This is a great book. Cheerful and sad at the same time. A good example of how to write an autobiography, completely unwilling to do so.

This is the third stab at publishing Twain's/Clemens's memoirs (this is not really an autobiography in a conventional sense), a set of texts with an excruciating publication history. The first attempt, by Albert Paine, published something like 40% of the available material, ordered (as Clemens wished) by date of composition; the second, by Bernard DeVoto, published about half of the remaining material, ordered thematically across several books. This edition, edited by Charles Neider, is organized roughly chronologically, like a typical autobiography would be, but omits material included in Paine's and DeVoto's editions (and the last volume of DeVoto's preparations only came out after this edition, containing material offensive to orthodox sensibilities, which had been held back from earlier publication by Clemens's surviving daughter, Clara). The most recent and complete edition, produced by a team headed by Harriet Smith, comes in three unnecessarily-lavish hardbacks, and its production involved a frankly disgusting dodge to keep the thing in profitable copyright, a century after Twain died, and half a century after his last surviving descendant died.

Why is this the edition I read? Because it's the one I found in a little free library a few blocks away from where I was staying with my girlfriend for the holidays- the volume was a little beat up, but apparently originated at the Mark Twain Boyhood Home in Hannibal.

Neider acts rather superior about his clever move of arranging the material chronologically, but frankly, I don't think it really matters. As I noted above, this isn't a conventional autobio, and Clemens did not set out to write one- Clemens gives radically uneven attention to his subjects, based on his whim; he leaves major gaps in his retelling; he digresses freely and incorporates many anecdotes barely relevant to his life. He is, consciously, a rambling old man waiting to die; his wife and favorite child had already died, his best friend died during the composition, and the sudden death of his remaining cohabiting daughter drove him to write the final chapter and close the work there.

There is almost nothing in here about his methods of composition, or his artistic ideals or goals. He devotes a lot of space to blasting his personal foes, with total freedom, given that he didn't intend any of it to be published until he was long dead (something he takes great evident pleasure in)- primarily his publishing partners, who he felt ripped him off; but also Bret Harte, who he despised with a fury; and the now-obscure novelist Marie Corelli, and Lilian Aldrich, wife of Thomas Bailey Aldrich, who clearly grated on him, and who he felt slighted by. He devotes much space to the character and personality of Susy, his eldest and clearly favorite daughter, and almost nothing at all to his other daughters, Clara and Jean- although Jean's death would hurt him so deeply, and Clara would be the only immediate relative to outlive him. Clemens clearly feels lasting guilt and self-disgust about certain incidents (eg holding himself responsible for the death of his infant son), but unevenly- he also noticeably treads around the entire Ament indemnities debacle, carefully and lightly treats the Nevada duel fiasco, and avoids mentioning the "miscegenation" incident entirely.

Read as the story of Mark Twain's personal and professional life, this is an almost-total failure. Read as the ramblings of a bitter old raconteur, it's very entertaining and readable- even in this chaotic, disorganized state, Clemens is consistently interesting and funny.

I know that Mark Twain requested that his autobiography not be published for 100 years. He was a great writer, but his autobiography is certa inly lacking…

Toward the end of his life, in the first decade of the 20th century, Samuel Clemens began to write material for "Mark Twain's autobiography," which -- because of the many frank, and not always flattering, portraits of many people still alive -- he intended to have published after his death. Shortly, however, he decided that dictating to a stenographer was an easier way of having his voluminous thoughts recorded. When he died in 1910, only four months after the death of his second daughter Jean (his first daughter, Suzy, to whom he was closest, had died in the mid-90s and his beloved wife Clara in 1904), he had not managed to organize the thousands of pages resulting from his dictation.

In the intervening years, several different compilations of that material have appeared under various editors, all doing their best to render his material faithfully but also doing their best to exclude that which might otherwise needlessly offend or, for that matter, sully the image that most Americans retained of him as, above all, a beloved man who made them laugh.

But Clemens did not do as much "laughing" in his final years, mostly, I think, because of the blows that the loss of Suzy and his wife caused him: while Suzy's death was sudden and unexpected, Clara's was one of a two-year decline in which her doctors forbade him more than a brief contact each day.

But Clemens had also lived through some of the most trying times of the United States to date: the Civil War, the brief effort and then collapse of Reconstruction following that war, the Indian wars and suffering occasioned by the steady westward expansion of white settlement, the greed of the robber barons and their compliant, paid-for politicians of the Gilded Age, the often violent struggles between labor (urban and rural) and the owner-merchant class, and the first efforts at imperialism with the Spanish-American War and the subsequent bloody suppression by the US of Filipinos fighting for their independence.

