Running With Scissors

After the reading the dirge that was The Little Friend, I have to say that Running with Scissors was a cathartic relief. Written by Augusten Burroughs, the memoir was funny, sad, and provocative. I had been wary of it, because of all of the media fawning and comparisons to David Sedaris (whose stuff I do adore). Turns out, I didn't find Running With Scissors to be especially Sedarisesque. The stories of childhood are there, and yes, they're both gay, but the similarities do end there. Sedaris' essays about growing up are much more about being an extraordinary, bizarre kid in a "normal" world. Burroughs is writing about trying to be a normal kind in a ludicrous situation, until he finally gives in and find his own brand of normal. Burroughs is handed over by his mother to his psychiatrist to be raised, and the benevolent doctor is portrayed in a light that is first incredulous, then resigned, and then, finally, the reader begins to feel the weight of malice in the air.

I'm a sucker for the "true" story (this applies both to nonfiction and memoir), and I enjoyed Running With Scissors most thoroughly.