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Title: A HEMINGWAY THAT'S NEITHER ERNEST NOR ENGAGING
Review: This is a show-biz "memoir" of the most terrifying kind ... badly written and leaving readers with two questions: "Why did she write it?" and "Why did I read it?" Hemingway uses the practices and lessons of yoga as a way of telling of her tales --- which, if you believe the hype, "is a searing honest memoir that is firmly practical." That's "firmly" as in the way Hemingway discusses her [breast] job, going so far to admit that whenever she met a friend, she'd lift up her shirt to give the bosom buddy a peek at her "prizes." Her chapter on the death of sis Margaux is an insult and embarrassment, shrouded in new-age babble such as "I gradually began to let go of Margaux's karma, realizing that her pain and problems were hers and not mine." And you wonder why Mariel has no career left.
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