This memoir reminded me of a spirit that many people lose in old age. That boldness or chutzpah as Elise Krentzel dubs it, ghost of a precious time when we had the energy and fearlessness to dream. Like Peter Pan the author as many in her generation hungered for global adventure, so ignorant of what could happen that they made things happen in their lives.
Elise Krentzel unfurls her big city memories like a cyclone – a dysfunctional family, teen alienation, isolation, confusion, then she eyes a future as a Rock journalist. The author blames an urge, “to dig out the truth” for motivation. Rethought, she claims the dream was about confrontation. “I faced many consequences head-on,” she wrote. “I wished others would do the same.”
Memoirs can plod, but not Under My Skin. The frank narrative subtly compels readers to lift the curtains on their urges. This tale of sex, drugs, fast times, and rock legends such as KISS, combines with accounts of jobs in Japan, jousts with gangsters, and unstable business partners, to make a story that many readers will think can only come from New York City. Yet even those from smaller places will hastily flip pages because its honesty, naivete and lessons resonate with many who struggle to grow, and those who made it.
Krentzel, “drama queen,” now “a queen”, writes:
I didn’t know how to reconcile my high-and-mighty ethical and moralistic side with the vengeful, and morose side….People generally thought of me as a strong-willed, outspoken individualist whose head was in the clouds.
Those late 20th century years of sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll for the author and her crowd were when many people lived with a hope bred by the Civil Rights Movement. Change abounded women’s rights were on the rise, and many thought the old social and political barriers would crumble into the wind. Confidence in the old institutions crumbled. For example, before Watergate, most Americans would have never believed a president would try to steal an election or lie.
Some readers will scoff at the story. Someone from outside big cities might find Krentzel’s success as a journalist a tinged fiction. At several spots they might ask, “Do people really act like that.” For example, when as a teen she tried to get interviews from an agent:
In the middle of my presentation, he closed the door, sat on his desk with one leg swinging, and asked me bluntly, “Do you want to fuck me?” “No!” I retorted, “I do not.” He smirked, “If you refuse, you won’t get the gig—you know that, right?” With that, I got up, cursed him under my breath just loud enough for him to hear, and slammed the door behind me…. If I had to do combat with a bunch of dickheads to get ahead in this business, then I had no problem facing them down….Ethically and morally, I found it repugnant.
The saga descends through “clouds” of sex, drugs and raw relationships into Krentzel’s form of majesty. The best part is the hint of two more books to come. She still dreams.
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