Read the Diaries, instead.
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I suspect that for a lot of people (yours truly included), this book was their introduction to Joe Orton. It was highly praised upon its 1978 publication, largely because it drew attention to a man whose life (and death) had long been shrouded in mystery. However, nearly 30 years' later, it doesn't stand up to close scrutiny - mainly because Lahr has relied so heavily on Orton's scandalously entertaining diaries to fill out the narrative - this was the books sensational selling point. However, we can now read the Diaries without the hinderance of Lahr's neurotic interpolations (well, largely - he managed to swing the gig as editor of the Diaries), which renders this book largely irrelevant.
I say largely, because Lahr devotes a chapter to Orton's life before he met Kenneth Halliwell and his struggles to become a literary figure. However, he proves himself an unreliable and prejudiced chronicler - and his slick, corny and generally offensive 'American' style will tend to turn your stomach (I've always thought it ironic that Orton - who couldn't stand Americans - got landed with a 'yee-ha' biographer). Lahr, brought up in moneyed California sunshine, completely misunderstands and patronises the facts of life in post-war Britain; and he fatally downgrades the role of Halliwell in Orton's development. Stylistically, the book is quite dreadful: Lahr is addicted to meaningless phrases, like 'reality is the ultimate outrage' (come again?).
So, if you've got any sense, you'll pass this book over and head straight for the Diaries. Orton (and Halliwell) await a proper biographer.
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