Diane Keaton (1946–2025)

This was much more than I expected. I'm not sure what I expected, but it wasn't a heart-searing tribute to a mother from a daughter. Then Again is an exploration of relationships and time. Keaton uses moments from her and her mother's life to find out who her mother was and who Keaton was in consequence. She highlights the differences and similarities she and her mother thought and felt, and how they experienced life. For me, this spoke volumes. Since my mother died I have tried to come to show more terms with what sort of a woman she was besides just "mom."

The choice the author made to intersperse her writing and life choices with her mother's journaling brought out experiences and thoughts I think many (all?) women have as they age and change. The insecurities and aspirations of youth or young adults, the frustrations of menopause or middle age, and the relaxation of mental strife in our older years.

It is a terrific memoir of Diane Keaton's life, loves and career. There was no superficiality. It felt as though we were visiting over a glass of wine. Her honesty about her insecurities, feelings of failure, her self absorption, drive to succeed, love of her family and her children and learning to accept herself, all felt very real. They felt true. This was more than a memoir; it was a visit with a woman I can relate to, who tries to find clarity in life. show less

I received a free copy of Let's Just Say It Wasn't Pretty at a meeting I went to for work last year. Why, at a meeting for medical administrators, about Ebola, no less, did they bestow upon us autographed copies of Diane Keaton's memoir? It's a complete mystery. Anyway, the book sat in the closet at work for about eight months before I finally decided to suck it up and read it. And, ugh, it was just as horrible as I'd heard.

I knew I would have a problem with this book when, in the first few show more pages, Ms. Keaton refers to a wall filled with photographs of famous men as her "prisoners." That was my first inkling that something was going to be a bit... off about this book. It only gets worse as, throughout the next several chapters, she rambles about her thinning hair, her dislike of the bump on her nose, how she's never liked the slant of her eyes, and how she would never, ever think about having work done. Not that she'd shame another woman for it, but, wait, maybe she would.

The book is completely disjointed, with certain themes repeating over and over again -- her thinning hair, for one, is mentioned frequently, as are her frequent trips to the dermatologist to get her precancers frozen, her skin cancers removed, and her prescription for Solaraze. I'd reference this book at my job -- celebrities get skin cancers, too! But I'd feel so bad making the patients struggle through it. There's nothing to tie the chapters together, so it just comes across as a laundry list of things Ms. Keaton doesn't like about herself.

While much of the book was odd, I felt, in particular, that the chapter on her daughter's first trip to Victoria's Secret was completely inappropriate. A detailed debate of her then fifteen-year-old daughter's bra size -- 32B vs. 34C -- culminates in her buying $200 worth of bras and underwear, and don't worry -- there's a detailed description of her choices, too. I'm sure this was put in to make Ms. Keaton more relatable to the average mother, but it came across as attention-grabby, and I couldn't help but feel sorry for poor Dexter, who now has her lingerie choices on display for the world.

I can't for the life of me figure out why this was published. There's no flow -- in fact, there are sections of the book where Ms. Keaton literally just lists every cliche phrase she can think of relating to the topic at hand. There are sections where she analyzes her dreams. Sections where she just quotes lyrics from songs her daughter likes. It's a mess.

Do yourself a favor, and don't waste the two hours it takes to read this book. show less

When I saw this book I knew I had to read it because 1) I love Diane Keaton and 2) I really needed to read something funny. I might as well get this out of the way – this is not a funny book. It has a few funny parts, some amusing anecdotes, but this is by no definition of the term a comedy.

I’ve loved Diane Keaton since I was a little girl and saw Baby Boom. Maybe it’s strange that I’ve never watched any of her earlier movies such as Annie Hall, but I’ve liked her in every movie I show more have seen her in. She struck me as kooky and quirky and someone who lives to the beat of their own drummer without caring what others think. My bubble has been burst. That’s the risk you run when you read a book written by a celebrity you like – you may feel differently about them after reading their words.

Don’t get me wrong – I still like Diane Keaton – but she is not the person I assumed her to be. Most of this book is about her insecurities – which are many. She shares the numerous flaws she believes exist in her appearance and the resulting disguises that have evolved. The hats, glasses, turtlenecks – none are kooky quirks; all are attempts to conceal perceived flaws.

In the later pages, Keaton shares some words of wisdom while also exploring the various definitions of what is beautiful. This book was not at all what I was expecting, but it was not entirely without its merits. 4 stars. show less

Diane Keaton's unique take on the meaning of beauty, with a little juicy gossip (Woody Allen, Warren Beatty, Al Pacino) thrown in for good measure. She loves beauty in all guises. Her flipping house after house is like a neverending search for perfection. Keaton's take is personal and interesting. She seems much harder on herself than on others, and her vulnerabilities and insecurities come through. I enjoyed her descriptions of single motherhood life with her adopted children. Mine was an show more audiobook read by Ms. Keaton herself -- making her tale all the more enjoyable, personal and accessible. show less