A Wolf at the Table, By Augusten Burroughs
Alcoholic, racked by psoriatic arthritis, his skin bleeding in patches, his knees swollen and painful, his murderous impulses barely contained, Burroughs' dad is a terrifying figure. So real was the menace that Burroughs' older brother, who left home as soon as he could, taught him how to use a rifle in self-defence. Yet it's not the threat of violence that's the most damaging to Burroughs, but his father's complete incapacity to feel love.
Burroughs recounts the story of his childhood and early manhood, up to his father's death (on his deathbed, Burroughs' father pointedly turned away and said nothing to his younger son), without self-pity and without melodrama. The writing is sharp, tight, visual. It is a "misery memoir", yes, but one that can be read straight through and enjoyed for the quality of the prose, like a novel.
Subscribe to Independent Premium to bookmark this article
Want to bookmark your favourite articles and stories to read or reference later? Start your Independent Premium subscription today.
Join our commenting forum
Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies