Shattered Love: A Memoir

( 9 )

Overview

 One of the most beloved actors of our time shares the New York Times bestselling story of how he learned to live with an open heart.

Early in his career, shortly after rising to fame as television's Dr. James Kildare, Richard Chamberlain took on the role of Hamlet on the English stage. The play contained a lesson the actor has remembered throughout his life: "To thine own self be true." But for Chamberlain these were not always easy words to live by. Even as he won the ...

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Overview

 One of the most beloved actors of our time shares the New York Times bestselling story of how he learned to live with an open heart.

Early in his career, shortly after rising to fame as television's Dr. James Kildare, Richard Chamberlain took on the role of Hamlet on the English stage. The play contained a lesson the actor has remembered throughout his life: "To thine own self be true." But for Chamberlain these were not always easy words to live by. Even as he won the adoration of millions of fans, this handsome, charming, debonair leading man seriously questioned his own self–worth, living a life haunted by personal insecurity despite decades of immense popular success in memorable roles in Dr. Kildare, The Thorn Birds, Shogun, and other television dramas. Finally, with the help of friends and guidance from spiritual teachers, including Krishnamurti, Chamberlain began the sometimes painful but deeply rewarding process of reconciling his deepest self with his public persona. Now, in Shattered Love, he poignantly recounts his lifelong struggle to find happiness. Tracing a fascinating path through his meteoric rise to success, he chronicles his struggle to come to terms with his own imperfections, his growing desire to be honest about his sexual orientation, and his yearning to live with an open heart. And along the way he imparts the lessons he has learned about overcoming our own self–imposed obstacles to happiness: the importance of listening to our own instincts instead of listening only to others, not demanding the impossible of ourselves, and allowing ourselves to explore negative feelings in order to move forward.

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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
Despite its fevered title, this is a courtly, ruminative life's accounting by the TV miniseries star and 1960s heartthrob. It relates Chamberlain's journey toward self-awareness and growoing capacity for love, through the scrim of an actor's career. Although the author, who's now 69, discusses his main television, movie and stage efforts, he dishes no dirt about his colleagues or directors. Raymond Massey, Chamberlain's Dr. Kildare co-star, was like a second father to him. The Thorn Birds' co-star Barbara Stanwyck was prepared down to her gestures when she hit the set. The Three Musketeers's bombshell Raquel Welch was beloved by all. As Chamberlain revisits his acting credits, he concentrates on what he gained from them as an artist, such as how he fought for the lead in Shogun or broke through the constraints of Rex Harrison's performance to carve his own characterization of Henry Higgins in a stage revival of My Fair Lady. Throughout, he centers his account on how he evolved as a spiritual being. He writes of his spiritual counselors, who showed him how to gain strength through dissociation and open his heart to forgive and love others, particularly his alcoholic father. He speaks intermittently about his homosexuality, but considers it a nonissue, rather than a political passion. His pantheistic theology is heartfelt, but might seem unfounded to orthodox believers. The book is most valuable as a portrait of a man who has made peace with his past. B&w photo insert not seen by PW. (June) Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information.
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780060087449
  • Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
  • Publication date: 5/4/2004
  • Edition description: First Edition
  • Edition number: 1
  • Pages: 272
  • Sales rank: 344,321
  • Product dimensions: 6.00 (w) x 9.00 (h) x 0.74 (d)

Meet the Author

Richard Chamberlain has starred in such classics as Dr. Kildare, The Thorn Birds, and Shogun and has received rave reviews for his theatrical turns in Hamlet, Cyrano de Bergerac, and My Fair Lady, as well as numerous other plays and films. Chamberlain lives in Hawaii, where he continues to act and pursue his passion for painting.

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Read an Excerpt

Shattered Love

A Memoir
By Richard Chamberlain

Regan Books

ISBN: 0060087439


Chapter One

I was born in Los Angeles during the Great Depression and was quickly whisked off to Beverly Hills. Alas, it was to the normal, pre-90210 part of that glittering town, the "wrong" side of Wilshire Boulevard - and, even worse, the wrong side of Beverly Drive. In short, the wrong side of the now-vanished streetcar tracks.

