When Joe Esterhasz gets to about page 600 he reveals he has cancer of the oesophagus because of his smoking, drinking lifestyle. The book, at that moment, takes on a surreal tone and you realise the irony of what has gone before. It is a great work, not a great literary work but as a detailed picture drawn by a talented although slightly eccentric screenwriter who manages to alienate more people (according to the book) than most. Sometimes the detail is self-indulgent and unnecessary, such as the over-done italicised love letters/diaries of his second wife. I must admit I could have done without most of those but for the most part, and for the lifestyle 'don't smoke' warning, and for the Hollywood gossip, this is worth a read, especially if you like stories about movie directors lusting after starlets...who doesn't?