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Rating: 
Summary: Wonkavision
Review: " Pure Imagination" Come with me and you'll be
In a world of pure imagination
Take a look and you'll see
Into your imagination We'll begin with a spin
Trav'ling in the world of my creation
What we'll see will defy
Explanation If you want to view paradise
Simply look around and view it
Anything you want to, do it
Want to change the world, there's nothing to it There is no life I know
To compare with pure imagination
Living there, you'll be free
If you truly wish to be If you want to view paradise
Simply look around and view it
Anything you want to, do it
Want to change the world, there's nothing to it There is no life I know
To compare with pure imagination
Living there, you'll be free
If you truly wish to be -Anthony Newley (1931-1999), Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (1971) Here's exhibit A in the case for not judging a book by its cover, or, for that matter, its title. I first saw
the book in a discount bin, spine out, and wondered how come I'd never heard of the Nairobi Trio.
Intrigued enough to at least check it out, I was greeted by one of the most frightening images I've ever
seen on a book jacket : a derby wearing, cigar smoking, guy in a gorilla mask, the whole thing tinted
blue. Check out the author info on the back flap and there's a picture of a long-haired guy in a top hat
who looks like a cross between Stevie Ray Vaughn and the actor David Warner. The book is
eminently putdownable. But then I read a couple decent reviews and realized that the author is a columnist for the consistently
diverting NY Press, so I figured it was worth a shot. Well, from the opening pages, where he analyzes
Gene Wilder singing Pure Imagination as an endorsement of a schizophrenic world view, Jim Knipfel's
memoir of a six month stay in a Minneapolis psych ward is at least wryly amusing, and often laugh out
loud funny. Particularly funny, though it obviously should not be, is his account of how he ended up there,
following a series of attempts to kill himself. In order to save his family the pain of dealing with his
action, Knipfel, who at the time was a graduate student and teaching assistant in philosophy at the
University of Minnesota, decided to try framing a student who'd been sending him love notes. In
order to make it look like she had stalked and killed him, he tried slashing his back with a steak knife,
with predictably feeble results. Then, having experimented previously with self-asphyxiation, he
decided to hang himself, but found the experience much less pleasurable this time. So finally, he tried
sleeping pills and whiskey, but somehow managed to stumble out into the hallway of his apartment
building, but not before seriously damaging his liver. Taken to the hospital, he awoke screaming quotations from Nietzsche in rhymed German, and was
diagnosed as suffering a "mixed-personality disorder." He was thought to have undergone some kind
of "psychotic break" and was placed in a locked psychiatric ward to determine if he posed a further
danger to himself or the general public. But he was not really given any therapy, nor treatments, his
stay basically consisted of sitting around the ward, reading the French psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan,
and then a ten minute session with a doctor once a week. Even these brief visits though seem to have
been less about providing care than simply assessing his condition. Finally, with no warning and no
apparent change in his mental status, Knipfel was moved to an open ward and then released, mostly
because he reached the maximum stay allowed by state law. It would be easy enough for Knipfel to rail against the complete inadequacy of the care he received,
and he'd be justified, but that's not what he's after here, mercifully. Instead he offers a rather calm and
dispassionate account of his experience, of the folks he met, and of the process by which he decided he
didn't want to kill himself anymore. This last is where the "Nairobi Trio" comes in. I'll not ruin it for
prospective readers; suffice it to say that they were characters who dressed up as gorillas for a musical
act in an old Ernie Kovacs skit, whose nearly Sisyphiphean plight Knipfel came to identify with. This is a minor but worthwhile book, less concerned with milking mental illness for sympathy or
drama than with telling an interesting story and telling it with great humor. Knipfel uses an interesting
technique in that he never actually tells the reader whether he thinks he was insane during this period
of time, but all of the folks around him react to him in ways that suggest he was. Unfortunately, the
one part of the story that does not work well is his extended recreation of various hallucinations he
endured. These are fairly tedious. But I suppose if they made sense to us then we'd be in trouble,
which maybe provides the answer to the sanity question. GRADE : B+
Rating:
Summary: They're coming to take me away, ha ha, hee hee
