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This Boy's Life: A Memoir
This unforgettable memoir, by one of our most gifted writers, introduces us to the young Toby Wolff, by turns tough and vulnerable, crafty and bumbling, and ultimately winning. Separated by divorce from his father and brother, Toby and his mother are constantly on the move, yet they develop an extraordinarily close, almost telepathic relationship. As Toby fights for identity and self-respect against the unrelenting hostility of a new stepfather, his experiences are at once poignant and comical, and Wolff does a masterful job of re-creating the frustrations and cruelties of adolescence. His various schemes - running away to Alaska, forging checks, and stealing cars - lead eventually to an act of outrageous self-invention that releases him into a new world of possibility.
308 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1989
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25298 people want to read
About the author
Tobias Wolff
154 books1,221 followersTobias Jonathan Ansell Wolff is a writer of fiction and nonfiction.
He is best known for his short stories and his memoirs, although he has written two novels.
Wolff is the Ward W. and Priscilla B. Woods Professor in the School of Humanities and Sciences at Stanford University, where he has taught classes in English and creative writing since 1997. He also served as the director of the Creative Writing Program at Stanford from 2000 to 2002.
He is best known for his short stories and his memoirs, although he has written two novels.
Wolff is the Ward W. and Priscilla B. Woods Professor in the School of Humanities and Sciences at Stanford University, where he has taught classes in English and creative writing since 1997. He also served as the director of the Creative Writing Program at Stanford from 2000 to 2002.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 1,890 reviews
November 9, 2021
How Do Any of Us Survive?
This is the fourth memoir of a less than ideal childhood I’ve read in as many weeks. I have to say it’s getting a bit old, all this overcoming adversity stuff. But I think it’s safe to say that Tolstoy had it wrong: Unhappy families are just as unvarying and just as routine as happy ones. But at least occasionally the unhappy ones are interesting, sometimes even revelatory.
Wolfe’s memoir is interesting to me because he understands how his childhood shaped his culture - not just his specific fears and aspirations (mostly about violence) but also his responses to the world in general. His childhood, as that of all of us, created the character we attribute to the universe as well as our own. To ‘get’ that and consider both aspects of character may be about as close to maturity as we can get.
So, for example, Wolff is able to articulate a basic relation which the child has intuited: “Power can be enjoyed only when it is recognized and feared. Fearlessness in those without power is maddening to those who have it.” The implication of course is a sort of Don Quixote self-image which incites and justifies all sorts of boyish bad behavior. But it is also worth noting that he is talking about a relationship here, and therefore a dynamic explanation, a theory of the world and how it works. This is what’s called a zero-sum relation: if you win, I lose. Therefore, if I can’t win, I make sure you can’t either. Pretty sophisticated stuff. But then children are always more sophisticated than adults remember.
To appreciate that one’s life has been shaped by a rather clever inference about the world is clearly a sort of breakthrough. The fact that others (like me) might have adopted similar theories of living is probably sufficient justification for publication. The theory allowed him to negotiate life as a boy and as a young man; it helped Wolff to survive. In short, Wolff’s puerile logic worked - power could be withstood, and even occasionally overcome. Not bad for a boy from a broken family, growing up poor and with no obvious prospects.
But of course the very success of this strategy for contending with power masks a deeper issue which is also very practical but by its nature must be raised in philosophical language: Is one’s life best spent contending with power? Success in beating power at its own game may be considered successful merely because of the deprivations one has experienced. Couldn’t it be that it is just this criterion of success which has to be overcome, that perhaps the world isn’t primarily an arena of power exercised and power subverted or deflected?
This is not an easy thing to even allow into consciousness much less address. The last thing any of us wants to do is question what we have implicitly lived our lives for. It takes a particular sort of lonely courage to permit it to percolate up through layers of experience acquired and confirmed over decades. What we value is its own measure of success after all. If power is what we have valued, giving it up as unimportant feels like giving up one’s life.
Because the memoir ends in late adolescence, there is only a hint that Wolff’s worldview of power and its control is starting to crack. He has a horrifying thought at one point, for example, that his behavior just might be a “solemn choreography of earnest useless acts.” And that perhaps the spectrum of power-relationships he has inferred doesn’t exhaust the range of human life. “It takes a childish or corrupt imagination to make symbols of other people,” he says. He knows he must somehow redeem himself, but that in order to have a “hope of [another’s idea of] redemption I would have to give up my own.”
A bird in the hand means one can’t do anything else with that hand. So it’s likely that most of us go through life self-handicapped by our successes.
This is the fourth memoir of a less than ideal childhood I’ve read in as many weeks. I have to say it’s getting a bit old, all this overcoming adversity stuff. But I think it’s safe to say that Tolstoy had it wrong: Unhappy families are just as unvarying and just as routine as happy ones. But at least occasionally the unhappy ones are interesting, sometimes even revelatory.
Wolfe’s memoir is interesting to me because he understands how his childhood shaped his culture - not just his specific fears and aspirations (mostly about violence) but also his responses to the world in general. His childhood, as that of all of us, created the character we attribute to the universe as well as our own. To ‘get’ that and consider both aspects of character may be about as close to maturity as we can get.
So, for example, Wolff is able to articulate a basic relation which the child has intuited: “Power can be enjoyed only when it is recognized and feared. Fearlessness in those without power is maddening to those who have it.” The implication of course is a sort of Don Quixote self-image which incites and justifies all sorts of boyish bad behavior. But it is also worth noting that he is talking about a relationship here, and therefore a dynamic explanation, a theory of the world and how it works. This is what’s called a zero-sum relation: if you win, I lose. Therefore, if I can’t win, I make sure you can’t either. Pretty sophisticated stuff. But then children are always more sophisticated than adults remember.
To appreciate that one’s life has been shaped by a rather clever inference about the world is clearly a sort of breakthrough. The fact that others (like me) might have adopted similar theories of living is probably sufficient justification for publication. The theory allowed him to negotiate life as a boy and as a young man; it helped Wolff to survive. In short, Wolff’s puerile logic worked - power could be withstood, and even occasionally overcome. Not bad for a boy from a broken family, growing up poor and with no obvious prospects.
But of course the very success of this strategy for contending with power masks a deeper issue which is also very practical but by its nature must be raised in philosophical language: Is one’s life best spent contending with power? Success in beating power at its own game may be considered successful merely because of the deprivations one has experienced. Couldn’t it be that it is just this criterion of success which has to be overcome, that perhaps the world isn’t primarily an arena of power exercised and power subverted or deflected?
This is not an easy thing to even allow into consciousness much less address. The last thing any of us wants to do is question what we have implicitly lived our lives for. It takes a particular sort of lonely courage to permit it to percolate up through layers of experience acquired and confirmed over decades. What we value is its own measure of success after all. If power is what we have valued, giving it up as unimportant feels like giving up one’s life.
Because the memoir ends in late adolescence, there is only a hint that Wolff’s worldview of power and its control is starting to crack. He has a horrifying thought at one point, for example, that his behavior just might be a “solemn choreography of earnest useless acts.” And that perhaps the spectrum of power-relationships he has inferred doesn’t exhaust the range of human life. “It takes a childish or corrupt imagination to make symbols of other people,” he says. He knows he must somehow redeem himself, but that in order to have a “hope of [another’s idea of] redemption I would have to give up my own.”
A bird in the hand means one can’t do anything else with that hand. So it’s likely that most of us go through life self-handicapped by our successes.
March 24, 2021
This is how you write a memoir - by making me forget that it's a memoir. By drawing me into a story about a kid who had a tough life with a lot of instability and little in the way of positive adult role models. A story that is gorgeously written (compact, honest, funny), and self depreciating, with a sense of irony that can only be gained by a person who has taken full responsibility for his flawed past. A guy who can say this was me, damn, look how messed up I was!
Toby Wolff was a messed up kid, that's sure. He was a thief, a liar, and he was on his way to being a full-fledged con artist (forging cheques, school applications, reference letters). But he was also a boy who loved his mother, who just wanted acceptance, and who had innocent, conventional dreams of finding a girl to love and marry.
It's inspiring to me that this kid who could have easily become a cliché, a statistic (given his poor performance in school and the sadistic joy he got pointing a loaded gun at unsuspecting strangers), ended up a distinguished writer and professor at Stanford University. Even more, that Tobias Wolff was able to look back at his life with clarity and honesty and share his coming of age with an unsentimental slant, only makes me nod my head with empathy and understanding. Beautiful.
Toby Wolff was a messed up kid, that's sure. He was a thief, a liar, and he was on his way to being a full-fledged con artist (forging cheques, school applications, reference letters). But he was also a boy who loved his mother, who just wanted acceptance, and who had innocent, conventional dreams of finding a girl to love and marry.
It's inspiring to me that this kid who could have easily become a cliché, a statistic (given his poor performance in school and the sadistic joy he got pointing a loaded gun at unsuspecting strangers), ended up a distinguished writer and professor at Stanford University. Even more, that Tobias Wolff was able to look back at his life with clarity and honesty and share his coming of age with an unsentimental slant, only makes me nod my head with empathy and understanding. Beautiful.
December 11, 2014
Part of moving from being a teenager to a functional adult is seeking your own identity outside of what friends and family think of you. Tobias Wolff’s struggle with this is in part what makes this book such a great read. Although he grew up in 1950’s Washington state and his life experiences are somewhat different from mine, it’s the core of feelings of being a teenager that never change and are the same no matter what your circumstances.
