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240 pages, Hardcover
Published December 6, 2022
This is a book (in the loosest terms) that purports to be the history of a 14-year old artistic philanthropic project, Grantlove, by the Los Angeles based Alexandra Grant.
In reality it’s a vapid, bloated, self-indulgent atrocity of an object made of glossy paper that was never going to be truthful, introspective or thoughtful, exactly.
In an interminable 300 plus pages the author (who by the way is Keanu Reeves’s girlfriend) gives hardly a hint of introspection or what it is like living a life under increasing scrutiny (because, by the way she is Keanu Reeves’s girlfriend), life is a neverending collection of artists who want to drop everything to work with her (because, by the way she is Keanu Reeves’s girlfriend) and a bizarre collection of hangers-on and deluded fans who buy her branded items and posed awkwardly for photographs in this credibility-straining monstrosity (because.. Keanu…rinse…repeat).
There’s hardly even a hint of how her life must have changed circa 2019 when the relationship became public.
A far more interesting book might have been here if the author was honest and adult in including her famed relationship and its impact on her life in the public eye. I would maybe read that book - how she met Keanu, how the relationship began and developed, how we approached going public, the issues it has caused in my life (social media, publicity, online harassment from trolls etc.)
Instead there is nary a mention of Keanu or any suggestion that her insipid, self-centered life is anything less than a pretty day at the park where everyone eats artisan chocolates, frolics on love-branded rose petals and walks a dog named Spot.
Toxic positivity is a diagnosed mental illness - the refusal to see any impacts, accept constructive feedback or be capable of genuine self-reflection in the adult world is an issue for Grant. Her childlike, repetitive, sparkly view of the art world is just not credible.
Love:A Visual History of the Grantlove Project is ceaselessly self-serving. When the author has her ‘love’ branded necklaces sued by Cartier for trademark infringement she bizarrely sees this as a positive ‘I must have been creating something of value’. Uh, no - major corporations have the right to protect their intellectual property and you were violating it girl.
The entire bloated tome is a monotonous collection of vapid insipidness that only deserves incredulity in return. It’s like reading a religious text of a minor creepy cult. After a lobotomy.
This book is a hustle, a Ponzi scheme publication designed to make us think the author is a major figure in the art world (I can guarantee you she is not), a thoughtful philanthropic figure (she is not) and SO much more than a movie star’s quiet, gray-haired girlfriend. (By the way did you know her only ACTUAL claim to fame is that … she’s Keanu’s girlfriend).
This book is the Ikea of love. Cheap, quickly assembled and likely to fall apart.