The beauty of living twice

Review by Booklist Review

True to her extraordinary cinematic chops, actor Stone launches her powerhouse memoir with the dramatic events surrounding the life-threatening stroke she suffered in September 2001. While the country was under siege from then unknown terrorists, Stone's body was similarly attacked by forces that took some time to identify. It is that journey, to discover the underlying sources of her health crisis and through her tumultuous recovery, that Stone recounts with her trademark flintiness and surprising tenderness. Watch as Stone's career and marriage collapse. Watch as she adopts her first son, only to lose him in a custody battle that bankrupts her. Watch as she adopts two more boys; finds joys in relationships with mentors, colleagues, and strangers; and discovers a sustaining spirituality that nourishes and heals her. Stone recounts her stressful childhood, her storied career, and her strained relationships with both verve and an unexpected vulnerability, evincing an abiding faith and fierce determination to regain the physical and emotional strength she needed to reenter the world on her own terms as artist and activist. Deeply compelling and redefining.

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

Though the title refers to Stone's near-death from a stroke in 2001, the actor has arguably lived many lives, as her bold memoir recounts. Stone revisits her small-town Pennsylvania youth, where strict "kitchen-sink Irish" parents and incidents of abuse failed to crush her spirit or her subsequent roles as ambitious student, celebrity, sex symbol, philanthropist, and adoptive single mother. Stone was determined to get the most out of her improbable circumstances, campaigning hard for the film roles she wanted, grieving many losses (including three miscarriages), and searching out avenues for spiritual connection. Suffused with wry humor, Stone's storytelling alternates between literary descriptions and intimate colloquialisms ("Well, that was just the Cracker Jack best!"). Though there are plenty of celebrity cameos, the memoir is neither tell-all nor fluff; without veering into self-pity, Stone's clear about the difficulties of being a woman who became famous for baring it all on screen, but didn't want to sleep with her coworkers: "People criticize me and say that men are intimidated by me. That just makes me want to cry. I was often alone on a set with hundreds of men," she writes. "And now I am the intimidating one?" The mix of moxie and vulnerability conveys a life well lived, and well examined. (Mar.)

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

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Review by Library Journal Review

In this sincere memoir, Stone begins by recounting the emotional and physical toll of a medical experience two decades ago, when she had a stroke that continues to impact her daily life. Her candid writing brings readers into her life before and after her stroke. In the aftermath, she tries to become familiar with her body's new limitations, and is grateful for the support of close family and friends. She relates stories of personal hardship, particularly regarding friendship and failure, balanced with lighthearted and humorous anecdotes of starting over. Her writing is conversational and engaging, especially as she tells the powerful stories that demonstrate resilience and grit in many facets of her life, from her childhood to her acting career and beyond. She warmly embraces and explains the aspects of her spirituality--especially her path toward Buddhism--that have guided her through life and provided comfort when she needed it the most. At times, the narrative seems to meander, but Stone never loses sight of the things that keep her centered--faith and support from loved ones. VERDICT A welcome memoir of finding your way when life doesn't go according to plan. Stone's vulnerability and rediscovery will resonate with many readers.--Amanda Ray, Iowa City P.L.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

