3 memoirs illustrate the peculiar lives of celebrities
- Written by Liz Evans, Adjunct Researcher, English and Writing, University of Tasmania
Throughout the 1990s, I was a music journalist in London. I profiled hundreds of rock bands at the start of their careers, including Nirvana, Alice in Chains, Soundgarden, Pearl Jam, Nine Inch Nails and the Foo Fighters. I can’t imagine a better way to have spent my twenties. But I witnessed a downside. For many musicians, success was a shock, and nearly everyone I knew struggled with aspects of it at times.
Most were affected by the obvious pitfalls of sex, drugs and alcohol, and some didn’t survive. A lot had trouble reconciling their artistic values with the rigorous demands of a cutthroat business, despite their ambitions. Women, including Björk, Tori Amos and Kim Gordon, described their battles with structural misogyny across the industry. And, in a world that rewards performance and persona, many had trouble establishing healthy relationships and holding onto a sense of identity.
The psychological pressures of fame have since intensified. Social media poses a constant threat to personal privacy, and, for better or worse, parasocial relationships are on the rise. But a recent batch of celebrity memoirs, all set in the pre-digital age, support my observations from the 1990s. Famous people lead peculiar lives, and success has always carried a cost.
‘I don’t know who I am’
The most tragic of these accounts is From Here to the Great Unknown, a collaboration between Elvis Presley’s only child, Lisa Marie Presley, and her oldest daughter, Riley Keough. According to Keough’s preface, her mother worked on the memoir for several years, battling with self-doubt before asking her daughter to help. A month later, in January 2023, Presley died aged 54 of a cardiac arrest due to a small bowel obstruction following bariatric surgery.
But after Jackson, although Presley had another two husbands, she never found security. “I don’t know who I am,” she states in the book. “I never really got the chance to uncover my own identity. I didn’t have a family. I didn’t have a childhood.”
When her son Ben committed suicide in 2020 at the age of 27, she was finally overwhelmed by her lifelong sense of failure and purposelessness. Unable to face a funeral, she kept Ben’s body in her home for two months in a temperature-controlled room before laying him to rest at Graceland. In many ways, she never recovered from his death.
Keough, who, somewhat unconvincingly, describes her childhood as “perfect” and “amazing”, says her mother wanted to tell her story in order to understand herself and to be understood by others, “in full, for the first time in her life”. The extent of Presley’s personal tragedy, of not being seen, known or witnessed within a world of luxury, lies in these words.
Watching from the wings
While Presley’s memoir conveys the destructive side of inherited fame, media consultant Elliot Mintz’s book, We All Shine On: John, Yoko & Me looks at the peculiar allure of stardom for those in the wings.



















