Critics were divided. It was either hypnotic genius or self-indulgence.
Unquestionably, however, Peace successfully painted Shankly as a man so consumed by the sport and the club, there was not a detail that escaped him, from painting the changing sheds to personally replying to every piece of fan mail.
It is an exhausting read, but then Shankly's was an exhausting life. Until, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, he resigned as Liverpool manager in 1974. Ironically, Peace's narrative speeds up during Shankly's slow decline from vibrant, at times brilliant manager, to his premature death just seven years later.
What Shankly found was that he couldn't actually live without the sport, hence the book's title.
To some extent I suspect a similar thing happened to Graham Henry post-2011 World Cup.
The whisper through the trees suggests there are some within New Zealand rugby's hierarchy who are unimpressed with Henry, gun for hire. I cannot be convinced he's done anything wrong except stayed closely involved with a game he cannot, and nor should he, let go of.
It's why I place little or no stock on Grant Dalton's weary resignation that he does not have another America's Cup campaign left in him.
"I always felt that it would be difficult for the team to stay together, particularly financially. There's probably will there but I have probably done my time," he said.
"Probably" is probably the key word.
Dalton is talking the language of the bereft. Since walking into the job after the failed campaign of 2003, Dalton has given the better part of his life towards making Team New Zealand first a credible then compelling challenger.
That he failed at the final hurdle will haunt him.
But here's the rub: Only he can change his epitaph. He's not going to do it by walking away now.
Everyone dies; if Shanks could channel Dalts, he'd tell only the truly blessed die without wondering.
