This is a story of one man’s struggle with life’s many cycles – intimate and nonjudgmental. Gordon takes us on a fascinating exploration of Ginsberg’s life, its many ups and downs. Despite his egotism, we get a glimpse of Ginsberg’s quasi-sainthood. Loyal and trusting, sometimes to a fault, Ginsberg’s story is also the story of all the Beat poets. Immensely readable, this book is not only a touching portrait, but a stunning tribute to a great man. ( )

Indexed. See under Howl, and many subheadings under Howl. One reviewer said he felt this biography 'brings us closer...to the magnificent resonance of 'Howl.' '

Compared to many biographies I have read, I Celebrate Myself, has a rather strange structure. It literally follows Ginsberg from year to year (all chapter titles are simply years)and chronicles, with minimal commentary, what he did that year. In the side of the text are notes on what poems he wrote as the events were transpiring. The early years are in truly copious detail - the later years appear as though they were rapidly finished to meet a deadline. Somehow though - no doubt because Ginsburg's life was so inherently interesting - it works. The book is a moving, inspiring, and engrossing read. Morgan appeared to have been exposed to enough Ginsburg to see his flaws, and portrays both his character with honesty. ( )

t has become almost a cliché for biographers to speculate about their subjects' psychosexual oddities. But speculation is not necessary when the subject is Allen Ginsberg, because the legendary beat poet and countercultural figure proudly proclaimed his psychosexual oddities, from his youthful incestuous impulses toward his father and brother to his little-requited infatuations with beat golden boys like Neal Cassady and his later eye for young male acolytes. Indeed, Ginsberg meticulously documented all his doings and feelings, and Morgan, his archivist and bibliographer, relies on that trove. Morgan does little to shape the material; each chapter, bluntly titled with the calendar year, simply recounts 365 days' worth of parties, debauches, quarrels and breakups, drug experimentation, all-night debates about literature and philosophy, dead-end jobs, knock-about travels, psychoanalysis, ecstatic Blakean visions, depressed funks, homicides committed by friends, jazz, poetry readings and Ginsberg's contemporary ruminations on all the above. The disorganized, onrushing flow of experience is occasionally eye-glazing, and Morgan offers disappointingly little interpretation of Ginsberg's poems. But Ginsberg and his gang—Kerouac, Burroughs, Cassady et al.—are such vibrant, compelling characters that this mere straightforward chronicle of their lives approaches, as they intended, a fair imitation of art. ( )