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A Review

I wrote a review for Moab is My Washpot, Stephen Fry’s autobiography, for the school newspaper. Here it is.

Moab is my Washpot has an article on Wikipedia, like a lot of other things that exist in the physical plane. However, unlike many of its companions, Wikipedians have decided to devote roughly a third of the article to the title. It is a strange title, one of the stranger ones I am liable to come across, since part of a verse in Psalms isn’t something I will come across, normally.

Now, the book is about Stephen Fry, who I am willing to bet you have not heard of. He exists in a strange level of stardom, being a good friend and frequent collaborator to Hugh Laurie, who plays Dr. House on a show of (roughly) the same name. They had a T.V. show together in the 90s and everything—called A Bit of Fry and Laurie. Extremely funny, and more or less available on YouTube, as luck would have it.

It was thanks to these snippets on YouTube actually drew me into Stephen Fry—they convinced me that he was interesting—the man in the sketches radiates funny and has a cut-glass accent, and for me, that merits investigation.
I was directed to his autobiography by Internet friends—the book covers the first half of his life at the time of writing, although 11 years have passed since publishing.

So, why would you read about this relatively obscure comedian?

Stephen Fry narrates it. That one fact should be compelling enough to get you to go to the bookstore and request it. I say this because Fry has an uncanny wit and a way with words that makes almost every new character and object a pleasure to read about.

This is not to say Stephen Fry is a morally excellent person. He does horrible things throughout the book, and by the end, most analyses would depict him as being a horrible person who got into a good college.

Fry seems to have noted that—this is the problem he tackles as narrator, presenting himself honestly without coming off as a horrible person—this is done in two ways. His first tool is charm. Charm is employed liberally, and well. The second is his honesty. He admits readily to his having done horrible things (at one point, I recall him having stolen an old woman’s pension check). He’s frank with himself—and this makes him a person, even when he’s at his worst, who you identify as being fundamentally decent—I am prepared to call that a great accomplishment.

This sounds very superlative, but really, Stephen Fry has earned my admiration, if only for this book, the rest of his career ignored. The book is really disarming in that way. It is friendly and conversational, and it has no qualms or issues defending any stance it takes, it is personal.

Really, that is this book’s greatest merit—it is extremely personal. It’s witty, it’s warm and you feel like you’re sharing a story with the man.

I do, however, have a complaint with the book—it doesn’t tell about his Cambridge days, it cuts off shortly after he’s admitted into college. He’s got his life back on track, and I assume (reasonably) that his life afterwards has led to his writing the book, unfortunately that isn’t covered.

With all of that said, I give this book:
5/5 Dark Magicians