'But Enough About Me,' indeed

By Eric Mungenast, Staff Writer

January 2, 2008 | 3:36 a.m.

Teeming with pop culture tidbits and critical levels of melodrama, “But enough about me...,” the autobiography of Jancee Dunn, is a cross between a watered-down version of “Sex and the City” and a PG-13 version of Chuck Klosterman’s “Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs.”

Dunn, a longtime writer for Rolling Stone, tells the story of her rise from plucky Jersey girl to Rolling Stone writer. This journey includes stereotypical bad boyfriends, a near overdose and the theoretical loss of identity for the writer, a feat that happens in just about every autobiography. The tales of her Jersey upbringing are entertaining, but her life devolves shortly thereafter into a swirling miasma of boring clichés and melodrama.

However, what Dunn does well is contrast her personal life with anecdotes and tips about interviewing celebrities, a nice little how-to guide for potential journalists that provides a humorous glance into the lives of the tabloid idols. Dunn differentiates the personal with the celebrity by providing numbered chapters for the personal and cutesy, corny titles like “How to approach an R&B artist when you’re the whitest person in the western world,” and “Booze: at least as important as your tape recorder,” for the celebrity sections.

The section titles poorly reflect Dunn’s humor, which tends to be subtly gloomy and self-effacing, and just a touch nerdy. Some of her anecdotes are indeed quite funny; Barry White’s ability to help Dunn through a bad breakup using lines like “Taurus, you’ve got to listen to what the universe tells you,” and “I’ll take care of every-thaang” is particularly comical and heart-warming, showing how genuinely cool Barry White once was.

Another example is her story about refusing an offer of heroin former Stone Temple Pilots lead singer Scott Weiland. The image of her running into the bathroom and calling her sister for advice provides a nice look into Dunn’s personality. These anecdotes work because Dunn shows her personality and the personalities of others, instead of simply telling what people are like -- a common problem for any writer.

Other anecdotes are a little weaker and show her as more of a celebrity worshipper than a real journalist. The best example of this is Dunn’s interview with Madonna, where she sweats her way through the interview, in awe of the Material Girl’s power of celebrity. Dunn loses a little credibility for losing her cool.

Another problem with the book is a hint of plagiarism, as she steals the line “Call me morbid, call me pale,” from the opening line of The Smiths’ song “Half a person.” Dunn uses the line while discussing her self-described “Goth Lite period” in high school and does not quote who originally said it. She shows familiarity with the band, mentioning Smiths guitarist Johnny Marr later in the book.

Despite the problems, the book is surprisingly difficult to put down, a byproduct of the more modern type of storytelling like the Harry Potter series, which replaces quality writing for entertainment, a higher-minded version of the paperback romance novels found at grocery stores.

Dunn’s life, as told by her, is a piece of fluff with dark periods worthy of the most ragged of paperback sections. But the book is an entertaining read and is worth a read for anyone interested in music or the celebrity lifestyle.

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