Thirteen years ago, Moab is my Washpot, Stephen Fry’s autobiography of his early years, was published to rave reviews and was a huge bestseller. In those thirteen years since, Stephen Fry has moved into a completely new stratosphere, both as a public figure, and a private man. Now he is not just a multi-award-winning comedian and actor, but also an author, director and presenter. In January 2010, he was awarded the Special Recognition Award at the National Television Awards.

Much loved by the public and his peers, Stephen Fry is one of the most influential cultural forces in the country. This dazzling memoir promises to be a courageously frank, honest and poignant read. It will detail some of the most turbulent and least well known years of his life with writing that will excite you, make you laugh uproariously, move you, inform you and, above all, surprise you.

This is the audiobook edition of The Fry Chronicles, read Unabridged by Stephen Fry on 11 CDs

"Work is more fun than fun"
Noël Coward

I really must stop saying sorry; it doesn’t make things
any better or worse. If only I had it in me to be all fierce,
fearless and forthright instead of forever sprinkling
my discourse with pitiful retractions, apologies and
prevarications. It is one of the reasons I could never
have been an artist, either of a literary or any other
kind. All the true artists I know are uninterested in
the opinion of the world and wholly unconcerned
with self-explanation. Self-revelation, yes, and often,
but never self-explanation. Artists are strong, bloodyminded,
difficult and dangerous. Fate, or laziness, or
cowardice cast me long ago in the role of entertainer,
and that is what I found myself, throughout my twenties,
becoming, though at times a fatally over-earnest, overappeasing
one, which is no kind of entertainer at all, of
course. Wanting to be liked is often a very unlikeable
characteristic. Certainly I don’t like it in myself. But
then, there is a lot in myself that I don’t like.
Twelve years ago I wrote a memoir of my childhood
and adolescence called Moab is My Washpot, a title that
confused no one, so clear, direct and obvious was its
meaning and reference. Or perhaps not. The chronology
took me up to the time I emerged from prison and
managed somehow to get myself accepted into university,
which is where this book takes up the story. For the sake
of those who have read Moab I don’t mean to go over
the same ground. Where I mention events from my past
that I covered there I shall append a superscribed obelus,
thus: †.