The celebrated actor reflects on a life of success, activism, and cleansing self-discovery. Stone (b. 1958) begins in the hospital in 2001, when a severe brain injury nearly ended her life. She then backtracks to her youth growing up with three siblings in the "snowbelt" of northwestern Pennsylvania. She excelled at school but distanced herself from an aloof, damaged mother, a woman who never had a chance "to imagine a life where she could be whatever she chose." As a teenager, Stone waited tables while entering local beauty pageants, which led to Manhattan modeling jobs and a move to Hollywood in the early 1980s. The author breaks down her iconic roles in Basic Instinct and Casino. Regarding the controversial interrogation scene in the former, she writes, "there have been many points of view…but since I'm the one with the vagina in question, let me say: the other points of view are bullshit." While sharing a host of madcap episodes throughout an eventful life, she also proudly describes her impressive "life of service," her Buddhist faith, and the adoptions of three sons. She also contributes juicier stories about co-hosting the 2008 Cannes Film Festival with Madonna and the controversy that erupted following a stray comment to reporters. Stone then moves on to her "second life," when she endured "the loss of all things we call dear," including her father, marriage, health, and financial security. Though the memoir is unevenly, frenetically narrated, that will only deter readers unfamiliar with Stone's persona. Delivering a barrage of self-reflective anecdotes, she is consistently candid, alternatingly tender and feisty, and always witty. In conclusion, Stone offers thoughts on wisdom, modesty, and vulnerability as well as some startling admissions about "being sexually abused throughout my life." Encouragingly, Stone has reconciled with her mother. "Today," she writes, "my mother and I are at the beginning of our relationship." Fans will blissfully revel in the intimate if restlessly delivered details in this perceptive memoir. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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Death Becomes Me I opened my eyes, and there he was standing over me, just inches from my face. A stranger looking at me with so much kindness that I was sure I was going to die. He was stroking my head, my hair; God, he was handsome. I wished he were someone who loved me instead of someone whose next words were "You're bleeding into your brain." He stood there gently touching my head and I just lay there knowing that no one in the room loved me. Knowing it in my guts--not needing my bleeding brain to be aware of the ridiculous slap-down of my now-immobilized life. It was late September 2001. I was in the ER at the California Pacific Medical Center in San Francisco. I asked Dr. Handsome, "Will I lose my ability to speak?" He said it's possible. I wanted a phone. I needed to call my mom and my sister. They needed to hear this from me while I could still tell them myself. The doctor squeezed my hand in his. I realized he was doing his darndest to fill in with that special kind of love that comes when someone pursues the vocation that they were meant to, if only for moments like this. I learned a lot from him. I called my sister, Kelly, first. She was as she always is: the most magnificent person I know. She is kinder to others than she is to herself, naïve in her gentleness. Then I called my mom, a more difficult conversation for me, since I didn't know if she liked me very much. Here I was, dying and insecure all at the same time. She was gardening outside in her yard on top of a mountain in Pennsylvania. She fell apart. It's important to consider that Dot falls apart over radio commercials, so I waited, because, well, I knew she would pull it together. Despite the distance between us, she and my dad arrived in under twenty-four hours. She ran into the hospital still in her shorts, covered in gardening mud, dirt under her nails and fear on her face. Years of uncertainty and miscommunication between us fell away in a look. As I lay there knowing that I could die at any second, she stroked my face with her dusty hand and I suddenly felt that my mother loved me. Bit by bit. My father stood beside her like a bull looking to charge. I called my best friend of more than twenty years, Mimi, and said what we always said when the news was exceptionally good or bad: "You'd better sit down." I could hear her sharp inhale. I said, "I might die and you are the only one I can tell the truth to because somebody needs to take care of everyone and it's not going to be me. I'm bleeding into my brain. They don't know why." She said, "Oh, shit." I said, "There is a very good-looking doctor here, and sadly I might not be able to flirt with him." She was trying not to cry as she whispered, "Oh, honey, I'm on the next plane." As I knew she would be. Then came the silence again. Echoing off the emergency room tiles and hitting my newly broken heart. I remember feeling something between scared and fascinated that no one was running around yelling, "STAT STAT!" like they do on TV. There was a stunning lack of urgency and movement. The doctor--yeah, that one--told me an ambulance was coming to transport me to another hospital, Moffitt-Long, which was renowned for neurological issues, and that they would take special care of me. God, that really made me feel bad. There are just times when getting special care can be such a downer. This is not like floor seats at a Laker game or getting the table by the window at your favorite restaurant. Privileges. Fame. Shit. It was then that I suddenly felt everything moving strangely, as if the film of my life were moving through a camera backward. Fast. I started to experience a feeling of falling, and then as though something were overtaking me, body and soul, followed by this tremendous, luminous, uplifting whiteout pulling me right out of my body and into a familiar brilliant other body of . . . knowing? The light was so luminous. It was so . . . mystical. I wanted to know it. I wanted to immerse myself. Their faces were not just familiar. They were transcendent. Some of them had not been gone for long. I had cared for some of them until the end of this life. They were my closest friends, Caroline, Tony Duquette, Manuel. I had missed them so much. I felt so cold in the room I was coming from. They were so warm, so happy, so welcoming. Without their saying a word, I understood everything they were telling me about why we are safe, why we should not be afraid: because we are surrounded by love. That in fact we are love. Suddenly I felt like I had been kicked in the middle of my chest by a mule, the impact was so harsh, and, astoundingly, I was awake and back in the emergency room. I had made a choice. I took the kind of gasp you take when you are underwater far too long. I sat up; the light was blinding. All I could see was Dr. Handsome, standing back, observing me. I had to pee so badly, but as I turned to get off the gurney, I was so high up, like an Alice in a Wonderland of white and stainless steel. "What do you need?" the doctor said. "Bathroom." "There." I slipped far, farther down onto the cool tiles, and felt like I floated to the toilet and peed for a long time, wandering back to where the doctor lifted me up like the feather I had become. Excerpted from The Beauty of Living Twice by Sharon Stone All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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