Queenie bought this book because she is interested in how Peter Jackson got all the egos necessary to make the Lord of the Rings firstly, to New Zealand, and secondly, to behave. (Apparently, he just lied to them all and told them he’d let them leave after a few months). And although she knew most of the book would be Sean Astin’s take on events, she didn’t think it would be quite as self-centred as it is. Even though Trish Byrne pointed out quite sensibly that he is a luvvie.
Those who know and love Queenie know she can be very neurotic, particularly when she’s in her flowers, so she empathises with a certain amount of precocious negativity and mememe-ness, but Sean Astin beats Banagher, as they say in South Offaly-East Galway. And he doesn’t have his flowers because he’s a bloke.
What he does have is a childhood over which hung the shadow of depression, which again Queenie can empathise with. But as Queenie walks through the dark forest of life, she keeps bumping into people who carry the same shadow on their brow. And they don't whinge to the same extent.
Queenie has three comments to make about this book.
Firstly, Mrs. Sean Astin is a saint and should be beatified by the Pope sharpish, before he pops his clogs. To give Mr. Astin his due, he seems to realise this.
Secondly, if Viggo Mortensen is a rabid, radical political activist, then Queenie is Enver Hoxha.
Thirdly, Astin spends a large part of the book trying to figure out the best way to get ahead in life. Most of us spend time doing that, but publishing a book about it is maybe not the cleverest move. Lots of ammunition in here for clever, manipulative people. Which is most successful people.
Queenie finds the best way to get ahead in life is to shut the fuck up and listen and learn. And ignore people if they tell you to go away. Well, that’s what works for her anyway. In work, mind. She’s on top of her personal life. Nothing to learn there.
No, nothing – Percy.
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