Review: A mad book by a level head. Jim Knipfel gives you a ground zero tour of a locked down psych ward where he spent 6 months (in his early 20's) after trying to off himself with pills and cheap scotch (not that a $20 bottle would've necessarily done the job). He would be the first to admit that he is inept at suicide, this being one (the slam dunk) in a long line of self-inflicted attempts on his life. Writing from the perspective of an older person, one who may not have exorcised all his demons but at least has figured out what to feed them so that he can focus on his writing, Knipfel has drawn an evocative sketch of a milieu most people only see dramatized in films. There is a cast of "Cuckoo's Nest" characters, each with their own quirks, but Knipfel shoots for empathy, or at least understanding, rather than condescension in his writing. It's the doctors and one particular orderly that make him leery; this orderly makes it a point to give him a guided tour of the electroshock therapy room and the straitjacket closet because he thinks of Knipfel as someone on the "outside". In fact, when he is eventually moved upstairs to the "open" ward (a case of false advertising, it turns out), he begins to miss his former community: the man on the stationary bike who pauses only to yell a bunch of four letter non sequitors and the woman whose makeup is applied in such a way that every day is Halloween for her. It is these descriptions, along with Knipfel's own psychedelic hallucinations that keep you engrossed. Despite having studied philosophy in grad school, thankfully he spins his tales with a layman's vocabulary. In two books, this one and the earlier "Slackjaw", another painful/funny memoir, Knipfel, if he doesn't quite make the case for suffering as a crucible on the path towards a more tranquil frame of mind, at least allows you to laugh about it in a way that doesn't make you feel bad about doing so. The story has one foot in Purgatory and the other in Hell, and over there, in the toll booth taking your quarters is Beckett. And the author is wearing a Residents T-shirt in the jacket photo, so what are you waiting for?
Rating: 
Summary: Loved the humor! It worked for a dark subject!
Review: After a nearly succesful suicide attempt with scotch and sleeping pills, Knipfel ends up in the harrowing and frustrating world of the mental ward. While trying to prove his "sanity" to his hospital appointed psychiatrist he finds himself locked in a no-win situation. First of all, he only meets with him for one half-hour session once a week. Secondly, if he tells him he's not really crazy then he's looked upon as a liar, and if he admits he does have a few "psychotic breaks" then he'll never get out. Add to this an array of severely mentally ill people and a non-chalant nursing staff and it's a wonder that he could keep whatever sanity he had intact. In this prequel to "Slackjaw", Knipfel delves deeply into the dark feelings of "will I ever get out of here" and "what if they don't really believe that I'm sane?". It can seem a little hopeless and maddening at times, but Knipfel always seems to come away with a brighter way of looking at things.
Rating:
Summary: Loved it. Great to see this subject written with humor
Review: After just completing "Nairobi Trio" I feel I have embarked on a career of reading nothing but non-fiction. While at times, the truth may be "scary", knowing it's real can be oh-so rewarding. In the case of your recent work....I felt it extremely rewarding, and hope there's more to come!
Rating: 
Summary: Keeps you interested with mundane simplicity
Review: As I began reading "Nairobi Trio" I thought is was shaping to be an exposé of patients treatment in a mental ward. It is not that. Instead, it gives a fairly neutral glimpse into a world that many of us never get to see: that of a fairly insane man. Knipfel's conversational writing style and comic flair are captivating. The story of his suicide, committment, and experience in a mental institution also keep the pages flipping. The book falters in its conclusion, however. Knipfel finally realizes that his life resembles a skit called the Nairobi Trio (hence the name of the book), a group of people dressed like apes who do the same thing over and over again. His mundane life, therefore, has pushed him to attempt suicide several times and landed him in mental institutions. If it sounds like a simple resolution--it is! But what can you really expect from a half crazy writer anyway? This is a funny and interesting book that is enjoyable to read, but when you finish it you begin wondering why you read it.
Rating:
Summary: Keeps you interested with mundane simplicity
Review: As I began reading "Nairobi Trio" I thought is was shaping to be an exposé of patients treatment in a mental ward. It is not that. Instead, it gives a fairly neutral glimpse into a world that many of us never get to see: that of a fairly insane man. Knipfel's conversational writing style and comic flair are captivating. The story of his suicide, committment, and experience in a mental institution also keep the pages flipping. The book falters in its conclusion, however. Knipfel finally realizes that his life resembles a skit called the Nairobi Trio (hence the name of the book), a group of people dressed like apes who do the same thing over and over again. His mundane life, therefore, has pushed him to attempt suicide several times and landed him in mental institutions. If it sounds like a simple resolution--it is! But what can you really expect from a half crazy writer anyway? This is a funny and interesting book that is enjoyable to read, but when you finish it you begin wondering why you read it.
Rating:
Summary: Hysteria...errrrrr...hysterical....
