Friday, July 15, 2011

Book Review: Deathclutch, by Brock Lesnar

.:Book Review: Deathclutch, by Brock Lesnar:.

The book put a deathclutch on my face.

Right off the bat, let me tell you that I am frankly disappointed by Deathclutch. Not because it’s a bad book, by any means. Not because it’s not well-written, either.

I’m disappointed because the book is way too short.

This book is an autobiography for the former UFC and WWE champion, Brock Lesnar, who is often dubbed as “the Baddest Dude on the Planet.” Co-written with the inimitable Paul Heyman, this book was definitely a page-turner because of the engaging writing style Lesnar demonstrated, mostly because of how opinionated and outspoken he can really get, especially with how he frequently goes out of his way to badmouth Frank Mir several times in the book.

You don’t even have to like Lesnar to appreciate the book. The man is a recluse and shies away from the public eye for the most part, despite being extremely famous all over the globe. In his free time, he’d rather go work in his farm than do interviews with big media outfits. The fact that he actually wrote this book really felt like a great opportunity to take a look into the mind of Brock, and understand precisely what makes him tick.

This covers his childhood, his high school and college, his amateur wrestling background, his WWE stint, his NJPW stint, and his forays into the world of MMA. What you will notice is how mum he is about most of the personal details in his life, such that outside of Sable, aka Rena Lesnar, you wouldn’t know about anyone he went out with, or who the mother of his daughter actually was. It’s these subtle hints that he drops that makes you feel that even with this book, he still holds back so much and he glosses over so many details that would have probably enhanced this book.

As a result, this book felt incomplete. It covers a lot of the meat, but it hardly tells us anything we didn’t already know about Brock Lesnar. Paying full price for it, after reading masterpieces like Bret Hart’s and Chris Jericho’s, honestly feels like a gyp to me. Had I known that the book would be this sparse, I’d honestly have waited for the paperback instead.

Nonetheless, as short as it was, it was an enjoyable read while it lasted. There’s no telling if he’d ever bother doing a second book, but if he did, I’d be eagerly waiting – and keeping an eye on the page count.

Evaluation: B+ (Would’ve been A+ if it were longer.)

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