*Autobiography of Mark Twain, vol. I*

Finally, in Florence in 1904, I hit upon the right way to do an Autobiography: start it at no particular time of your life; wander at your free will all over your life' talk only about the thing which interests you at the moment; drop it the moment its interest threatens to pale, and turn your talk upon the new and more interesting thing that has intruded itself into your mind meantime.

Also, make the narrative a combined Diary and Autobiography.  In this way you have the vivid things of the present to make a contrast with memories of like things in the past, and these contrasts have a charm which is all their own.  No talent is required to make a combined Diary and Autobiography interesting.

And so, I have found the right plan.  It makes my labor amusement — mere amusement, play, pastime, and wholly effortless.  It is the first time in history that the right plan has been hit upon.

I spent about ninety minutes browsing this new book, but found it only moderately interesting, with more emphasis on the "moderately" than the "interesting."  If you're obsessed with Twain, you'll find it worth the $20, but the above paragraphs sum up the main problem with the text.


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