Compulsively readable and left me feeling deeply, happily, uncool, Just Kids is punk rocker Patti Smith's memoir of her early New York years in the late sixties/early seventies, focusing mostly on her relationship with the artist Robert Mapplethorpe. Lots of name dropping. Bob Dylan is everywhere. Janis Joplin. Jimi Hendrix and Patti have a moment in a stairway. Lots of overly-innocent prose. But I finished Just Kids a week ago and it's sticking with me. Not sure if it's exactly worthy of a National Book Award, but it is certainly evocative of a certain time and place.