A painfully tasteless biography, the author works on the hypothesis that as long as a book is crowded with petty, intimate details, which are generally restricted to the individual breakfast table, the reader will have a heart-warming, stimulating experience. Unfortunately, Mr. Singer's clumsy probings into Danny Kaye's life and psyche-- his poor Brooklyn childhood, his struggle on the vaudeville circuit, his marriage to Sylvia. Fine, his rise to fame, his domestic upheavals, and his ""love affair"" with his daughter Dena -- when they are not overripe with banality are so obviously included for their ""joy through suffering"" appeal as to be sordid. There is nothing here which a reader with the most casual acquaintance with the movie columnists would not already know. An exercise in the cliche -- the author presents every aspect of the talented Danny Kaye in the depressing context of banality -- the poor but loving Jewish immigrant cliche, the back-stage wife cliche, the tearful clown cliche. Through this labyrinth Danny Kaya is led a grim little dance, and the only means by which the reader will regain his perspective is to forget the Danny Kays Story, and allow Danny Kaye, the entertainer, to project himself in his full dimensions on the screen, stage, or nightclub floor.