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| The Entertainment Review |
| By: Toby Young Publisher: Da Capo Press |
Unless a person is a prodigy along the lines of Mark Twain or David Sedaris, is there any reason to have two
memoirs by the age of 42? Exceptions can be made for those raised under extraordinary circumstances, but being
ambitious and British and named Toby Young hardly seems compelling enough for a $24 book at least that is what
the average book reader would think.
Some more reasons to dislike Toby Young, author of “The Sound of No Hands Clapping” include that fact that he is
as tasteless and celebrity-starved as the cast of a thousand seasons of “The Real World.” The critical eye he
capably turns on pop culture, love, and marriage dissipates when it comes to himself, or at least to his insatiable
desire for fame.
In “How to Lose Friends & Alienate People,” Young fell hard from a seemingly fortunate journalistic perch at Vanity
Fair magazine, where he upset movie stars and editor Graydon Carter alike. Years later, married and returned to
London, his gaze is still fixed on America, but this time it's on the Hollywood film business. Contracted by what he
assures readers is a Very Powerful Hollywood Producer whose name is withheld for legal reasons, Young busies
himself adapting a book about a legendary disco-era record producer into a screenplay. Only it never really takes
hold and, at the risk of being reductive, drama ensues.
At the same time, Young has become a father and, oddly enough, an actor while holding down a day job he admits
being totally unqualified for, a theatre critic. None of this is very exciting, which will be obvious right away, but the
thing about Young is that, despite all the reasons to dislike him, he is genuinely funny and charming.
Still, “The Sound of No Hands Clapping” is hardly a book without problems. Young's self deprecation grows suspect
due to its constant frequency. However, in most cases, the funny moments of the book manage to cancel out the
megalomania and the skepticism regarding its authenticity.
Maybe it's because Americans so instinctively put British folk on a pedestal of sophistication, but it is a welcome relief
to find one who, however book smart, is a complete social imbecile and can be fairly easy to learn to dislike. In his
first memoir, an exasperated Carter tells Young he's "like a British person born in New Jersey." It's a slight from on
high, though it's not totally untrue. Young couldn't buy couth in a Greenwich country club with a fistful of Vanderbilt
zygotes. But thank goodness for that, as it's what makes his memoirs work. He's a tacky Brit in a country that hasn't
heard of such a thing. If only more British people were born in the Garden State.
Like many books of this type, not all readers are going to be able to make it more than twenty pages into the book
while other will want to go back and read Young’s previous book. “The Sound of No Hands Clapping” is a humorous
book written by a man that thinks that because he wrote the book, people need to read it.
memoirs by the age of 42? Exceptions can be made for those raised under extraordinary circumstances, but being
ambitious and British and named Toby Young hardly seems compelling enough for a $24 book at least that is what
the average book reader would think.
Some more reasons to dislike Toby Young, author of “The Sound of No Hands Clapping” include that fact that he is
as tasteless and celebrity-starved as the cast of a thousand seasons of “The Real World.” The critical eye he
capably turns on pop culture, love, and marriage dissipates when it comes to himself, or at least to his insatiable
desire for fame.
In “How to Lose Friends & Alienate People,” Young fell hard from a seemingly fortunate journalistic perch at Vanity
Fair magazine, where he upset movie stars and editor Graydon Carter alike. Years later, married and returned to
London, his gaze is still fixed on America, but this time it's on the Hollywood film business. Contracted by what he
assures readers is a Very Powerful Hollywood Producer whose name is withheld for legal reasons, Young busies
himself adapting a book about a legendary disco-era record producer into a screenplay. Only it never really takes
hold and, at the risk of being reductive, drama ensues.
At the same time, Young has become a father and, oddly enough, an actor while holding down a day job he admits
being totally unqualified for, a theatre critic. None of this is very exciting, which will be obvious right away, but the
thing about Young is that, despite all the reasons to dislike him, he is genuinely funny and charming.
Still, “The Sound of No Hands Clapping” is hardly a book without problems. Young's self deprecation grows suspect
due to its constant frequency. However, in most cases, the funny moments of the book manage to cancel out the
megalomania and the skepticism regarding its authenticity.
Maybe it's because Americans so instinctively put British folk on a pedestal of sophistication, but it is a welcome relief
to find one who, however book smart, is a complete social imbecile and can be fairly easy to learn to dislike. In his
first memoir, an exasperated Carter tells Young he's "like a British person born in New Jersey." It's a slight from on
high, though it's not totally untrue. Young couldn't buy couth in a Greenwich country club with a fistful of Vanderbilt
zygotes. But thank goodness for that, as it's what makes his memoirs work. He's a tacky Brit in a country that hasn't
heard of such a thing. If only more British people were born in the Garden State.
Like many books of this type, not all readers are going to be able to make it more than twenty pages into the book
while other will want to go back and read Young’s previous book. “The Sound of No Hands Clapping” is a humorous
book written by a man that thinks that because he wrote the book, people need to read it.
