Clay Aiken's Book Shows What a True American Idol Looks Like

Learning to Sing: Hearing the Music in Your Life, Clay Aiken’s memoir which came out this week, was one of two celebrity autobiographies I eagerly awaited this fall. The first, Sean Astin’s, was enjoyable enough but a bit of a disappointment. Clay’s, however, was everything I hoped it would be. It arrived in the Waldenbooks where I work five days before the release date, and I couldn’t help but read the first couple chapters on breaks in the back room. As it turned out, I didn’t work on Tuesday or the day after, so the book was not mine until Thursday. I came home and read the rest of it in one sitting.

Clay’s book is divided into twenty chapters, each of which is broken up into many easily digestible nuggets. Rarely does an individual section last more than a couple pages, making for very easy stopping points. Each chapter bears a metaphorical title. I suspect co-writer Allison Glock assisted with these; I’m still puzzling over what exactly her contribution was and how she happened to be selected for the job. I suspect it had something to do with the fact that she wrote one of the most lyrical and complimentary articles about Clay during 2003's media blitz summer. It’s frustrating for a Claymate not to know which words are his and which were crafted by a more seasoned writer. But whether most of the words are his or hers, the result is a memoir as witty and endearing as the singer himself.

I first heard of the project in the predictably cynical Entertainment Weekly; a blurb accompanied by a Clay caricature noted that he would soon publish an “inspirational memoir” and concluded with a snide remark. I was thrilled and a bit surprised. I had no doubts that Clay had the ability to write a book, as interviews have consistently revealed him as one of the most articulate musicians in the business, but I couldn't fathom where he could find the time. A friend of mine somewhat concurred with EW's opinion, at least as far as the title was concerned. “Isn’t that title terrible?” he urged me to admit. I’ll concede it’s a title that could have been culled from interior of a Hallmark card, but a sap like me won’t complain about that. The “inspirational memoir” bit does seem a tad over the top; he could have left his readership to draw their own conclusions on that score. But Clay’s book is a triumph, and I can’t help but smile to see copies of it peeking out at me whenever I come in to work. I hope it’s up with the bestsellers as long as The Da Vinci Code and The Five People You Meet in Heaven.

All of this, and I really haven’t said much about the book yet. In the first chapter, Clay reveals his trepidation with writing this volume and his uncertainties as he adjusts to life as one of the most adulated celebrities in recent history. As I pored over the pages in the back of Waldenbooks, I struggled to stifle my laughter as his wit rose to the surface immediately with examples of sentences his mom made him write hundreds of times as a child (“I will not say Granny’s face needs ironing”) and the trials he’s had to face living in California (“avocado on all the food”). Alongside it were reminders of the class and integrity that is every bit as integral to Clay’s success as his glorious voice. The chapter concludes with welcome reassurance that success has not corrupted the gangly geek with a heart of gold; he will always strive to wield his astonishing influence in the most positive manner possible. Part of that ideal must be attributed to his mother, Faye Parker, whose moral fortitude and devotion to her son have won the hearts of Clay’s fans. The second chapter focuses mainly on their relationship, and I could not help but hear the eerily autobiographical strains of Proud of Your Boy every time Clay acknowledged his indebtedness to his mother.

The book proceeds thematically, with each chapter focusing on particular people or a certain aspect of Clay’s life after being introduced with a quote from someone who knows Clay, usually his mother. The next folks to take the spotlight are Clay’s grandparents – not only his mother’s parents, whose last names now make up Clay’s full name, but the couple who sheltered Clay and his mother after they fled the man whose name Clay would eventually forsake. Other relatives score a passing mention here, most amusingly his great-grandfather and his brother. Both were accomplished folk musicians whose repertoires, which included songs as diverse as What a Friend We Have in Jesus and Intoxicated Rat, were recorded in the Library of Congress. But the chapter deals mainly with the differences between the two sets of grandparents and Clay’s desire to balance his love for them equally. It includes what I found to be one of the most moving passages of the book, in which Clay recalls evenings listening to the Grand Ole Opry with his grandfather -- his “papa” -- before flashing forward, revealing that his grandfather now has Alzheimer’s but still knows his grandson. Instead of the Grand Ole Opry, he now listens to Clay’s CD every night. “It’s as if I am still there,” he writes, “like I was as a child, lying beside him and singing him to sleep as the darkness falls.”

Later chapters delve into his notoriously troubled relationship with his biological father, Vernon Grissom. It was painful to read about such a compassionate child being rejected by his own father, but he had already exposed that aspect of his childhood in interviews and articles so it was not a shocking revelation. I think it was more difficult to discover that he and Ray Parker, the step-father of whom Clay had always spoken with such love, did not share the wonderful father-son relationship I had envisioned. It was, in its own way, equally strained, and perhaps more tragically so as Clay seems racked with regret over a closeness they might have shared had he been more open to it. There are several points in the book in which Clay hashes out his guilt, most gut-wrenchingly when he blames his sister’s suicide on his reticence. Such entries are reminders of his humanity, his vulnerability, moments of exposure that left me with the urge to envelop him in a big bear hug until the pain has receded.

