Are There Books Like Fingers Crossed: How Music Saved Me From Success?

If you loved 'Starstruck: Fame, Failure, My Family and Me' for its raw, personal dive into the highs and lows of fame and family dynamics, you might enjoy 'Educated' by Tara Westover. Both books explore the tension between personal identity and the expectations of those around you, though Westover’s memoir is set against the backdrop of a survivalist family. The emotional honesty in 'Educated' hits just as hard, especially when she grapples with leaving her past behind. Another great pick is 'Born a Crime' by Trevor Noah, which blends humor and heartbreak in a way that reminds me of 'Starstruck'. Noah’s stories about growing up in apartheid-era South Africa with a fiercely loving mother echo the familial bonds and struggles in Starstruck. Plus, his wit makes even the toughest moments feel relatable. For something more Hollywood-adjacent, 'The Princess Diarist' by Carrie Fisher offers that same mix of fame, vulnerability, and sharp observation.

I stumbled upon this question while browsing an art forum, and it got me thinking—there absolutely are gems out there for artists seeking that same blend of mindfulness and skill-building! One that comes to mind is 'Art & Fear' by David Bayles and Ted Orland. It’s less about technique and more about the psychological hurdles creatives face, like self-doubt and perfectionism. The way it dissects the creative process feels like a warm conversation with a mentor who’s been through it all. Another favorite is 'The War of Art' by Steven Pressfield. It’s punchy, almost militant in its approach to combating procrastination (what he calls 'Resistance'). While 'The Inner Game of Music' focuses on flow and presence, Pressfield’s book is a kick in the pants to just show up. For a softer touch, 'Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain' by Betty Edwards blends neuroscience with practical exercises—it’s like rewiring your brain to see differently. These books aren’t just guides; they’re companions for the messy, glorious journey of making art.

I've always been drawn to memoirs that peel back the glossy veneer of fame, and 'Fingers Crossed: How Music Saved Me From Success' does exactly that with raw honesty. Miki Berenyi’s writing feels like a late-night confession—unfiltered, messy, and deeply human. She doesn’t just recount Lush’s rise in the shoegaze scene; she digs into the personal chaos behind it—family dysfunction, industry sexism, and the paradox of 'success' that nearly destroyed her. The book’s strength lies in its refusal to romanticize the '90s music world. Instead, it’s a survival story, punctuated by dry British humor and moments of startling vulnerability. What hooked me was how Berenyi frames music as both a lifeline and a burden. The chapters about Lush’s early days crackle with youthful energy, but the later sections sit heavier, exploring burnout and grief. If you’re looking for a nostalgic tour of Britpop, this isn’t it—but if you want a memoir that wrestles with creativity, mental health, and resilience, it’s unforgettable. I finished it feeling like I’d lived through those tour van arguments and studio tensions myself.

Reading 'Fingers Crossed: How Music Saved Me From Success' was such a raw, emotional journey for me. The book revolves around Miki Berenyi, the fiery frontwoman of the iconic shoegaze band Lush, as she navigates the chaos of fame, personal demons, and the music industry’s brutal highs and lows. Her voice is so vivid—it’s like she’s sitting across from you, spilling her guts over a cup of tea. The other 'characters' are really the people who shaped her life: her bandmates like Emma Anderson, whose creative tension with Miki fueled Lush’s sound, and her tumultuous family, especially her Hungarian refugee parents with their own dramatic pasts. It’s less about traditional protagonists and more about how these relationships—fraught, tender, messy—became the backbone of her survival story. What stuck with me was how unflinchingly honest Miki is about her mistakes and vulnerabilities. She doesn’t glamorize the ‘90s music scene; she drags you into its grimy clubs, its sexism, and the crushing weight of expectations. Even figures like Jarvis Cocker or Steve Albini flit through the narrative, not as heroes but as flawed humans in her orbit. It’s a memoir that feels like a late-night confession, and by the end, you’re left marveling at how music wasn’t just her career—it was her lifeline.

Reading 'Fingers Crossed: How Music Saved Me From Success' felt like flipping through a diary scribbled with raw emotions and guitar tabs. It's Miki Berenyi's memoir, and she doesn't hold back—whether she's describing the chaotic early days of Lush, the band's rise in the shoegaze scene, or the personal struggles that came with fame. The book dives into her mixed heritage (Japanese and Hungarian), the turbulence of her family life, and how music became both an escape and a lifeline. There's a brutal honesty about the industry's darker sides, like sexism and burnout, but also these sparkling moments of camaraderie on tour or in recording studios. What stuck with me was how she frames 'success' as almost a trap—the pressure to conform, the exhaustion of constant performance. The title itself is a cheeky nod to how luck and desperation play into survival. It's not just a nostalgia trip for 90s alt-rock fans; it's a reminder that creativity often thrives in the messiest parts of life. I finished it feeling like I’d eavesdropped on a late-night confessional between old friends.

If 'Flailing at Life' resonated with you, I'd totally recommend checking out 'Hyperbole and a Half' by Allie Brosh. It's this hilarious, deeply relatable collection of essays and comics about the messy, awkward parts of adulthood. Brosh has this way of turning personal disasters into something you can laugh at while also feeling seen. Another gem is 'Me Talk Pretty One Day' by David Sedaris. His self-deprecating humor and stories about feeling out of place—whether in language classes or family dynamics—hit that same sweet spot of 'why is life like this?!' Both books capture the chaos of just trying to exist, but with enough heart to make you feel less alone in it.

If you loved 'Untied: A Memoir of Family, Fame, and Floundering' for its raw, unfiltered look at personal struggles intertwined with fame, there are a few other memoirs that hit that same nerve. 'The Princess Diarist' by Carrie Fisher comes to mind—it’s got that same mix of vulnerability, wit, and behind-the-scenes Hollywood chaos. Fisher’s writing feels like she’s sitting across from you at a diner, spilling her guts over a cup of coffee. She doesn’t shy away from the messy parts of her life, much like Meredith Baxter in 'Untied.' Both books peel back the glossy veneer of fame to show the real, often unglamorous, human underneath. Another gem is 'Bossypants' by Tina Fey. While it’s more comedic, it still digs into the pressures of being a woman in a male-dominated industry, balancing family, and the absurdity of fame. Fey’s self-deprecating humor makes the heavier themes digestible, but don’t let the laughs fool you—there’s depth here too. For something darker but equally gripping, 'Lit' by Mary Karr is a masterclass in memoir writing. It’s about addiction, motherhood, and finding your voice, all written with Karr’s signature poetic grit. If 'Untied' resonated because of its honesty about family dysfunction, 'Lit' will feel like a kindred spirit. Then there’s 'Wild' by Cheryl Strayed, which isn’t about fame but shares that same soul-baring quality. It’s a journey of self-discovery through literal and metaphorical wilderness, and Strayed’s willingness to lay her mistakes bare is downright inspiring. What ties these books together is their refusal to sugarcoat life’s messiness. They’re all about flawed people trying to make sense of their pasts, and that’s what makes them so relatable. After finishing 'Untied,' I went on a memoir binge, and these were the ones that stuck with me—each one feels like a late-night confession from a friend you never knew you needed.