31. A Wolf at the Table by Augusten Burroughs

This guy is pretty much known for writing memoirs. And by the title and sinister book cover I was expecting a tale of abuse.

Now, I don’t want to minimize anyone’s pain here, and I do believe that the author’s dad was probably a total sumbitch, but the way he describes his dad and his abuse is totally, melodramatic… to the point where I didn’t really care. Isn’t that awful of me? But I truly think that if the author had written the book differently, if he hadn’t been so dramatic, I would have believed it more. As it was, I sometimes had the thought of, “maybe you were kind of a pain in the ass as a kid.”

I have no doubt that Mr. Burroughs had a tough childhood.  I can’t imagine growing up in a household where my mom was sometimes crazy and my dad was sometimes psycho. However, I couldn’t help thinking that perhaps he was imagining some of the stuff that happened in the book, like in a James Frey A Million Little Pieces kind of way. Maybe stretching the horribleness of the truth a bit.

I just hate that the author himself makes me doubt the book’s authenticity. I would not recommend this book.

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