To some of us -- people who admire or revere the artist -- this is a very important book. In some ways, it's a book with no equal. That applies to its strange structure as much as to its autobiographical exposure of a reclusive person. One thing is sure, it explains a lot that has been unexplainable and exposes much of what has been closely held secrets for a very long time. It also acts like a marijuana joint in enhancing appetite, increasing our hunger for more. Well, like it says, this is only Volume One.

One of the book's fascinations is to hear Dylan's "other" voice -- the one in straight prose. It takes us measurably closer to what he might sound like as a normal person talking to a peer. There's great pleasure for Dylan fans in that.

But, just as his wandering, barrier-breaking mind has given us a treasure trove of musical invention like no other, his book wanders in time as his virtuosic memory recalls the details that have stuck with him. It would seem like the musical giant has considerable powers of recall.

This takes us on a personal and professional journey that rambles from one time frame to another. He seems to have started his book out with chronology in mind, but somewhere along the way the discipline got waylayed. If you want to get a start on his memoires from the early times, read the last chapter (5) first, in which he's introduced to the music of his first great muse, Woody Guthrie and signs his first recording contract. Then, stroll back to chapter one.

By turns confessional, reflective and revealing, these chronicles tell how he crafted his unique approach to song writing out of several key musical influences. It describes many of those he met along the way, what fame meant to him as he was acquiring it, what he thinks of the idolatry and more. There's much about his personal life, friends, girlfriends, wife, family. And, between the lines, lies the essentially decent person who not only doesn't have a bad thing to say about any of the legions of people he recalls, but takes great pains to laud a few whose kindness the itinerant folk singer never forgot (Gorgeous George, Harry Belafonte), those whose talents greatly affected him (Joan Baez) and those he learned much from (Dave Van Ronk, Lonnie Johnson).

Sparing himself no excuses or hiding places, he goes into great details about his less productive years and how he had to struggle back to his legendary period of original creativity. He does all of this as though he were dictating memories as they occurred to him, like a series of interview gigs. It reads as though he returned to the manuscript to provide the essential details of everyone he mentions, editing here, adding details or whole epidodes there, but always down-to-earth and objective about himself. Beyond that process, though, you get the sense that the real Bob Dylan is, at last, talking to you in his real speaking voice.

His book is not likely to win awards for writing structure nor, even, such technical elements like smooth phrasing, syntax or expression (though he continualy comes up with gems!), but the essence of the man and the exposure of his musical evolution into generation-shaking originality is what gives the book considerable significance.

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