Tibetan Peach Pie: A True Account of an Imaginative Life
Harper Collins, 27 May 2014, 363pp
Right on the back cover it says, “this is not an autobiography”. Robbins goes on to claim that the book is not a memoir either. This is either total nonsense or irrelevant, the compelling text takes us from Robbins youth in Appalachian North Carolina, where his mother dubbed him Tommy Rotten, through 41 vignettes leading to his current comfortable life at La Conner, Washington at the ripe old age of 82. He doesn’t actually describe his life as comfortable, I infer this from a recent New York Times story about his residential compound (the link to which I can’t currently find).
In the early chapters he does a good job of showing us that he earned that sobriquet. For example, at seven Tommy and a friend named Johnny robbed a bank. Armed with cap pistols the two marched into the Northwestern State Bank in Blowing Rock, and demanded “a lot of money”. A quick thinking bank employee hurled several contact-sensitive firecrackers against a wall and the two boys, thinking they were under fire from bank guards, fled the scene. No charges were filed, the town was amused — excepting only the boys’ parents.
Robbins details the range of events he was part of, the places he lived and traveled, and the women he shared his life with. I’m sure there were numerous dark and hard times, but we are spared those. What he gives us is a collection of the stories he has told to those women, which he claims they insisted he should publish. The women had good sense on this point, through all these unpredictable events we share a reflection of the author’s embarrassment, as he generously chose to include anecdotes that don’t necessarily reflect well on his judgment and life skills.
The stories feel real. I could relate to quite a few of them myself. The text is witty and literate, the reader is amused but not left rolling on the floor gasping for breath. The only downside for the reader is if that reader is also a writer — the mastery of storytelling demonstrated is bound to lead to envy. Where I might struggle to craft an apt and surprising metaphor every week, and then cherish and overuse it, Robbins thinks nothing of piling on with multiple displays of superior wordcraft in a single paragraph.
In most autobiographies and memoirs there really isn’t any point other than making the reader feel good about the author, and perhaps to understand the forces that propelled him through life. Tibetan Peach Pie may or may not help us understand Tom Robbins, but you can’t help feeling good after reading it. I can’t call this book important but it was certainly enjoyable and I think I can recommend it to anyone. With the possible exception of the very young who might be inspired to emulate the antics of “Tommy Rotten”.
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