In short, Clemens/Twain had had a belly-full of the reality of human nature! In this lovely, very readable version of his autobiographical papers, one encounters a wise, still-often funny, and insightful American figure. His directness and candor -- aided by his knowledge that when these words were read he would have long been dead -- makes it seem as if the reader is being spoken to directly by Twain. There is a story that leads to another story, because of an incident related or a person remembered, and there are fascinating character profiles of persons known to us today as historical figures but who for Twain were personal acquaintances if not friends (for examples, Grant and Carnegie), and there are sorrowful remembrances of the deaths of his beloved ones.

I would think that anyone who is interested in Twain, or who is just a lover of American literature and some of its principal figures, would find spending a couple of hours with this book to be of immense pleasure.

While I read, Mark Twain/Samuel Clemens was still ALIVE speaking to me; when I closed its back cover he had rejoined the past, truly dead for over 100 years.

This biography of Mark Twain not only sheds light on the extraordinary life of one of America's greatest writers but also resonates on a personal level. Twain's life story, filled with both brilliant successes and regrettable missteps, reminded me of some of the stupid yet nice things I’ve done myself. His journey from humble beginnings, making mistakes along the way, to eventually recovering from his financial losses, feels oddly familiar.
One of the most interesting sections is the account of Twain's friendship with a general of the American Revolution. It's shocking yet fascinating to learn how these celebrated heroes, who fought for the birth of a nation, ended up living in near-poverty after the war, having financed their own efforts. The book paints a vivid picture of the sacrifices these individuals made, only to find themselves forgotten and financially ruined, a contrast to their once-glorious status.

Provide a caption (optional)
Twain’s humor, especially the jokes related to his cigars and his somewhat stingy tendencies, adds a charming layer to his character. It makes sense that, having come from a poor background, he was cautious with his money. Yet, despite making bad investments and losing much of his wealth, he managed to bounce back through worldwide lecture tours, restoring much of his fortune. His resilience, and ability to transform financial disaster into recovery, is truly inspiring.
What’s also intriguing is how this biography dives into the mind of such a complex figure. Twain’s wit, brilliance, and his keen observation of the American society from 1850 to the early 20th century offer a deep understanding of that era. The book gives a rich portrayal of the complexities of society during those years, making it an insightful read for anyone interested in the history and culture of America.
One section I particularly appreciated is Twain’s take on Thanksgiving. He cleverly presents it as a tradition Americans enacted to alleviate their guilt over the treatment and extermination of the Native American population. It’s a thought-provoking take on a holiday that is typically seen as a joyful celebration, but through Twain’s lens, it becomes an ironic symbol of deeper, darker societal truths.
For those unfamiliar with the history of Thanksgiving, it was initially celebrated as a way to give thanks for the harvest and was first marked by the Pilgrims in 1621, together with Native Americans. However, Twain’s critical view suggests that, while Thanksgiving became a national holiday, it masked the guilt over the violent and tragic displacement of Indigenous peoples during the westward expansion.
Overall, this biography is highly recommended for anyone looking to explore the mind of one of America's literary giants. It offers not just a biography of a writer, but a critical lens on the American society of the time. Twain's reflections, wit, and humor make this book a valuable and entertaining read.

4+ stars This is Mark Twain at his story-telling best, signature lengthy sentences and self-deprecating humor. I can see Hal Holbrook in costume using these lines as he meanders around the stage as if it was either the Missouri or the Mississippi river. I found most interesting Twain’s explanations about where he got his inspiration for scenes and characters; he was quite well traveled. His insight into human nature is uncanny. The most surprising detail was how he got his pen name; well, not so surprising when you consider his time on the water.

I decided to read my first autobiography, Mark Twain's, because I know very little about him. I plan to read Mark Twain by Ron Chernow later this year (May 2025), and I was eager to learn more about him. I likely read Twain in high school or middle school, but since so much time has passed, I thought it would be a good idea to revisit his work. So, I picked up The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. I'm looking forward to reading those after finishing this autobiography. Wow, Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) is an absolutely hilarious author!

Twain famously dictated this autobiography, but he requested that it not be published until 100 years after his passing. He had a flair for the dramatic and certainly didn’t want anyone to get too comfortable with his thoughts while he was around. So, sure enough, Twain’s autobiography was released in 2010, exactly 100 years after his death in 1910.

