This was another brilliant book that I had the pleasure of reading this month. Rob Sheffield tells the story of the love and loss of his late wife. The back cover says something about it being both forlorn and funny at the same time, and I have to agree. It captures the essence of both your 20s and the 90s very well. Sheffield’s prose is really the shining star of the text. It elevates the mundane to entertaining and elevates the poignant to incredible. It does what so many memoirs seek to do.

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I suppose it's nostalgia. Or maybe it's the fact that my son will never possess a mix tape the way technology is changing the way we listen to music – as I type this, I'm currently using my Pandora One account. Whatever the reason, however, there's something that tugs on the heartstrings between the lines of Rob Sheffield's writing.

Much like Sheffield, I spent the better part of my youth making mix tapes. Mix tapes for the girls I had crushes on. Mix tapes for my friends. Mix tapes for people I was getting to know. Mix tapes for my friends' sexual activities. Mix tapes to play while I was writing bad poetry and shitty short stories. Christmas jams 1999. Summer of Love '97. Songs to Kill Yourself To. Songs to be Reborn To. Life's soundtrack on tiny spools of magnetic tape. When CDRs came about, I segued in that direction. The latest shared playlists I made were on Second Life, back when I DJ'ed as Blaspheme Baxton. Nothing, however, can amount to the sweat and blood poured into the mix cassette tape.

And every mix tape tells a story, or part of one. It maps the path of good times and bad ones. It shows us that everything has its time, everything will pass. And isn't that what Sheffield is telling us? Each song brings him closer to his wife, while aiding him through the world without her.

One can only wish to possess Sheffield's musical insights, and his ability to write about experiences so beautifully. If not for responsibilities, I would have allowed the book to suck me in and not resurface until it was finished with me. If you haven't read it, I suggest you put down that current bestseller and pick up a copy of this baby. ( )

A humorous and touching memoir centered around the author's dual relationship with music and his deceased wife as told via mixtape track listings and the stories/times they dredge back up for him. The only thing that could make this book better would be to somehow include (or make available via website) the mixtapes referenced. Makes me want to dig back into the songs of my high school years or the gems I might have missed from that era or earlier. ( )

Memoirs are dangerous and tricky things. They can be selfless and selfish at the same time, an expulsion of emotion and memory that you just needed to get out for your own sanity, while simultaneously inviting everyone through the door, basically begging them to ask for even more probing details than those laid out in the book. A common problem that arises in the development of a memoir is that you have to come off as someone interesting enough to read about, while still remaining human and humble enough that people don’t hate you for having an actual book written about your life. It’s an ambitious undertaking, but as Matthew Good points out so eloquently in his song 21st Century Living:

Ambition, ambition’s a tricky thing
It’s like riding a unicycle on a dental floss tightrope over a wilderness of razor blades (Matthew Good – Avalanche)

How much do you give of yourself before turning back from that line in the sand? How far do you walk away from the past to allow yourself to put it all down on paper, leaving others a breadcrumb path to wander back into those days gone by? Most importantly, how do you wrap it all up into a package interesting enough to make others want to ignore their own lives, step out of their shoes and walk a few hundred pages in yours? All of those questions and more plague the writer of a memoir, but now and again one finds the right combination, or in this case, the right mix, and everything flows in and out with the regularity and rhythm of the tides. It becomes relaxing and thoughtful, peaceful and terrifying, ever-changing yet always familiar. These are the ones that you read and somehow feel we all lived in our own way.

Love is a Mix Tape by Rob Sheffield is a musically charged farewell letter to a person we’ve all met at some point in our lives. The one who in normal circumstances we would never have the courage to talk to because the worlds were too far apart, but whether through cosmic destiny or the luck of the draw, that person enters your life and ignites the change you always knew would come. The book follows his relationship with his wife Renee and carves out each section in relation to a mix tape made during those cherished moments in history. This harmonic trip into Rob’s life also reminds us of the true power of music, the passion it can instill, the sorrow it can unfold and the memories it can unearth.

I saw this book a long time ago at the store and was instantly drawn to it because I was in the middle of writing my own memoir. My main reason for not reading it back then was I could already tell it was done well and something I would feverishly enjoy, but I didn’t want to consciously or subconsciously rip-off any of Rob’s devices, so I left it lying on the bookstore display table and hid it away on the shelf in the back of my mind. Years later, with my memoir wrapped up, destiny once again dropped this book in my path while trolling through Borders on the first day of their store closing sale (Everything Must Go!…and I want it all to go home with me.).

Any author of a memoir wants the reader to find something to identify with, one portion of their personality or circumstances that can draw the reader that much farther into their world. While I do enjoy my iPod injected rides to work in the morning, singing my way into the work day, hoping it will hold me through, I definitely do not identify with the level of knowledge or intensity Rob has for music (mine is more on the movie front). But as the pages turned and Rob begins to reveal his loss and how it was to walk through the fog of those weeks and months, the words spoke in an entirely new level of honesty and bravery. Anyone who has come through to the other side of a terrible tragedy will find portions of his story incredibly reminiscent of their own, although probably put in more colorful language and set to a better soundtrack. Even those who might still be lost in the fog of sorrow would benefit from this tiny playlist of memories, almost an attempt at one person’s “Guide to Life after Life”. Die hard music fans, especially those who grew up in the angsty revolution of the 90′s, will constantly chuckle with recognition at each song listed out on the mix tape covers, but even those less musically inclined will find their heartstrings played beautifully by this story of rambunctious love and loss.

My recommendation, read Love is a Mix Tape to remind yourself there is music in everything, pleasure and pain, and to never tune it out.

p.s. Favorite line: “We were just a couple of fallen angels, rolling the dice of our lives.” ( )

This book wasn't really my cup of tea, but I gave it to a friend and she loved it! ( )