Olivia: Alright Jackson, I’ve got a game for you. We’ve just finished reading this iconic memoir. Give me your five-word review. Go. Jackson: Okay, five words. Let's see. Starving artists, iconic, romantic, maybe…too romantic? How about you? Olivia: Ooh, I like that last part. Mine would be: Poetic, fated, heartbreaking, beautiful, essential. Jackson: Wow, "essential." That’s a strong word. You can already feel the difference in our takes. This is going to be a good conversation. Olivia: It really is. We are, of course, talking about the National Book Award winner, Just Kids by Patti Smith. And it’s a book that carries an incredible weight because it was written to fulfill a promise she made to the artist Robert Mapplethorpe on his deathbed. Jackson: That just changes everything, doesn't it? It’s not just a memoir; it’s a vow. It’s a final gift. The entire book is charged with that purpose from the very first page. You feel like you’re reading something sacred. Olivia: Exactly. It’s a story she was entrusted with. And that story, that entire universe they built together, really begins with a chance encounter that feels like it was pulled straight from a novel.

Jackson: It really does. I mean, the way they meet is so cinematic. Can you walk us through it? Because it’s not just a simple 'hello'. Olivia: Not at all. It’s 1967, the Summer of Love. Patti is young, new to New York, and completely broke. She gets a job at Brentano's bookstore, and while she's there, she becomes obsessed with this beautiful Persian necklace with amber beads. She can't afford it, of course. One day, a young, handsome guy comes in—it's Robert—and he buys that exact necklace. Jackson: And she says something incredibly bold, right? Olivia: She does. As he’s leaving, she blurts out, "Don’t give it to any girl but me." It’s this impulsive, almost psychic moment. Later, she's roped into a deeply uncomfortable dinner with a science-fiction writer who is being way too forward. And just as she’s trying to figure out how to escape, who walks in but Robert. He sees her distress, walks right up to the table, and pretends to be her angry boyfriend, rescuing her from the situation. Jackson: It’s a total movie moment. He saves her, and that’s the real beginning. But what’s fascinating to me is how quickly their bond solidifies. They're not just lovers; they become this two-person artistic unit, almost immediately. Olivia: They become each other's entire world. And this is where the book's title, Just Kids, feels so perfect. They were naive, poor, often sick, but they had this unshakable faith in each other's talent. Robert was convinced Patti would be a star, and she was his first and most devoted believer. They find this dilapidated apartment on Hall Street in Brooklyn, a total wreck. Jackson: And they have no money to furnish it. Olivia: None. They scavenge things from the street. They clean it, they paint it, and they turn this empty, broken-down space into a sanctuary. It’s their first real home and their first shared studio. Robert tells her, after she visits a museum without him, "One day we’ll go in together, and the work will be ours." He saw their future hanging on those museum walls. Jackson: Okay, but this is the part that gets me, and I think a lot of readers grapple with this. They're literally starving, sharing a single piece of toast, Patti is working a factory job she hates, Robert is getting sick. Yet their entire world, their every conversation, revolves around art. Is that pure, noble dedication, or is it a kind of youthful delusion? Olivia: I think Patti would say it was a form of religion for them. Art wasn't a hobby; it was their reason for being. It was the thing that made the poverty and the struggle bearable. They believed so fiercely in the transformative power of art that it transcended their material reality. They were creating their own mythology in real time. Patti even describes their dynamic perfectly when she reflects on their opposing natures. Jackson: What does she say? Olivia: She writes, "I was a bad girl trying to be good and that he was a good boy trying to be bad." They were these two complementary halves, constantly pushing and pulling, shaping each other. He encouraged her to draw and perform; she was his muse, his anchor. Their partnership was this incredible alchemy, turning suffering into beauty. Jackson: That idea of alchemy is so right. They were taking the scraps of their life—poverty, loneliness, the grit of 1960s New York—and turning it into gold. But alchemy has a dark side, too. It requires sacrifice. And as their world expanded, that sacrifice became more and more real. Olivia: Absolutely. That intense, insular world they built on Hall Street couldn't last forever. As they moved to the legendary Chelsea Hotel, the outside world, and their own internal changes, started to creep in. And this is where their vow to protect each other gets truly tested.