My folks took out a thirty-five-year mortgage and bought a three-bedroom, one-and-a-quarter-bathroom house for a hefty seven thousand dollars. There were five of us: Chuck and Elsa, my father and mother; Bill, my brother; and soon Nonnie, my wonderful maternal grandmother.

There were no freeways, no tall buildings in L.A., no jet planes, no zip codes, no smog, no TV - and consequently no video games, no computers or cell phones, no drugs or guns at school. Some of our neighbors still had iceboxes instead of the newfangled fridges, so the ice truck trundled down our street every other day, delivering big blocks of ice. We kids used to clamor after the truck, begging for chunks to lick on hot summer days. The Good Humor man drove by too, ringing real bells. An ice cream bar cost five cents.

Who needed TV? We had the movies, at ten cents a double bill. And it was the golden age of radio - soap operas and music, dramas and news, on weekdays, and an extravaganza of comedy and variety shows on the weekends: Jack Benny, Bob Hope, Fred Allen, Red Skelton.

I loved listening to radio dramas and fairy tales and mysteries. Television scenes are limited by the varying skills of the actors, and especially by limited production budgets - you get only what the producers can afford. But my imagination had unlimited funds to spend on the images my radio evoked. And the picture tube in my head was wide-screen, full color, and a hundred feet high.

There were vacant lots galore with tall grass to play in. We used to hide in the grass, pulling up clumps with dirt clods at the end and then lofting these missiles over where we thought our friends were hiding. When you got hit with one it didn't usually hurt that much. The neighborhood was full of kids, and even at preschool age we were free to roam and play and invent adventure. No kidnappers, no molesters, and no drug dealers - house and car doors left unlocked - we felt safe; we took safety for granted.

I was seven years old on that Day of Infamy when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor and savaged the U.S. Navy, awakening the Sleeping Giant and drawing us into mortal combat with the rampaging fascist forces of Germany, Japan, and Italy. Children pick up on just about everything, and my parents' initial shock at suddenly being at war scared my brother and me. Seeing this, they changed their tune and explained to us that the fighting was very, very far away, and that our brave and righteous military would keep us as safe and sound as we'd always been. Still believing that moms and dads speak only the truth, I bought this, and the war became in my juvenile imagination a distant high adventure, a rough-and-ready sporting event that we good guys were bound to win.

The war released a tremendous energy in the United States, which until then was still suffering the deprivations and gloom of the Depression. The accelerating war effort took on a youthful determination, a robust, vital innocence - we were so obviously the white-hatted heroes fighting valiantly against the black hats of darkness.

Even through our inevitable defeats and losses, Americans remained feisty and optimistic. Our energetic optimism was apparent in our jive-filled, swinging music, and in our exuberant jitterbugging. Movies fortified our confidence in our superb fighting men and pumped up our loathing of the villainous Germans and Japanese (somehow the Italians never seemed that dangerous). If you have to march out and kill people, it's useful to hate them.

Our grammar school had paper drives and scrap metal drives. We kids would collect old newspapers all through our neighborhoods and pile the playground high with stacks of carefully tied bundles of the Los Angeles Times and huge piles of scrap. Once I took a fancy to a sort of Oscar-like shiny brass trophy on one of these piles, stole it, and took it home. When Dad saw it he asked where I'd gotten it. I lied, saying that I'd found it in the alley. He asked me to show him exactly where. I was mighty scared, but I took him out into the alley behind our house and pointed out with my shaking finger a particular trashcan. Dad, no fool drunk or sober, fixed me with a gaze of Olympian severity and asked again, "Where did you get it?" I admitted, stuttering, "The s-scrap pile." We returned home and I got spanked, more for lying than stealing.

Food was rationed with allotted food stamps. I remember that butter and sugar and meat and, worst of all, bubble gum were in particularly short supply. Margarine was easier to get, but the dairy companies got a law passed permitting the sale of only white margarine in large, unbutterlike chunks. To make this white stuff more appetizing, my grandmother would soften it in the oven and then mix in yellow coloring. The newly yellow margarine would be cooled in molds the shape of normal butter cubes. This was a tricky procedure because if the margarine actually melted it would separate and become an inedible mess.

