Book Review: Devotion (Why I Write) by Patti Smith

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“Devotion“ is a short memoir in the Why I Write series. In this collection of short essays, Patti Smith recounts how she centers devotion in her creative life.

Buy “Devotion“

“Devotion“ is an ode to obsession, a devotional to artists, real or imagined, in Patti Smith’s magical world.

I enjoyed “Devotion.” The middle made-up story, titled Devotion, was a pleasant surprise. I believe the short story does a good job of exploring devotion to one’s passion and the threat women often encounter when pursuing their passions (needing money and security and the risk of being confined by a male figure as a young woman.)

How the Mind Works

On the way to Paris to meet with her Gallimard publisher, Patti Smith stumbles on the word ‘dévouement’ (French for devotion) and understands how the thread from the documentary she had been watching before leaving for Paris, to visiting Weil’s grave, to reading Patrick Modiano works, ad infinitum is sown organically into her life.

As a writer, I can confirm that this is exactly how I write and see the world. My mind is always buzzing and the threads of inspiration are always maniacally at play.

Devotion

The meat of the collection – this is the story of a young, highly intelligent Estonian girl who is devoted to skating. At a young age, she’s entrusted to her aunt who is urged to escape the war with her. Sixteen, the girl is an orphan again now that her aunt left her to start a life with her new beau. Irina is faced with taking care of herself and exchanges her body with the older man who watches her skate on the pond to maintain her freedom to skate freely. As you can imagine, a woman dependent on a man may never be free to do what she loves.

Though a star pupil, precocious in her studies, she was completely indifferent. She had mastered Latin at twelve, easily solved complex equations, and was more than capable of breaking down and reexamining the most ambiguous concepts. Her mind was a muscle of discontent. She had no intention of completing her studies, not now or ever; she was almost sixteen, finished with all that. Her sole desire was to astonish, all else faded as she stepped upon the ice, feeling its surface through the blades into her calves. (p. 37)

A Dream Is Not a Dream

Patty Smith’s visit to Lourmarin, invited by Camus’s daughter to see the family home where he composed some of his great works at his ancient awe-inspiring villa that was acquired by his Noble Prize money.

Yes, I’m jealous.

Overall, this was a beautiful memoir on artistic devotion.

Why is one compelled to write? To set oneself apart, cocooned, rapt in solitude, despite the wants of others. Virginia Woolf had her room. Proust his shuttered windows. Marguerite Duras her muted house. Dylan Thomas his modest shed.

All seeking an emptiness to imbue with words. The words that will penetrate virgin territory, crack unclaimed combinations, articulate the infinite. The words that formed Lolita, The Lover, Our Lady of the Flowers.

There are stacks of notebooks that speak of years of aborted efforts, deflated euphoria, a relentless pacing of the boards. We must write, engaging in a myriad of struggles, as if breaking in a willful foal. We must write, but not without consistent effort and a measure of sacrifice: to channel the future, to revisit childhood, and to rein in the follies and horrors of the imagination for a pulsating race of readers. (p. 87)

Why do we write? A chorus erupts.

Because we cannot simply live. (p. 93)

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