Confessions of a Debauched Swashbuckler
When it comes to getting a manuscript published, most times an author’s sudden death won’t help it to the finish line. In the case of My Wicked, Wicked Ways, I think Errol Flynn dying helped get it out. Hard to imagine him ever wanting this version of himself exposed in public.Maybe
it was the spirit of the 1960s. True, the decade was still days away when My
Wicked, Wicked Ways was released, two months after Flynn’s October 1959 death.
The author’s desire to shock and offend readers with his wild life feels more in
tune with the coming decade.
Whatever era you are in, it’s hard to like this guy. In his own telling, Flynn was a rank bastard. What starts out as candid recollections over drinks soon feels more like an exclusive audience with a sociopath.
As he so charmingly puts it late in the book: “Ts-t! Ts-t! It takes some ladies so long to realise they have been raped.”