Automakers were all making military vehicles - Jeeps and tanks and such - so new cars were just about impossible to find. By the end of the war my dad's old Ford had well over two hundred thousand miles on it ...

(Continues...)



Excerpted from Shattered Love by Richard Chamberlain
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

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First Chapter

Shattered Love
A Memoir

Chapter One

The Chamberlain Magic Show

I was born in Los Angeles during the Great Depression and was quickly whisked off to Beverly Hills. Alas, it was to the normal, pre-90210 part of that glittering town, the "wrong" side of Wilshire Boulevard -- and, even worse, the wrong side of Beverly Drive. In short, the wrong side of the now-vanished streetcar tracks.

My folks took out a thirty-five-year mortgage and bought a three-bedroom, one-and-a-quarter-bathroom house for a hefty seven thousand dollars. There were five of us: Chuck and Elsa, my father and mother; Bill, my brother; and soon Nonnie, my wonderful maternal grandmother.

There were no freeways, no tall buildings in L.A., no jet planes, no zip codes, no smog, no TV -- and consequently no video games, no computers or cell phones, no drugs or guns at school. Some of our neighbors still had iceboxes instead of the newfangled fridges, so the ice truck trundled down our street every other day, delivering big blocks of ice. We kids used to clamor after the truck, begging for chunks to lick on hot summer days. The Good Humor man drove by too, ringing real bells. An ice cream bar cost five cents.

Who needed TV? We had the movies, at ten cents a double bill. And it was the golden age of radio -- soap operas and music, dramas and news, on weekdays, and an extravaganza of comedy and variety shows on the weekends: Jack Benny, Bob Hope, Fred Allen, Red Skelton.

I loved listening to radio dramas and fairy tales and mysteries. Television scenes are limited by the varying skills of the actors, and especially by limited production budgets -- you get only what the producers can afford. But my imagination had unlimited funds to spend on the images my radio evoked. And the picture tube in my head was wide-screen, full color, and a hundred feet high.

There were vacant lots galore with tall grass to play in. We used to hide in the grass, pulling up clumps with dirt clods at the end and then lofting these missiles over where we thought our friends were hiding. When you got hit with one it didn't usually hurt that much. The neighborhood was full of kids, and even at preschool age we were free to roam and play and invent adventure. No kidnappers, no molesters, and no drug dealers -- house and car doors left unlocked -- we felt safe; we took safety for granted.

I was seven years old on that Day of Infamy when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor and savaged the U.S. Navy, awakening the Sleeping Giant and drawing us into mortal combat with the rampaging fascist forces of Germany, Japan, and Italy. Children pick up on just about everything, and my parents' initial shock at suddenly being at war scared my brother and me. Seeing this, they changed their tune and explained to us that the fighting was very, very far away, and that our brave and righteous military would keep us as safe and sound as we'd always been. Still believing that moms and dads speak only the truth, I bought this, and the war became in my juvenile imagination a distant high adventure, a rough-and-ready sporting event that we good guys were bound to win.

The war released a tremendous energy in the United States, which until then was still suffering the deprivations and gloom of the Depression. The accelerating war effort took on a youthful determination, a robust, vital innocence -- we were so obviously the white-hatted heroes fighting valiantly against the black hats of darkness.

Even through our inevitable defeats and losses, Americans remained feisty and optimistic. Our energetic optimism was apparent in our jive-filled, swinging music, and in our exuberant jitterbugging. Movies fortified our confidence in our superb fighting men and pumped up our loathing of the villainous Germans and Japanese (somehow the Italians never seemed that dangerous). If you have to march out and kill people, it's useful to hate them.

Our grammar school had paper drives and scrap metal drives. We kids would collect old newspapers all through our neighborhoods and pile the playground high with stacks of carefully tied bundles of the Los Angeles Times and huge piles of scrap. Once I took a fancy to a sort of Oscar-like shiny brass trophy on one of these piles, stole it, and took it home. When Dad saw it he asked where I'd gotten it. I lied, saying that I'd found it in the alley. He asked me to show him exactly where. I was mighty scared, but I took him out into the alley behind our house and pointed out with my shaking finger a particular trashcan. Dad, no fool drunk or sober, fixed me with a gaze of Olympian severity and asked again, "Where did you get it?" I admitted, stuttering, "The s-scrap pile." We returned home and I got spanked, more for lying than stealing.