It’s one of those delightful twists that only Twain could have planned, leaving his readers to ponder and marvel at his wit long after he'd shuffled off this mortal coil. Quite fitting for a man who made a career of surprising everyone, even in death!

Ah, what a curious and delightful way to put things! You see, there’s a certain joy in Mark Twain’s prose, a sort of sparkling wit that sneaks up on you like a clever fox. Why, every time I read one of his tales, specifically in his autobiography, it’s as if the words themselves are having a little chuckle behind my back. It’s not just humor—oh no—it’s a dry, sly, almost mischievous sort of humor, that makes you wonder if you’re not the butt of some very well-aimed joke.

In fact, it’s hard not to be drawn to Twain’s style. It’s as though he wields his pen like a master craftsman, shaping language into something that doesn’t just tell a story, but reminds you of the ridiculousness of the world. Every line is laced with wit that sneaks in unexpectedly—like a joke told under the breath of a well-fed, well-meaning rascal. So if you’re a fan of Twain’s prose, you’ve surely discovered that humor and wisdom often walk arm-in-arm in his writing, and there’s no finer company to keep.

Yes, it is indeed an exciting piece of history! The connection between Twain and Grant is a fascinating one. Mark Twain (then Samuel Clemens) and Ulysses S. Grant crossed paths at a time when both were navigating different paths in life. Twain, ever the shrewd businessman, recognized the value in Grant's memoirs and, as you mentioned, helped to publish them after Grant’s financial troubles.

What makes this even more remarkable is that Twain took a personal interest in the project, not merely for profit, but because of his admiration for Grant. Twain's publishing house helped Grant finish and publish his memoirs, which became a literary and financial success. The fact that two such prominent figures in American history—one a revered general and the other a legendary writer—could collaborate so meaningfully is a perfect example of the unexpected ways history intertwines. It’s like something straight out of a story that Twain might have written himself!

With that said, this was an incredibly enjoyable read. I love this, and I cannot wait to feast my eyes on more Twain -- no matter the "book bans based on language". That's something I'll certainly consider as I read more of Twain.

Even after a hundred years, you can’t beat Mark Twain for originality. After fiddling around with the idea of an autobiography or memoir for a couple of decades, rejecting most of his efforts as too literary, he finally around 1902 hit on the idea of 1) eschewing chronology; and 2) dictating rather than writing the story of his life. Chronology ruined spontaneity, he reasoned, and allowed the writer to distort time and facts and hide behind the need to stick to a time line. The act of writing led to bookmanship which turned a life story into a novel, an artifice. Thus, he sat up in bed in the morning, a stenographer at his service, and began talking about whatever entered his mind. The notes would be typed up and filed. He stipulated that most of what he said would not be published until a hundred years after his death (in 1910, as it turned out) because he intended to tell the unvarnished truth, and it might take a century to assure that his criticisms would harm neither their target (especially if it was himself) or their families unto three generations. I’m glad we finally have this, and thank Jim and Becky for the gift.

The editors at the Mark Twain project of the Bancroft Library in Berkeley, headed by Harriet Elinor Smith, had a prodigious task to track down all the letters, notes, events, and references in the Twain files, which had been worked over by several other editors and transcribers and filers. What they’ve turned out is a weighty (about 5 pounds) tome which says on the cover is volume 1. The page count (736, including index, etc.) tells only part of the story. A more conventional font size would have easily pushed the the book over the thousand mark. Not only that, but the actual autobiography doesn’t begin until over 200 pages into the work, the opening pages being consumed by other writings, mostly heretofore unpublished but not necessarily part of what Twain labeled autobiography. I’m making it sound like this is more of a scholarly treatise than anything else, and that might be an accurate view. However, not far in, I began to view it as a treasure hunt. Lots of gold. You need to be patient and persistent in shoveling the dross, but who would want to miss out on passages like this:

Paige (the inventor of the typesetting machine which famously cost Twain a couple of hundred thousand in lost investment dollars) and I always meet on effusively affectionate terms; yet he knows perfectly well that if I had his nuts in a steel-trap I would shut out all human succor and watch that trap till he died.

You can see why Twain might want to wait a while before that saw print.

