If you want Miley in all her tongue-waggling, Technicolor glory, look no further than this celebration of the bizarre
I’ve read Miley Cyrus’s 2009 memoir Miles To Go from cover to cover. It’s an exhilarating read which veers wildly from sober reflection to vacuous inanity (in Miley’s list of seven things that make her sad, “world hunger” trails behind “my horsies being in Nashville without me” and “people who don’t know Jesus”). It’s not, however, a particularly good insight into the mind of the pop star. Indeed, it was written by ghostwriter Hilary Liftin – of Tori Spelling’s Stori Telling fame – and often seems to openly contradict what we know of its subject, not least when Miley (a self-proclaimed pothead) declares that “smoking would be like smashing my guitar and expecting it to play. I’d never do that to my voice”.
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