Mr. Clarke's "book" is really more of an extended ( and poorly written ) magazine essay. However, I'm not sure what magazine would publish it ( surely not the NEW YORKER or DOWN BEAT ). Clarke never sheds any light on Sinatra's upbringing, personality or musicianship. Not for a moment do you feel either the man or his music come to life. There are literally dozens of examples of his amateurish writing; in one amazingly idiotic passage ( page 132, 3rd paragraph ) he states that the title of Sinatra's famous album "SONGS FOR SWINGIN' LOVERS" has become "mildly irritating" (!). He goes on a moment later to ask whether "swinging" was a euphemism for suburban wife swapping (!!). No one should shell out $$ for this type of drivel. By the way, Mr. Clarke, if you're amusing yourself by reading this review in between writing your "books"; I DIDN'T buy it ( thank God I merely checked it out of the library! ). To concur with some of the other reviewers: regarding the music, try Will Friedwald's "THE SONG IS YOU; A SINGER'S ART" or Charles Granata's upcoming "SESSIONS WITH SINATRA". For an extremely well-balanced, thorough account of Mr. Sinatra's life, try Randy Taraborelli's "SINATRA: A COMPLETE LIFE". For a short but poignant essay, try Pete Hamill's "WHY SINATRA MATTERS". For a famous account of Sinatra c.1966, try Gay Talese's essay entitled "FRANK SINATRA HAS A COLD" ( available in the FRANK SINATRA READER ). Other short but informative passages on Sinatra have been written by Shirley MacLaine and Mia Farrow ( I forget the exact titles of their books ). As far as Clarke's volume is concerned, it only ranks slightly above Kitty Kelley's stinker; in other words, it deserves a spot deep in the bowels of Dante's inferno.
