Valerie Martin has her actor/narrator in The Confessions Of Edward Day say, “In general the actor’s memoir is divided into two parts: stirring tales of my youthful artistic suffering followed by charming profiles of all the famous people who admire me. I’m not sure why this genre is popular, as nothing could be more boring than an actor’s life and actors are such a self-absorbed and narcissistic lot, they’re unlikely to make good narrators.” I heartily agree.
I was never able to believe the characters in her book were close to being people, nor that Edward Day could be trusted with accounting for life on or off stage. You may find the book interesting if you have dealt with Chekhov’s Uncle Vanyaas Chekhov is a competitive sport for both professional, university, and amateur theatre people. They all have secretly channel Chekhov at some point in their life. Charles Marlin