What is wrong with this book? The author chose poor subjects or else his penchant to criticism leads him to human subjects that are easy targets for criticism.
Leibowitz here is a debunker. He's looking for what's false and untrue, what's inflated and fatuous, and he finds them all in Louis B. Sullivan's autobiography, in Emma Goldman's autobiography, in Benjamin Franklin's autobiography and in Edward Dahlberg's and Gertrude Stein's autobiographies.
The worst chapters are on Louis Sullivan, Emma Goldman, and Edward Dahlberg. Nobody could care for Louis Sullivan's autobiography after reading five or six pages from this book about it. Leibowitz bored this reader to tears with what was an uninteresting and false autobiography by Sullivan. Liebowitz overstruck his mark with Emma Goldman as well. The chapters on Sullivan and Goldman were the most hateful chapters in the whole book, but he tops them off with the concluding chapter on Edward Dahlberg's "Because I Was Flesh." This concluding chapter shows not only that Dahlberg was himself a disgusting human being, but what's more disgusting was Leibowitz's minute analysis, excavation and examination of Dahlberg's putrid sense of human life.
The chapter on Jane Addams, however, was interesting, but Leibowitz writes too much, and relentlessly, about Addams's ethics in comparison to Christianity, and went on about Addams's "balanced sense of ethics" till he made the reading dreary and interest in Addams drearier still.
I read the chapter on Gertrude Stein first. It delighted me, but what Leibowitz meant by referring to Stein's "principled hedonism" wasn't clear at all. Beside the chapter on Gertrude Stein and the first chapter in which Leibowitz's use of language is eloquent and elegant and shows a sophisticated grace, his later writing in this book becomes as dry and dusty as many of the (bad) autobiographies he's exploring. I can't say I didn't learn more about the figures whose autobiographies are the subject of this book; I did learn quite a bit. I learned how hypocritical Benjamin Franklin was. I learned how "closed" was Gertrude Stein's autobiography to the inner life. I learned more than I ever knew about Emma Goldman whose name previously only invoked a cultural fear in me that's associated with Communism.
What of William Carlos Williams? Well, for Leibowitz, he was just another fraud of surfaces. This assessment of the fraudulent and the insincere is what Leibowitz was looking for and he found it. The autobiographies he chose gave him plenty of fodder!