Fans pick 88 books like The Magnificent Max Baer

Boxing was such a popular sport during the Great Depression. My grandparents’ family regularly listened to “the fights” on the radio. Dubbed “Cinderella Man” by writer Damon Runyon, James J. Braddock, with 24 losses, won one of the biggest upsets in heavyweight boxing championship history. He defeated Max Baer on June 13, 1935, in Long Island City, New York, for the world title in a unanimous decision after a grueling 15 rounds.

The next day, Leora Wilson wrote her two sons who’d joined the Navy during the Depression, “Expect you may have heard the Braddock and Baer fight. I’m glad Braddock won–he needs the money for his family.” Not only that, but Braddock had been “on the dole” at one point, an underdog in many ways. He was so embarrassed at needing help to feed his three children that he paid back the money he’d received from the government. A… show more.

“Bat shit is patient.” Simple, clear, dead on to describe the crazy life-clowns that leap from dark corners as I fend off grief... loss.

I Was Better... may not be a “grief” book, per se, but Fierstein dances us through the fears, struggles, and losses in his journey to live a life he wants. His quote, “Look back, but don’t stare” felt as though he quoted it for me to help deal with many joyous and painful memories of my husband.

I Was Better... is a tropical island where I could escape the squalls of my life of loss. I relished his musicals, strode the flamboyant streets of New York, and was embraced by Fierstein’s poignant and dearly funny honesty. His rage against the night was mine too. He and I kept dog paddling – together.

If you’ve ever seen Billy Porter werk the red carpet, you know he doesn’t hold anything back. His memoir is no exception. And while the challenges he’s faced as a Black, Queer person are as unique as his talent, every theatrer-maker can identify with his dreams, his passions, and his disappointments. I so admire his courage in calling out hypocrisy in our business while simultaneously demonstrating the grace to call in for healing. 

I had no idea before I read this book that Jerome K Jerome started his working life as an actor—or rather a would-be actor, as his acting days didn’t last long. This is a highly entertaining account of his days trying to woo corrupt agents and indifferent theatre managers, and how his own lofty perceptions of his talents as an actor were dashed by absconding producers. His experiences of life at the bottom of the acting ladder are also reflected in other actors’ memoirs, some (but not all) of whom went on to bigger things. A must-read for any parent who wants to dissuade their offspring from taking up a life ‘on the boards’.

Carrie Fisher is a phenomenal writer whose Hollywood upbringing and career makes her insightful voice when it comes to the experience of women in film.

Turning the diaries she kept while shooting Star Wars – playing the iconic Strong Female Character, Princess Leila – into a memoir offers and eye-opening perspective about life as an actress working in a male-dominated world.

It’s full of humour, self-deprecation, and real vulnerability, as well as juicy tidbits about the production.

This is probably the most challenging read here, but so worth the effort if you want to dive deep into one of the most unique artistic minds of our time. If you’re not a trained actor, you might not understand all of the nuances here – Mamet is a definite theater guy and doesn’t stop down to explain every detail here -- but any artist can learn Mamet’s biting, witty, shocking creative tips. I recommend just letting this one wash over you the first time, but if you give yourself to this text and to Mamet, it is sure to give you a new perspective on the way we all create art and hopefully inspire you to delve into some creative expression that you were always too scared to try. 

The final sentence of The Mask of Apollo has haunted me for decades since I first read the book in my teens. When I read it again, many years later, I discovered that the story is as moving as I remembered. Renault weaves a fascinating re-creation of classical Greek theatre with Plato’s attempt to tutor a true philosopher king in the kingdom of Syracuse. But it’s the final chapter, after Plato’s death, that raises the book to the level of tragedy. For then we meet the young Alexander, already almost god-like in his charisma, a fire seeking fuel for its burning. Alexander burns through the world seeking it, but what he is looking for in the world has already left it: a broken Plato has already died.

Few characters in crime fiction are as charismatic as Charles Paris, a struggling actor whose career has more ups and downs than a seesaw. Simon Brett presents us with a fascinating character, a middle-aged man who is endearing even though he is a drunk and a womaniser. 

There is always a murder whether Paris is acting in weekly rep or has a cameo role in a film. So Much Blood involves Paris appearing at the world-famous Edinburgh Fringe Festival. Brett skilfully weaves in the drama of putting on a show and the dynamism of the Scottish city with Paris’ occasionally amateurish sleuthing as he tries to uncover who committed the crime. Excellent entertainment.

I have zero fascination with celebrities, but remain a sucker for a showbiz memoir as told by a true raconteur. And though you might never have known it from the pretty-boy reputation cemented firmly by his 80’s era film oeuvre, Rob Lowe ranks right up there with George Hamilton in both his having known pretty much everybody in Hollywood, but also having a great story to tell about each one. At turns self-deprecating, deeply touching, brutally honest, and laugh-out-loud funny, Lowe’s Stories doesn’t dish any dirt—so if that’s what you’re looking for, you might want to look elsewhere. But if you’d like an inside peek at Hollywood as told by a Gen-X icon in his own words (no ghostwriters here!), you can’t go wrong here.

I read Matthew Perry’s memoir only a month before his tragic death and was so moved by his honesty and vulnerability to every personal fear and failure.

I imagine reading it now would be a little more difficult, but it still stands as a powerful look inward at ambition, addiction, and fear of failure.