Food was rationed with allotted food stamps. I remember that butter and sugar and meat and, worst of all, bubble gum were in particularly short supply. Margarine was easier to get, but the dairy companies got a law passed permitting the sale of only white margarine in large, unbutterlike chunks. To make this white stuff more appetizing, my grandmother would soften it in the oven and then mix in yellow coloring. The newly yellow margarine would be cooled in molds the shape of normal butter cubes. This was a tricky procedure because if the margarine actually melted it would separate and become an inedible mess.

Automakers were all making military vehicles -- Jeeps and tanks and such -- so new cars were just about impossible to find. By the end of the war my dad's old Ford had well over two hundred thousand miles on it ...

Shattered Love
A Memoir
. Copyright © by Richard Chamberlain. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4
( 9 )
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Sort by: Showing all of 9 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted June 30, 2003

    more than I'd even hoped for

    I was in love with Dr. Kildare at age 12...pictures of him all over my bedroom including the ceiling...and I was awed by The Thorn Birds...one of the best reads of my life and he captured Father Ralph to perfection...I gladly payed full price to see where my hero had gone in his life...I was not disappointed...he's a wonderfully wise, studied and curious man with an eye toward the sublime in all things...he's very kind and balanced...he's in touch with his own weaknesses and has cultivated genuine gratitude in their stead ...the issue of his sexual orientation is so softly woven into his life that it's of no consequence to those of us who loved the sexy leading man...as a human being he sparkles among the hollywood tin we are expected to revere these days...he remains my hero...my love affair with this movie star just got better...

    3 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted January 31, 2010

    Forthcoming and inspirational

    Richard Chamberlain is not only a gifted actor, he is a natural on writing. If you are looking for a cheap thrill of a Hollywood actor biography, this isn't the book you are looking for. Naked honesty is what you will find here. I say this one is a keeper in my library.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 21, 2004

    Stunning Self Discovery

    I had owned a copy of this book since it was first released, but somehow the title was off-putting and I found other books I wanted to delve into first. When I settled down with Richard's magnificent road to self- discovery and what life and love and self --the great trilogy for me--were beginning to mean to him I almost wept. His acting was inspirational, but his quest for knowledge about himself was incredible. I plan to read the second half of this book again (the haikus were wonderful unto themselves) and works by authors who help him on his great quest for answers and self love. I hope Richard will share more of his self discovery journeys with us in another book devoted to finding love, spirit, harmony--and perhaps share some of his paintings with his words.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 12, 2003

    A great read..............fasinating..........

    Have always enjoyed Richard Chamberlain as an actor. This shows he is educated in a variety of subjects. A talented writer.....and NOT BORING. His views are interesting......... Intelligent and find he's even more likable, than before!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 19, 2003

    A kind gentle soul

    Having loved Mr. Chamberlain since teenage years, I was fascinated to read his book. It was compelling, and enlightening, and truly a reflection of his kind, warm,and giving personality. As a born-again Christian, however, my views differ from his in certain points regarding spirituality, etc. but that does not change my high regard for him as an actor and humanitarian. Throughout his life, he has led it with dignity, and privacy devoid of tabloidism, and given us years of entertainment and joy with his performances. Blessings to this wonderful 'gentle'man.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 10, 2003

    SIMPLY POWERFUL

    SIMPLY, YET POWERFULLY WRITTEN. COMPLEX. HIGHLY RECOMMENDED.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted July 3, 2003

    I loved this book!

    Chamberlain's revelation of his homosexuality was no surprise (didn't we all hear about this years ago?), and he deals with it in a very sympathetic and dignified way. The story of this very complex, sensitive (and gorgeous!) young man finding his way through the treacherous landscape of Hollywood is both touching and fascinating!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 6, 2014

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 14, 2013

    No text was provided for this review.

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