exist) simply to reinforce his nonexistence. Writing over and over “Thank god (except there is no god)...” just comes off as childish in the end. Also strange: There's a chapter on Izzard's mental image of the universe (it's an expanding sphere(ish), so that if you headed off in any direction and had infinite time, you'd end up back where you started; it eliminates the need for borders to the universe and erases that place where god might exist), and this feels so out of place in a memoir, so self-important and pleased with its own cleverness, that it comes off as sophomoric. And a last note: I understand that Izzard is a globalist – he has performed stand-up in French and German in order to eliminate cultural barriers – and that he has worked to oppose war-mongering nationalism, but I take issue with him describing Brexit and the election of Trump as acts of “hate”. Izzard might consider that the same free and liberal society that has allowed him to safely walk around in a skirt and heels might feel threatened by an influx of people who would fight to eliminate that liberty; there are certainly places in Britain, France, and Germany where he wouldn't be safe expressing himself today (not to mention his birthplace in Yemen).
So, to the skirt and heels bit. I absolutely believe that it took immeasurable courage for Izzard to begin openly expressing his sexuality back in the '80s, and he does a great job of linking his successful coming out to his successes in other areas of his life (he has always imagined the most impossible thing and then went ahead and did it; who would even imagine running 43 marathons in 51 days [in middle age] on five weeks of training?). And while Izzard doesn't owe me any more explanation of “action transvestism” than he feels like offering, I simply would have benefited from more. He writes that despite there being no current scientific proof, he believes his desire to wear skirts and heels is genetic – but don't call that a genetic predisposition to dressing like a woman; he considers the actual clothing and makeup to be gender-neutral (like trousers and jeans for women). And this despite his girl mode/boy mode days and feeling like a lesbian; him using “transvestite” and “transgender” interchangeably; if he is expressing something gender-neutral, why does he consider himself to be part of the LGBT community? I entered this with a positive heart (as Izzard requests) and a desire to understand, so if I leave without understanding, I think the fault must lie with the writing.
In the end, I don't think that Believe Me is particularly well written, and despite Izzard protesting in the beginning that he doesn't think of his life as all that interesting, he seems to have focussed his memoir on the boring bits; gliding over the “windswept and interesting”. It's always rewarding to see how much time and hard work it takes for an artist to become an overnight success, so there's definitely value here, but I'm considering these three stars a rounding up.
