Book Review: The M-Train (2 Star Rating)

The M-Train, by Patti Smith, is a memoir that is really a book about nothing. That is right, a book a story without a purpose—but some may argue it is a tale of losing and finding oneself. My first indication of this was when Smith opened up the book with a vivid description of a dream she had of an imaginary cowpoke that was quoted saying, “It’s not so easy writing about nothing.” Reading that line made me realize that I was in for an unhappy surprise.

It all begins in 1994, after the loss of her husband and band guitarist Fred Smith, and her brother Todd. The author is living alone in New York City and has a profound interest in cafés, especially for Café ‘Ino, and coffee. In fact, cafés and coffee seem to be one of the most important elements in her memoir; no matter where Smith goes, coffee and cafés seem to always follow her.

Smith writes about her travels to London, Tokyo, Rockaway Beach, and visits the graves of famous writers like Sylvia Plath. What the book mainly expresses is her acceptance and being at peace in her own solitude.

Most book reviewers call this a ballad—a poetic story of losses. Her words and entire prose sound poetic, lyrical, and is also pictorial. But overall, it was not a story that I found myself enjoying.

I have never heard of Patti Smith, but with a quick Google search, I discovered who this unknown famous person was and is. She’s a photographer, poet, and singer/songwriter. Never have I ever heard a song of hers, even when I looked in iTunes and listened to some songs made by her—to see if there would be a hint of recognition—it turned out to be a failure.

The book, to me, was a book about nothingness. Her first memoir, Just Kids, was a bestseller that traces her beginning stages of being a musician and artist. It’s a book that I have yet to read, but I don’t know if I’ll be investing money on anymore Smith’s books. So for right now, I’m feeling a tad hesitant of purchasing a copy of her first memoir, because maybe if I had read that first—it would have given me a better understanding and appreciation of the author. Surprisingly, those who read Just Kids, found this second memoir to be poetically brilliant.

I felt that she was long-winded and the story dragged on and on about nothing! I found myself frustrated with the great temptation of putting down the book and stocking it in my shelf forever, with not a bit of regret of not finishing it. But I didn’t want to be a quitter, so I went through with it and finished it. It was brutal.

It’s hard to write a book review about a book that has no real premise or storyline; therefore, I just had to give it a two-star rating. Others might argue that my rating might be too harsh, but I am an honest person and people always need to hear the truth.

x, Kayla