I read this one very fast. Short and entertaining autobiography. And amazingly well written. Interestingly written. It is not your classic “tell a story” kind of book. American literature is full of those. This is more modern, more experimental. It can be confusing at times, yes, I admit. But I for one don’t care, because the writing keeps me captivated, not the story itself. She could talk about anything there. I am flabbergasted by the punctuation, by the use of second person point of view in a short paragraph here and there, by the mystery created through it all.

I am not saying that it is the most successful style. It can get tiring, but it is new and inciting. As a writer, I appreciate reading such books. I feel I can learn something of the craft. I guess we learn things from all the books we read. But believe me, this is a stylistic course. It is a beauty.

I also have to admit that the story was what attracted me first to this book. A childhood in a hippy commune.  You know I have a weakness for this type  of thing. But I forgot about it as soon as I started reading the first page.

This is my kind of book.

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