Open by Andre Agassi - A Review

Andre Agassi's autobiography is aptly named: Open. Open in the honest, raw sense of the word. Or is it a command? "Open me. Read me. Go deeper." Whatever it may be, the book can easily stay open for long periods of time. The prose is a pulsating cannonball, hurtling the words at you, leaving you no time to rest. Sentences are crafted to last, in most instances, no more than twenty or thirty words. Bang! Bang! Almost as if the experience of reading the book was meant to be a replica of one of the countless epic finals Agassi has been involved in. Like a tennis match, it's fiery, full of angst and bottled-up frustration. There's a sense of impending doom, with Agassi ready to unleash a new onslaught of, at times, horrific detail to you like a 120 mph serve, or the mighty backhand return he was known for.

It's a five-set thriller, and you would never want to stop watching (or, in this case, reading).

But of course, for Agassi, the revelation that he never enjoyed the sport he became wildly successful at is shocking. He compares his existence to that of millions who go to work every day—those who hate their job, detest it with passion, and yet put up with it because it offers them financial reward or, at times, some emotional gratification. Tennis for Agassi was never something he enjoyed, but rather was forced upon him by his imposing father, who recognized him, among his siblings, as the one to bring fame and fortune to the family name. He would have Agassi up late at night, early mornings, and immediately when he came home from school, hitting a ball with a racket. Much like countless child prodigies, Agassi's name would not be known if it weren't for the immense pressure from his father.

And yet, despite this detail, Agassi is never looking for your sympathy. He never lingers on such details that, for a child, make an indelible impression—effects that often can't be reversed. It's just there. Bang! 15–0. On to the next point. It's as if his brain for tennis cannot be switched off. It seems that his literary style is exactly how his mind functions when going to his nine-to-five. Or, in many cases for him, a five-to-nine.

We are fired through Agassi's ruthless upbringing at a mile a minute. We're in the suburbs of Las Vegas, where his dad's buying a house with the sole condition that it has enough space at the back for a tennis court, where Agassi would run and hit and run and hit and run and hit until his arms would be falling off.

From there, he's playing tournaments and winning—winning so much that he's placed at a tennis academy. His full-time education is essentially stopped from there on in, and by fourteen, all his energy is focused on winning tennis matches.

Agassi's first major win would come at Wimbledon in 1992, finally ending his 0–3 streak in Grand Slam finals, pipping Goran Ivanišević. It would take another two grueling years for Agassi to match this feat, winning the US Open. From there forward, he would go back and forth with the ever-present and, as Agassi notes, formidable Pete Sampras. This rivalry, however, is not a major theme of the book. Sure, it comes up more than a handful of times, but the reader is placed at the heart of much more personal, intense issues he faces simultaneously. Agassi's battle with himself is much more the story, with Sampras being just another setback (though, when it really counted, Sampras often found the better of him).

Other key issues build with startling tension as well, such as his relationship with the famed Hollywood actor Brooke Shields, which seems doomed from the get-go. In 1997, the same year of their marriage, Agassi reveals his brief dabble with methamphetamine. Meanwhile, the prose remains as fiery and explosive as ever, interspersing personal issues with tennis issues that, more often than not, become public.

More than the revelations, however, the book is a triumph in character, largely thanks to Agassi's lack of ego. His honesty. His rawness. Such qualities are so often missing when people talk about themselves—even more so in the case of sporting icons. This allows readers who have never heard of the man, or even watched tennis before, to be enthralled from start to end. I guarantee you won't be disappointed. So go on, Open.