What a sad, lost soul, and a confused individual. I hope she is in a better place. ( )

Autobiography that is both original in its form as it is hilarious.

With hindsight it all looks terribly choreographed. Sinead died in the summer of 2023 (unclear exactly how), about a year after her son committed suicide. In 2021 this memoir is published; in 2022 a documentary on her life (named ‘ Nothing compares 2 u’) and then she leaves us, to the shock of many, including me.

Her brief but fast rise to fame, and her equally disastrous fall from fame after her live act of tearing up a picture of Pope John Paul II and the Catholic orchestrated backlash and destruction of her career, already make up an intriguing story. But the way history has proven Sinead right (her stance against child abuse by the church), while not apologizing to her, let alone re-habilitating her, demonstrates an important lesson that is shared by many whistle blowers.

Sinéad was a rebel, a fighter for justice in every respect. She was no strategist. She destroyed her own career (and in the book she claims to be happy about that, world fame was never her aim and cost her dearly). She remained pure and faithful to her own principles, though some struggles she could not win (her weed addiction, her own post-child abuse trauma and demons). Yet both this memoir and the documentary demonstrate there was no evil in her – she was a rough angel with a stunning voice. ( )

About an artist who believed in more than the fame of being a renowned the world over but in the positive impact she has in the world and her career suffered as a result, but she overcame this. What she could not survive was the death of her beloved son and she died one year exactly after his death. ( )

Zie boek, veel te lang om hier over te tikken ( )

Very early on in Rememberings, Sinéad O'Connor states that this is just the first volume of her memoirs: that at 54, she plans to live for many more years to provide fodder for a second volume.

That was the first time I had to pause reading to say "Ah Jaysus, Sinéad" aloud.

For much of my childhood and teen years, O'Connor was regarded as either a laughing stock or a cautionary tale, or some intersection of the two. I remember watching one of her appearances on the Late Late Show in the early 90s and being bemused at seeing this short-haired woman in clerical garb announcing that she would henceforth be known as Mother Mary Bernadette. Did she not know, my teen convent-school-attending self wondered, appalled, that people were laughing at her?

It's clear from Rememberings that she did, and that the hurt from that was overwritten by the fact didn't give a crap what people thought of her. One of her most admirable qualities was that she refused to be shamed for what she believed in, what she thought was principled and right, and viewed with the hindsight of some 30 years, I think she was restrained in only ripping up that picture of John Paul II and not setting it on fire as well.

Rememberings, for better or worse, is entirely in O'Connor's own voice. The earliest parts of the book are vivid and powerful as she recounts her abusive childhood and her stint in a Magdalen laundry; the later parts become more rambling, more episodic, and more allusive as she clearly steers clear of more recent hurts. She is frank about how her breakdowns and substance use have affected her memory of recent years. O'Connor is bawdy and honest and contradictory, she talks about how she can see guardian angels and have psychic visions of people's homes, she's a punk who finds beauty in the sean nós, she's exasperating and she's endearing.

Her heart was as big as her voice. Nothing compared to her.

(3.5 stars, rounded up to 4 for the chapter about her encounter with Prince, which had me slackjawed from beginning to end.) ( )