This is a book that cured me of any temptation to read what I now think of as "memoir porn."
The writing was poor-- flat and affectless -- and stripped the author's experience of any meaning, except that Bad Things Happened. Because I actually felt bad about abandoning the book -- as if I was walking away from a train wreck, or refusing to acknowledge on-going abuse -- I skipped to the end, assuming that Julien's escape from her nightmarish childhood would be the thread that drew everything together - and it wasn't.
The writing was poor-- flat and affectless -- and stripped the author's experience of any meaning, except that Bad Things Happened. Because I actually felt bad about abandoning the book -- as if I was walking away from a train wreck, or refusing to acknowledge on-going abuse -- I skipped to the end, assuming that Julien's escape from her nightmarish childhood would be the thread that drew everything together - and it wasn't.
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