I like it, [edit: No, actually, I didn't. It was OK, but I did not, in fact, like it] but it didn't rock my socks off the way I hoped it would. Maybe I came to it with the wrong perspective: I was expecting to get a better understanding of Robert Mapplethorpe, but...didn't. For someone who was so intimately tied up with him, Smith doesn't really seem to say much about him that goes beneath the surface. In fact, that's what made it a "like" rather than a "love" -- it never seems to go below the surface. A somewhat dreamy, poetical surface, but surface nonetheless. I really don't care how many times Patti Smith wore black pegged pants and Capezios (or much of any of the other clothes she spent copious time detailing) and honestly, without drugs (which she claims weren't involved) I find the importance of stuffed birds and random pull-toys to be, well, mannered. But, then, she was just a kid, so I supposed that's to be expected.
I think that's the other thing that frustrated me with the book (and which is not a fault of the book, but of the life it details) is that young Patti seemed to spend so much time trying to be an artiste that it seemed to take her forever to actually find her wings as an artist. When she finally did, it was amazing, but reading about the wait was kind of excruciating.