Jackson: The Chelsea Hotel chapters feel like a turning point. The innocence starts to fade, and things get a lot more complicated. It’s not just the two of them against the world anymore. Olivia: Exactly. The Chelsea is a universe of its own, filled with other artists, musicians, and icons—Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, the Warhol crowd. It’s stimulating, but it also introduces new pressures and temptations. Robert, in particular, starts to change. He begins to explore his sexuality, venturing into the gay scene of New York, and his art takes a darker, more provocative turn. Jackson: This is where his work starts to get into more occult and Catholic imagery, right? It’s a far cry from the delicate drawings he was making in their Brooklyn apartment. Olivia: A world away. He becomes fascinated with religious iconography, but also with darker, more demonic figures. There's this one story in the book that feels like a chilling piece of foreshadowing. Robert becomes obsessed with finding a medical specimen for one of his assemblages. He and Patti go to the ruins of an old hospital on Roosevelt Island. Jackson: I remember this. It’s such a haunting scene. Olivia: He finds what he’s looking for: a glass jar containing an embryo in formaldehyde. He’s ecstatic. He clutches it all the way home, but just as they’re steps from their apartment, it slips from his hands and shatters on the sidewalk. Patti writes that the loss felt profound, like a dark omen. It symbolized a shift, a loss of innocence they could never get back. Jackson: And it mirrors the fracturing of their romantic relationship. As Robert embraces his identity as a gay man, their physical intimacy ends. That must have been incredibly painful for Patti. Olivia: It was. But what’s so remarkable is that their bond doesn’t break. It transforms. They are no longer lovers, but they remain each other's most important person. They are soulmates, artistic partners for life. He is still the first person she shows her poems to; she is still the subject of his most iconic photographs. Their vow to take care of each other holds, even as the terms of their relationship change completely. Jackson: This is where some of the criticism of the book comes in, though. It’s been praised for its poetic beauty, but some critics and readers feel it’s a bit… selective. It touches on Mapplethorpe's more controversial, sexually explicit work, but it doesn't dive deep into the darkness that made him such a polarizing figure later on. Do you think Smith is intentionally sanitizing his legacy to protect him? Olivia: That’s a fair question. I think the answer lies in the book's central promise. She didn't promise to write a critical biography of Robert Mapplethorpe, the art-world provocateur. She promised to write the story of them. Their journey. The book is about the boy she met, the artist she grew with, and the man she loved until his final breath. The focus is relentlessly on their shared world, and his later, more controversial art was part of a world he explored largely without her. Jackson: So it’s a matter of perspective. The book is titled Just Kids, not Just Mapplethorpe. Olivia: Precisely. And that perspective becomes heartbreakingly clear at the end of his life. After he’s diagnosed with AIDS, their bond deepens once more. She is a constant presence. In one of their last conversations, he looks at her, surrounded by the fame and success he always craved, and asks this devastating question. Jackson: "Patti, did art get us?" Olivia: "Patti, did art get us?" It’s the central question of the entire book. Did this thing they worshipped, the force they dedicated their lives to, ultimately consume them? Did it take more than it gave? Jackson: And what is her answer? Olivia: She doesn't really have one in that moment. But the book itself, this beautiful, heartbreaking elegy, is her answer. It’s her way of saying that what they had, what they created together, was worth any price. He once told her, "We never had any children. Our work was our children." And this book is her final, loving tribute to their shared creation.

Jackson: Wow. Hearing it laid out like that, the whole narrative arc is just staggering. It starts with two kids making a pact in poverty and ends with this profound question about the cost of a creative life. Olivia: It really is. And I think what makes Just Kids so essential, to use my five-word review, is that it’s a story about a relationship that defies all our neat little boxes. It’s a love story, a friendship story, a story of artistic collaboration, and a story of grief. It proves that the most important connections in our lives don't always have a simple label. Jackson: And it’s a powerful portrait of a specific, vanished time. A New York where you could be poor and unknown, but if you had talent and belief, you could create something that would last forever. It makes art feel like a matter of life and death, in a way that’s hard to imagine today. It wasn't about branding or followers; it was about the work itself. Olivia: The work was everything. And their story is a testament to that. It really makes you reflect on the people in your own life. Jackson: How so? Olivia: It makes you wonder, who is the Robert to your Patti? Or the Patti to your Robert? Who is that person in your life who saw your potential before anyone else did, who believed in you when you were just a kid with a dream? Jackson: That’s a beautiful question to end on. That one person who helps you become who you’re meant to be. We’d actually love to hear from our listeners about this. The relationships that shape our creative lives are so powerful. Olivia: Absolutely. Find us on our social channels and tell us about the person who helped forge your path. We’d love to hear your stories. Jackson: This is Aibrary, signing off.