If Julie Andrews were a young star today, instead of in the 1960s, she wouldn't have had so much trouble shedding that squeaky-clean, permafresh, NutraSweet public image she got from Mary Poppins and The Sound of Music. The paparazzi would have already spotted her at 16 snogging a comely Danish acrobat who appeared with her in a stage production of Aladdin, and that would've been that. Instead, we've had to wait for her to tell us about it herself in a frank and fascinating memoir called Home (Hyperion; 339 pages).
There was nothing sweet about Andrews' childhood. She was born in...