With legs spread open and her heart in the right place, Pamela Anderson creates a new subgenre we like to call “semiautobiographical serial fiction written by a famous person.” Don’t be put off by ghost writer Eric Shaw Quinn—he doesn’t taint Pammy’s sincere and simple-minded voice, or her determination to sex you up while setting the story straight. Well, sorta straight.
Pam’s first book, 2004’s Star, is worth the two hours it takes to read about little Esther Wood Leigh’s rise to fame while holding on to her coming-from-a small-town-in-Florida naiveté. Esther, nick-named Star as a kid, is discovered first by Zax beer company at a Dolphins football game and later by men’s magazine Mann. She’s on two popular TV shows at the same time and courted by a stringy rock star and a movie producer. But, c’mon, we already know her story, although the authors do get creative when renaming to protect the innocent—her shows are Hammer Time, starring Allen Thames, and Lifeguards Inc., where she wears a “navy blue” one-piece. For such a sexy, silly romp, somehow Star is meatier and more interesting than Anderson’s latest, Star Struck, which picks up where the other abruptly ended.
Star Struck opens with a bang—and a couple of gunshots, too. Star finally meets her fucking equal (hee) in tattooed rock star Jimi Deed and marries him in the middle of a lost weekend in Cabo San Lucas drugging, drinking (tequila goes straight to her nips, y’all), sucking, making crazy monkey love, and purchasing a gun and handcuffs. Only problem once they get back to L.A. is that Deed is a jealousy freak whose band has broken down. And he parties like mad. And he doesn’t love animals as much as she does.
So, obviously a still life of the rollicking raunch ride that was Pammy’s life, Star’s story needed a twist, something to keep you more occupied than just translating fictitious names into their reality peeps. Wait for it . . . Star and Jimi start knocking off paparazzi. You know, only the real criminal stalkerazzi. Whee. Don’t get Star wrong, she cares about animals—even works on the behalf of B.A.G.L.E. (Brotherhood for Animals Gaining Legal Equality)—and her friends and family, but, in her own words, “Everyone sucks but us.”
Still, the book lacks depth—you see, Star contained backstory of life in Florida and an abusive boyfriend and showed us her working on set and dating and playing with her dog. Star Struck is sex, party, fight, kill a guy, sex, party, etc. Sounds a lot more fun than it is to read. Sensational? Naw, but if you hit Stars 1 and 2 while the heat is on and you’re drinking a fruity yum-yum on the beach, you won’t be sorry.