i spent all of saturday getting sunburned and reading just kids, patti smith’s beautiful tribute to her friend robert mapplethorpe. i couldn’t put the book down, not even to apply sunscreen. smith, as always, writes poetically and articulately while also offering a window into the fabulous process of starving artistic genius. to my extreme pleasure, the work additionally serves as the ultimate gossip guide to the cool and elusive stars of 1970’s new york city. i know this was not exactly smith’s intention, but i couldn’t wait to see who janis joplin would try to seduce next or which starlet would replace edie sedgwick as andy warhol’s muse. then there is patti smith herself, a woman i deeply admire and full-heartedly relished feeling close to throughout the book’s 304 pages. highly highly recommended.