Monday, September 8, 2014

Autopornography: A Memoir of Life in the Lust Lane by Scott O'Hara

Autopornography: A Memoir of Life in the Lust Lane by John P. De Cecco
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

A book that starts off well, then is padded to a finale.
Scott was a complex character is seems, not really sure of himself and what he wanted. Some lines seem to contradict each other:
“As usual, since I don’t believe in guilt, I felt guilty for feeling guilty.”
“I give relationships a grade of D+. They aren’t actually all bad; they’re just used in unhealthy ways most of the time. They’re used to stunt people’s growth, instead of encouraging it.”
“And my journals, I blush to admit, were 99 percent concerned with agonized discussions of whether I was truly in love with X, and if so, whether X might possibly be in love with me.”
He seems in love with the idea of being in love, but the reality is always something less than that. Another porn star bio from someone who writes well enough but whom I wouldn’t necessarily want to have met.
The book as a memoir is okay but doesn’t get really into the porn scene as much as I would have liked. For example David Ashfield, who Scott worked with, gets a note that he was professional. That’s about it. There’s no behind the scenes revelations in this book. I was hoping for more.
What does make the first half of the book a decent read is Scott’s life, his unorthodox childhood without a TV and sleeping outside on the lawn with his family. These memories really came to life for me, but again Scott seemed as odds with them, alternatively complementing his parents and then saying he would never speak to them again and doing things just to shock them well into his twenties.
The latter half of the book is a lot of filler with sex scenes intertwined with Scott’s opinion on AIDS, which is out there. Scott mentions using alternative therapies and not trusting doctors, which may have actually saved his life when doctors were initially over-prescribing AZT. But people tend to handle their diseases in different ways, and Scott’s attitude of “I must be doing something right, I’ve had it for 15 years and I’m still here” rings false knowing he died shortly after this book was published.
Still Scott lived through the worst of the AIDS epidemic and came out with a few good insights, and I wasn’t there so I can’t really judge:
“There’s something spooky about reading a seven-year-old obituary, and realizing you’ve been remembering a dead person as if he were alive, fantasizing about him. It’s hard to mourn, after so much time.”
Again the last half of the book is filler with re-printed magazine columns and miscellaneous sex fantasies.
At a price of $42 to buy and $13.50 to rent for 30 days, this eBook was ridiculously overpriced.

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