In this book, the hypochondriac genius of movies, television, and the concert stage delivers all the neurotic humor expected. But the author, a talented writer as well as one of the great pianists of the 20th century, also succeeds at conveying the ambience of the artistic world of the 1920s through 1950s. His insights about his contemporaries, including celebrated conductors, musicians, composers, and actors, are fascinating.

This has always been one of my favorite books. I recall reading it for the first time as a pre-teen, and chuckling at his OUTRAGEOUS stories. I'm probably among the last generation that remembers this brilliant man, which is a shame. In the days of the great "talk shows", like Jack Paar, etc.., Oscar Levant was always one of the most coveted, and controversial, guests. I remember seeing him on t.v., as a kid, & being fascinated by this odd looking man who, though I quite honestly didn't get 90% of what he was saying, was obviously someone truly unique. This book has all his irreverent humor, the humor even evident in his telling of his long battle with mental illness, and his extreme, then un-named "obsessive-compulsive" disorder. His brutal honesty about his ordeal was unheard of at that time, and was long before the trend of todays celebrities, who do everything but hawk their x-rays on informercials. There's many names in this book that you will recognize, and his telling of his encounters with various celebrities is not always in their favor, and will have you rolling on the floor. He was literally thrown off the air in the 1950's, for a remark he made on a live talk show, pertaining to Marilyn Monroe and her conversion to Judaism, which is recounted in this book, but can't be repeated here. But at the time, the staid 1950's, it must have had the audience awestruck in utter shock at his outrageous (and incredibly humorous) statement. This is just a fabulous book about one of the greatest wits of this century, the man who started out as an incredibly accomplished and respected pianist, he was most known for his rendition of good friend Gershwins "Rhapsody In Blue", and became something more than just a clown. Totally touching, hysterical, and honest, this book will have you falling in love with dear, lost, brilliant Oscar. In todays, for the most part, [dissapointing] "celebrity" climate, we sure could use the likes of him again.

Luckily found this among my mother's books, the title caught my eye. When asked about it, my mother laughed softly. I thought, if it can make her laugh it must be funny; well it's the best humor, and I turned to a page and busted out laughing. It's more than that. I read the one I bought from time to time, and there is always a point of feeling I'm in the belly of a beast. Such integrity I'd never known, and never felt I could fit in this world 'til reading "Memoirs of an Amnesiac".

If nine tenths of this has been culled from its subject's three memoirs, what makes up the remaining tenth? Essentially the authors's subjective interpretation of the nine tenths. If they had actually known Oscar Levant, their opinions might have some relevance. They didn't know him. If they were authorities on music, or movies, or talk shows, or Broadway musicals -- SOMETHING --, their opinions might have some relevance. They aren't. (In fact, according to the blurb above, they are "poets" who teach writing. At least, then, the thing ought to be reasonably well written. It isn't.)

About nine-tenths of this comes directly from Oscar Levant's three memoirs. That doesn't make it plagiarism, I suppose, since the "derivation", to put it charitably, is more or less (less, actually) acknowledged. It does make it copying someone else's biographies. (An AUTObiography is, after all, a biography.) It also makes reading this a chore for anyone interested enough in the subject to want to get the story from the horse's mouth. (And if you aren't that interested even, WHY are you bothering with THIS?) I deduct three stars.

I deduct a fourth star for this book's abuse of the English language with solecisms such as "germophobe" and "homophobe". (If "homophobe" were a word it would mean "clinical fear of sameness". The author wants it to mean misohomosexualism, hatred of homosexuals, -- someone I know maintains that "homophobe" is no worse than "chocoholic", which is rather like saying that Attila the Hun was no worse than Adolf Hitler.)

I deduct a fifth star for its politically correct pseudo-psychological speculation. It proffers the theory that Oscar Levant remarked upon the libretto of covertly homosexual minor composer Marc Blitzstein's heavy-handed socialist opera "The Cradle Will Rock"'s "pseudo virility" (Levant's phrase) in order to mask Levant's supposed homosexual attraction to George Gershwin. Au contraire, mon frere: 1) Marc Blitzstein did not even WRITE this opera's libretto; he only wrote its music, and Levant PRAISED its music. 2) Levant's assessment of this opera happens to adhere closely to the critical consensus. 3) There is no evidence whatsoever that Levant had any homosexual tendencies, and it is absurd and perverse to suggest that Levant's obvious, though severely qualified, admiration for Gershwin the man, in contradistinction to his even more obvious, and much less qualified, admiration for Gershwin the musician, constitutes evidence.

On the other hand, "A Talent for Genius" is an intriguing title. Too bad the authors never explain what they mean by it.

In any case, don't even consider this until you're read "A Smattering of Ignorance", "Memoirs of an Amnesiac", and "The Unimportance of Being Oscar", and then just skim it to try to find its scant new material -- or pass it by completely. Good luck.

Oscar Levant was by far one of the most prominent pianists of the early 20th century. His fame was by no account singularly attributed to his musical success- his neuroses were were part of his biting, acerbic charm. His tale is from a golden age, littered with greats like Gershwin, Chaplin, Astaire, Garland, The Marx's, and the like.

This book is a detailed account of Oscar's life, and goes into greater detail of his apprehensions and taboo subjects than previously published in "A Smatttering of Ignorance", or "Memoirs of an Amnesiac".

"The books he wrote in the sixties were pretty much the same way, but by that time, Levant had developed into a good writer, and didn't write so many boring dissertations on the great composers and conductors of the 19th and 20th centuries."

In fact, "A Smattering of Ignorance" is a particularly well written book. (To be perfectly fair, a lot of the credit for that should go to Levant's editor, whose name escapes me -- sorry.) Of course there are those who find musical culture boring, but the measure of good writing is not actually the degree to which it indulges in gossip about movie stars. Oscar Levant was first and foremost a musician. If you are not yourself interested in music, don't read his memoirs, especially not this one. If you do nevertheless read it, please don't call it badly written because its subject doesn't interest you. That isn't what badly written means.

This is much more cohesive and better developed, though less biographically comprehensive, than "Memoirs of an Amnesiac". Its witticisms are woven into its text; unlike "Memoirs of an Amnesiac", it doesn't resort to and-then-I-said's. "The Unimportance of Being Oscar" resorts to and-then-HE-said's. It reports events (Benny Goodman meeting Ringo Starr of the Beatles, for example) the author was not even a witness to. Oscar Levant was at the height of his powers in 1940 when he published "A Smattering of Ignorance", and it shows. He wrote his other two books in the mid-to-late sixties and died in 1972.

This is a fabulous & funny read from the early forties, by one of the great wits of the modern age. If you're unfamiliar with Levant, dive right in. If you're familiar with him but haven't read this book, you are in for quite a treat. Side Note: It is referred to and featured in Israel Horovitz's play "The Chopin Playoffs", the third play in a trilogy about Jews in Canada in the thirties & forties.