When it comes to reviewing books dealing with the music industry some have said I am the music Mufti. That being said, let it be known that I am about to lay down a fatwā on this book and its author. But before I begin, if you are unfamiliar with words like Mufti or fatwā are then I suggest you Google them. It will be, Google willing, far more entertaining than reading this book.
First off Ms. Shirazi suffers from delusions of grandeur. Among those, she believes she is interesting, intelligent, insightful and somehow a modern day feminist. That I could forgive. But ultimately, what has me declaring a Jihad upon her book is the unforgivable sin that she believes she is a writer.
Sharazi certainly has stories to tell but not the talent to tell them. If you’re writing a book about sex, drugs and rock & roll on the stiletto heels of the many other past rock groupie tells all books (Pamela Des Barres’ “I’m With The Band” comes to mind) and if it’s not anything other than big name dropping and steamy sexcapades with band members from Mötley Crüe, Guns N’ Roses, Avenged Sevenfold, Papa Roach, Skid Row and endless others, then it’s nothing more than a dead end dull read. THE LAST LIVING SLUT, ultimately, is really an embarrassing attempt at being entertaining but the end result is just unimaginatively off-key awkward porn.
I’d hoped having been born and then living for at least a decade in Iran that her tale would somehow provide an interesting insight into the world of rock and life in the Middle East. It didn’t. Or perhaps instead a glimpse into how sex and drugs factor into the modern day Muslim faith. But alas, again, an epic fail! The reality is that all she shared was poorly written passages of tacky tail instead of a truly cross cultural tale.
The author’s worst crime is that she suffers from descriptive dissonance. It’s really unbelievable she came up with such pitch poor groaners as, “He sucked and devoured my body as if I were a yummy chicken” (when she wasn’t even having back-stage sex with Col. Sanders!) or “I glanced inside their room…tucked into the back of the venue like a redundant sandwich”. But the worst of the worst was “…our genetically modified chicken was served with verbal diarrhea”. Now that’s just unappetizingly gross!
In summary, I suggest that unless you have absolutely nothing better to do with your life or the time it takes to read these 315 pages of pointless porn then stay away from this book. Ms. Shirazi would have fared far better if she had spent less time behind stage on her back and knees and more time in an English Composition 101 class.
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