Part of what makes Wolff’s struggle that much harder is that his mother makes poor choices of the men she brings into their lives. When the book opens, she’s on the road trying to run from a bad relationship, with Tobias in tow. A truck passes them; it has brake troubles. The truck crashes and burns. This is an apt metaphor for Wolff’s life as it’s related in the book. It’s listed on the cover as an autobiography, but it avoids the recitation of facts and reads like a novel.
What made Wolff’s adolescence harder was a cruel and demanding step-father. It’s been a long time since I wanted to throttle a character from a book, but Dwight, his step-father, merits these strong feelings. As someone who grew up with an abusive father, I can relate to Wolff’s struggle to maintain his “self” as an overbearing parent heartlessly heaps abuse upon abuse.
Wolff tells that when he speaks to his children in anger, he can recognize Dwight’s voice as his own. His youngest daughter, shocked by the tone of his voice, asked him if he loved her.
The book isn’t just a grim litany of bad times; Wolff relates his problems with a fair amount of wit and humor. The problems Wolff faced aren’t neatly resolved in this book either.
Highly recommended.
Part of what makes Wolff’s struggle that much harder is that his mother makes poor choices of the men she brings into their lives. When the book opens, she’s on the road trying to run from a bad relationship, with Tobias in tow. A truck passes them; it has brake troubles. The truck crashes and burns. This is an apt metaphor for Wolff’s life as it’s related in the book. It’s listed on the cover as an autobiography, but it avoids the recitation of facts and reads like a novel.
What made Wolff’s adolescence harder was a cruel and demanding step-father. It’s been a long time since I wanted to throttle a character from a book, but Dwight, his step-father, merits these strong feelings. As someone who grew up with an abusive father, I can relate to Wolff’s struggle to maintain his “self” as an overbearing parent heartlessly heaps abuse upon abuse.
Wolff tells that when he speaks to his children in anger, he can recognize Dwight’s voice as his own. His youngest daughter, shocked by the tone of his voice, asked him if he loved her.
The book isn’t just a grim litany of bad times; Wolff relates his problems with a fair amount of wit and humor. The problems Wolff faced aren’t neatly resolved in this book either.
Highly recommended.
May 26, 2023
This is one of the greatest growing up memoirs of all time, I think, and is still taught in schools as such. It's a story by an accomplished and much celebrated writer--who came to direct the Stanford Creative Writing Program--about his completely wild and sad youth, filled with bad choices by his mom and him, with a parade of many awful men along the way. Wolff is an elegant and insightful writer, often darkly hilarious as he repeatedly depicts an assurance that he would be just fine, and very successful, facing the future with aplomb, and so on, and then having everything crash and burn again and again.
This is heartbreakingly beautiful writing about a terrible growing up period he obviously happened to survive to write about. You smile throughout and shake your head at his insight now, and his failure of insight along the way, and his complete lack of models for growing up. It's not clear how he made it, actually. He makes it clear he was without luck, without character, without a compass. But you can't look away, you can't stop reading, it's that exhilarating. It took me 30 years to read this (why? I have a lot of books laying around!) but it was worth the wait.
This is heartbreakingly beautiful writing about a terrible growing up period he obviously happened to survive to write about. You smile throughout and shake your head at his insight now, and his failure of insight along the way, and his complete lack of models for growing up. It's not clear how he made it, actually. He makes it clear he was without luck, without character, without a compass. But you can't look away, you can't stop reading, it's that exhilarating. It took me 30 years to read this (why? I have a lot of books laying around!) but it was worth the wait.
October 21, 2017
Life is a turkey shoot
Yeah, you know, sometimes you shoot so well and win the turkey, sometimes you lose, and sometimes there isn't even any turkey. You could try to be honest and keep your nose clean, but it doesn't guarantee anything. A screwed-up kid who lies, cheats, forges documents, drinks, and steals, not to mention damaging property, gets kicked out of schools, but winds up with a degree from Oxford, a nationally-famous writer and professor at one of the best universities. He writes clear, strong prose that stays with you for a long time. Read this book or "In Pharaoh's Army" or some of his short stories. This is the story of his teenage years, mostly in Washington state, in a town called Concrete. An absent father, a Pollyannaish mother, and an abusive stepfather all created a kind of hell on earth for Tobias Wolff. But when you're that age, you're not sure. Maybe that's the way it's supposed to be. This is a book that doesn't excuse himself, it's just all there in black and white. You could see the (1993) movie too, with Leonardo di Caprio in the title role, and with Robert de Niro as the abusive stepfather. Ellen Barkin is lovely as the mother. But the book is far richer. Tobias never got to even compete in that turkey shoot way back then, but I reckon he got the prize in Life. It's definitely an American classic along with his book on Vietnam.