Or this on Thanksgiving:

Thanksgiving day is a function which originated in New England two or three centuries ago when those people recognized they really had something to be thankful for --annually, not oftener--if they had succeeded in exterminating their neighbors, the Indians, during the previous twelve months instead of getting exterminated by their neighbors, the Indians. Thanksgiving Day became a habit, for the reason that in the course of time, as all ll on the white man’s side, consequently on the lord’s side, consequently it was proper to thank the lord for it and extend the usual annual compliment.s The original reason for a Thanksgiving Day has long ago ceased to exits--The Indians have long ago been comprehensively and satisfactorily exterminated and the account closed with heaven with the thanks due.

Like most people, I knew something about Twain’s life--his boyhood in Hannibal Missouri, his riverboat days which changed him from Samuel Clemens into Mark Twain, his adventures in the California/Nevada gold and silver country, his disastrous investment in a typesetting machine that cost him two years of international lecturing to pay the debt. I’ve been to his house in Hartford, CT, checked out the burglar alarm and pool table and telephone. But I knew nothing of him as a family man, devoted to wife and daughters. A wife whose health was frail from early childhood (The ailment that kept her in bed for two years is still a matter of speculation.), and which sent them around the world looking and hoping for cures until she finally succumbed to something (heart failure on the death certificate) in 1904 at the age of 58. Two other daughters died young--Susie at 24 of meningitis, Jean at 29 of a heart attack thought to be connected somehow with her epilepsy. A lengthy section of the autobiography is devoted the biography of her father Susie began at age sixteen biography--her text and his commentary--and is quite poignant. Twain/Clemens had far more to him than curmudgeonry.

Other than his venture into the typesetting scheme, I knew nothing of the author as businessman. But he was one, and active in various capitalistic ventures his whole life. Most of them had in one way or another to do with publishing. He was always in negotiations with his publishers over his own work, and often convinced he was being cheated, and was often right. But he also had his own (in a partnership) company for many years. It’s main score was the publication of the memoirs of Ulysses S. Grant, which turned a huge profit. However, there were a number of other successes before the company finally went belly up through misappropriation of funds by the partners.

I also didn’t know how much time he lived abroad--a good fifteen-twenty years all over Europe--and in New York and Connecticut. And finally, you’d expect him to know most of the literati, but he was also friends with rich, famous, and political figures of all stripes--Grant, of course, Grover Cleveland and his pretty wife, John D. Rockefeller, and so on. Thus, when he turned seventy in 1905, he’d not only had a long and productive literary career, but had become and international rock star of sorts, whose celebrity far outstripped the mere putting of pen to paper. We close with a few words from the remarks he made at the dinner honoring his achievement of reaching three-score-and-ten, a place Susanne and I both aspire to reach at different times this year.


I have had a great many birthdays in my time. I remember the first one very well..I hadn’t any hair, any teeth, I hadn’t any clothes on, and I had to go to my first banquet just like that.


I have achieved my seventy years in the usual way; by sticking strictly to a scheme of life which would kill anybody else.


I have made it a rule to go to bed when there wasn’t anybody left to sit up with; and I have made it a rule to get up when I had to.


It has always been my rule never to smoke when asleep, and never to refrain when awake. As for drinking, I have no rule about that. When the others drink, I like to help; otherwiseI remain dry, by habit and preference. This dryness does not hurt me, but it could easily hurt you...let it alone.


I have never taken any exercise except sleeping and resting, and I never intend to take any...it cannot be any benefit when you are tired; and I was always tired. ..


I’ve devoted more space to this work than any other in Writer Working, and barely touched on the learning, wisdom and laughs therein. The effort is not inconsiderable, but the rewards? Stupendous.

Mark Twain is an exceptional writer and this autobiography is worth reading. He expounded a bit much on some of the people he describes, thus making it more of a story than a strict autobiography. The loss of his children and wife were sad to learn.

Interesting but tragic life this man had. He was a great writer but due to his trusting nature and poor knowledge of the business world got badly taken advantage of by his associates,friends and family in his early life.He was terribly critical of many people.He greatly loved his wife and daughters. His immediate family was the tragic part of his life. A part of the reading felt as if I was plodding through it.

Now I'm not sure what I expected but I was rather disappointed by this. It was intentionally rambling and self-indulgent, very indicative of his arrogance and knowledge of his place in society, at times quite meta, and lacking in consistent humor. That being said, when his humor comes out it is fantastic, and quoting his daughter Suzy's attempted bio of him is quite moving - actually the best part of the whole book and is the bio I want to read of him. But rambling discourses on included newspaper clippings, for example, and his opinion of the Spanish-American War just because it was recent, detracts from the overall effort.

Great read.