While Clay notes with gratitude the devotion of his fans, he seems uncomfortable with descriptions of him that deny the patches of darkness in his soul. “Nobody is a saint,” he writes, “and if I had a halo it would be crooked.” The book is filled with examples of childhood mischief to back this up, but it generally comes across as innocent impishness. We get a glimpse of Clay’s rotten treatment at the hands of classmates, partly because he hadn’t yet developed the self-confidence that has helped him become so successful. He fights for what he believes in, but there was a time when he didn’t like who he was. Reading about his own personal journey of becoming comfortable in his own skin – content with his talents, his ideals, his looks – was far more inspiring than seeing the much-ballyhooed makeover on television. Some producers would have us believe that a new hairdo, a pair of contacts, and some fancy duds made the world fall in love with Clay. I say he would have worked his way into just as many hearts had he continued to look like a grad school librarian. I noted with satisfaction that although the cover shots of Clay are suave and debonair, inside he more often than not looks like the boy next door. My favorite photo in the book shows him, probably in his early teens, sitting in an old-fashioned car with a shy smile and a pair of glasses that would make Rick Moranis proud. Every time he shows up for a performance or interview wearing his glasses, I revel in his willingness to remain dorky. It all helps me to think of him more as a guy I would have palled around with at school that an untouchable celebrity, which is appropriate and comforting as he is the first musician I have admired who was not famous before I was born. It's easy to imagine that we could have been friends.

When I read Sean Astin’s autobiography last month, it was really Samwise Gamgee I wanted to hear about, so while I found the whole of his memoir enjoyable enough, the only part I really cared about involved Lord of the Rings. Clay does not linger very long on his experience with American Idol, and it doesn’t bother me a bit. It wouldn’t have mattered to me if he hadn’t mentioned it at all. Though many of Clay’s detractors still fail to see it, this young man is about so much more than a phenomenally popular television program. I find every aspect of his life fascinating, and if he spends more time diving into less familiar territory, so much the better. I did find it intriguing that Clay associates the song Solitaire with his birth father; though I’ve often read speculation that Clay is thinking of his father when he sings I Survived You, the connection with Solitaire had never occurred to me. I would have been interested to hear just how it was that Clay decided upon Bridge Over Troubled Water as his show-stopping final selection. I was one of many fans praying he would sing that, my favorite song, at some point in the competition. But the limited number of pages focusing on American Idol were no disappointment.

One aspect of Clay’s life that has been evident from the beginning is his commitment to children, especially those with special needs. The book chronicles his involvement with the YMCA, which eventually led to his placement as a teacher in a classroom full of autistic children, which in turn led him to study special education in Charlotte and work with Mike Bubel, whose mother suggested he audition for American Idol and would go on to help found the Bubel/Aiken Foundation. Seeing him fall in love with a disenfranchised portion of the population was one of the most inspiring aspects of the book. The effects of his championing these children are staggering. He has become a catalyst, inspiring thousands – maybe millions – to donate their time and money to worthy causes. As one who spent much of his childhood picked on by his peers, Clay now urges everyone to practice tolerance and inclusion.

Clay has managed to reach fans across a broad demographic. Many of his fans come from a Christian background, and sites such as claytonaiken.com, host of one of the first and largest forums dedicated to Clay, dub his faith one of his most laudable characteristics. Clay documents his struggle to remain a role model when fame has handed him opportunities to toss his integrity out the window. “If I’m going to remain a decent human being,” he writes, “it’s really up to me.” But he freely admits he doesn’t smoke, drink, swear or womanize, and it doesn’t appear he has any desire to. He refused to back down when RCA tried to fill his album with lyrics presenting messages that were less than G-rated. He included an overtly religious song – You Were There – in his set list during his first solo tour. But he doesn’t pretend to have all the answers. In spite of his deep faith in God, he became discouraged with church and stopped attending for a time. He wrestles with some of the methods and messages of his fellow Christians. “To me, God is about love, not condemnation,” he writes, striking the perfect balance between his faith and his desire to embrace all people. “I sincerely hope that people whom I love and care about who might be Jewish or Muslim or have different faiths and structure systems than I do also find peace in heaven. And I don’t think it’s my place to tell them they’re not going to.” Amen.

I left the book with a renewed appreciation for the unique, talented, passionate, compassionate gentleman who is Clay Aiken. I can’t wait to see what he does with the rest of his life. Whatever happens, I know that Clay’s time in the spotlight is far from up and the good ripples he causes will continue to expand. “My goal is to be triumphant in using where I am to do something bigger than what I am,” he writes. May God grant him a long and happy life doing just that.