Ian Ayres’ Private Parts is not so much an autobiography as it is a revelation. Parting its metaphorical thighs from cover to cover, it pulses throbs and glistens in both the before and afterglow of illusory fame while unlocking a more satisfying and deeper meaning.
Not even the likes of Tennessee Williams, Yoko Ono, Philip Glass, Tony Curtis, Edmund White, Quentin Crisp or even Allen Ginsberg, with whom Ayres shared an intimate relationship, takes top billing over Ayres himself — whose loving, open and artistic spirit shines arguably as brightly.
Like a voyeur peering through his own proverbial keyhole, he seduces himself as well as his audience, rendering this not-by-chance encounter all the more compelling as we witness his metamorphosis from innocent hustler to savvy poet and entrepreneur.
Exposing more with his clothes on than off, Ayres — line for mouth-watering line — reveals a life of unabashed risk-taking, with…
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