Review: In the tradition of "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest." This is a great memoir for those leary of "therapy" and various psychiatric treatments, hospitals, and institutions. Knifel, from my home state, was institutionalized after a rather colorful suicide attempt. He summarized the whole experience in the preface, by asking, "Did it to me any good?" "
No, he answered, again, colorfully. Was he sane? I'm not sure that that means. (Though he was reading and rereading a book by Jacques Lacan, that post modernist loon who he admitted is incomprehensible....I don't know if anyone "sane" would put himself through that ordeal!) I love Knipfel's talent at describing all he sees...the strange patients, the wonders as to whether they're any less sane than the staff. Sure, they were a bit strange, idiosyncratic, as were the self-commited characters in "Cuckoo's Nest." But any need for an institution? Something to think about... By the way, the "Nairobi Trio" came from an old TV skit of Ernie Kovacs, and it became a metaphor for sanity or lack thereof. Wonderful. The only thing I didn't like was the last few pages. It was the narrative of a dream. Perhaps it meant something. He's such a talented writer that it doubtless did. But I find the whole dream analysis thing to be so ridiculous that I don't take it seriously at all and it turns me off. But until then I recommend this book particularly for those who are suspicious of present day psychiatric "treatment" or even interested in a little entertainment through some great writing.
Rating:
Summary: Hysteria...errrrrr...hysterical....
Review: In the tradition of "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest." This is a great memoir for those leary of "therapy" and various psychiatric treatments, hospitals, and institutions. Knifel, from my home state, was institutionalized after a rather colorful suicide attempt. He summarized the whole experience in the preface, by asking, "Did it to me any good?" "
No, he answered, again, colorfully. Was he sane? I'm not sure that that means. (Though he was reading and rereading a book by Jacques Lacan, that post modernist loon who he admitted is incomprehensible....I don't know if anyone "sane" would put himself through that ordeal!) I love Knipfel's talent at describing all he sees...the strange patients, the wonders as to whether they're any less sane than the staff. Sure, they were a bit strange, idiosyncratic, as were the self-commited characters in "Cuckoo's Nest." But any need for an institution? Something to think about... By the way, the "Nairobi Trio" came from an old TV skit of Ernie Kovacs, and it became a metaphor for sanity or lack thereof. Wonderful. The only thing I didn't like was the last few pages. It was the narrative of a dream. Perhaps it meant something. He's such a talented writer that it doubtless did. But I find the whole dream analysis thing to be so ridiculous that I don't take it seriously at all and it turns me off. But until then I recommend this book particularly for those who are suspicious of present day psychiatric "treatment" or even interested in a little entertainment through some great writing.
Rating:
Summary: It's not all "Cuckoo's Nest" or "Girl Interrupted"
Review: The self-confessional, inside-the-mental-institution memoir has become almost such a cliché in the past few years that I wondered if there was anyone who could do anything new with it. I've been a fan of Jim Knipfel's work in the New York Press and his outstanding memoir "Slackjaw" for some time now, though, so it comes as no surprise that he's produced one of the most entertaining and incisive personal memoirs on the subject in recent years. His dark-humored account of the months spent in a locked-door psych ward make intriguing reading, but won't make a good dramatic movie: the common factor to each day is the unending boredom (I have to admire a guy who can read and re-read Lacan's "Ecrits" day after day *without* going insane). Sure, there are the usual staple of colorful characters you meet in this memoir, but they're not there to teach Knipfel a valuable life lesson, befriend him or have adventures with him: they're just there, having the same boring day he is, in which the most exciting thing might be wrestling on TV or the movement of a woman patient from her usual couch to another. Knipfel's probably most effective in showing us that it wasn't the atmosphere, it wasn't the treatment (a weekly ten-minute interview with a doctor), and it wasn't the fellow patients who helped him get out of the place: it was himself, and his association with an old Ernie Kovacs television sketch, that helped him secure his release: maybe not "cured" (whatever that means), but ready to take on life again. (A personal note: I take great exception to the Amazon review that "if Jim Knipfel sat next to you on the bus, you'd get up and move." I live in the same Brooklyn neighborhood he does, and regularly see him on the F train into Manhattan. There's nothing about him that would make you want to move away (and believe me, there's plenty of people like that on the F train already). As Knipfel goes a long way towards pointing out in this book, people who've been in mental institutions are *not* all drooling or muttering--that quiet guy sitting next to you might have very well been in one. Isn't that the point of his book, after all?)
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