Here’s another memoir of a girl growing up in a totally whacked family – but hey she turns out great, ends up going to Barnard and is now a totally together writer/novelist and happily married to her fabulous husband.
The story itself kept me interested just because every memory of her childhood was more hideous then the next – being horribly burned while cooking her own hotdogs at the age of 3 and then having her parents pull her out of the hospital because they didn’t believe in medical treatment, rooting through the garbage cans at school because they never had any food in their house, having her father bring her to a bar to “hustle” her – every story was heartwrenching.
What I really didn’t like about this book was that it was told from a very factual, almost clinical standpoint. The writing was very simplistic without any of the beautiful prose, a la Angela’s Ashes, and you just didn’t feel any emotions from the author. I didn’t feel her pain at all so why was I reading the story of a horrible childhood without any of the gut-wrenching emotion to go along with it.
In sum – this is the typical “Oprah/bookclub” read (in fact it was my bookclub selection this month) that just didn’t do it for me.