Yeah, you know, sometimes you shoot so well and win the turkey, sometimes you lose, and sometimes there isn't even any turkey. You could try to be honest and keep your nose clean, but it doesn't guarantee anything. A screwed-up kid who lies, cheats, forges documents, drinks, and steals, not to mention damaging property, gets kicked out of schools, but winds up with a degree from Oxford, a nationally-famous writer and professor at one of the best universities. He writes clear, strong prose that stays with you for a long time. Read this book or "In Pharaoh's Army" or some of his short stories. This is the story of his teenage years, mostly in Washington state, in a town called Concrete. An absent father, a Pollyannaish mother, and an abusive stepfather all created a kind of hell on earth for Tobias Wolff. But when you're that age, you're not sure. Maybe that's the way it's supposed to be. This is a book that doesn't excuse himself, it's just all there in black and white. You could see the (1993) movie too, with Leonardo di Caprio in the title role, and with Robert de Niro as the abusive stepfather. Ellen Barkin is lovely as the mother. But the book is far richer. Tobias never got to even compete in that turkey shoot way back then, but I reckon he got the prize in Life. It's definitely an American classic along with his book on Vietnam.
August 30, 2017
I don't know if I've been specifically targeting good reads subconsciously or if I've just been lucky that they're falling into my lap. Regardless, the kinda funny, a little sad, quite insightful This Boy's Life by Tobias Wolff struck the old chord with me and continued that trend. Long may it last!
As a somewhat rudderless boy myself I enjoyed this story of a somewhat rudderless boy growing up with only a transient mother and the occasional uncaring, abusive stepfather. This is a fairly typical coming-of-age tale, which in this case includes vignettes on getting into fights, making and breaking friendships, girls and their potential for a horny young man, trying to be cool, cars, guns, etc and then some.
Published in '89, this feels a whole lot older. Probably because it mostly describes things that happened in the late '50s and early 60s. It reminds me a bit of A Christmas Story in that way, just more morbid. Perhaps likening it the tv show "The Wonder Years" would be more to the mark. Yes, just think of the young Tobias as a more real, less Hollywood-chipper Kevin Arnold.
Wolff's prose is a joy to read. Every once in a while he lays down a sweet-ass line that makes ya go "hmmm". *does the Arsenio move* There were times when I got quite lost in his words. However, this is a particularly intimate memoir and there are a few intense moments that draw you right into the scene, making you hold your breath and possibly pray for a positive outcome. That's quality writing.
While I doubt this will be a five star book for everyone, Wolfe's writing style and the stories he told were utterly relatable in my mind. The book felt familiar to me and some of the aspects of my own coming-of-age story. However, even readers who can't relate personally to the content should still be able to derive a good deal of enjoyment from it.
As a somewhat rudderless boy myself I enjoyed this story of a somewhat rudderless boy growing up with only a transient mother and the occasional uncaring, abusive stepfather. This is a fairly typical coming-of-age tale, which in this case includes vignettes on getting into fights, making and breaking friendships, girls and their potential for a horny young man, trying to be cool, cars, guns, etc and then some.
Published in '89, this feels a whole lot older. Probably because it mostly describes things that happened in the late '50s and early 60s. It reminds me a bit of A Christmas Story in that way, just more morbid. Perhaps likening it the tv show "The Wonder Years" would be more to the mark. Yes, just think of the young Tobias as a more real, less Hollywood-chipper Kevin Arnold.
Wolff's prose is a joy to read. Every once in a while he lays down a sweet-ass line that makes ya go "hmmm". *does the Arsenio move* There were times when I got quite lost in his words. However, this is a particularly intimate memoir and there are a few intense moments that draw you right into the scene, making you hold your breath and possibly pray for a positive outcome. That's quality writing.
While I doubt this will be a five star book for everyone, Wolfe's writing style and the stories he told were utterly relatable in my mind. The book felt familiar to me and some of the aspects of my own coming-of-age story. However, even readers who can't relate personally to the content should still be able to derive a good deal of enjoyment from it.
May 11, 2021
I really don't know what to say about this award-winning book other than to say that, as a former boy myself, it was entertaining and I really enjoyed it.
July 4, 2021
"The human heart is a dark forest." -- page 143
This Boy's Life was curiously unique example of a memoir - although there were not really any dramatically big surprises or developments (as it is hard to avoid knowing that the titular young man will grow up to be an accomplished writer and college professor) in this low-key coming-of-age story, it absolutely remained compulsively readable. Set in the mid-to-late 1950's, Toby 'Jack' Wolff is uprooted from sunny Florida by his divorced mother to trek westward across the nation to settle in the dreary Pacific Northwest. His mother soon remarries, and we now have the required antagonist for this tale - the shifty Dwight. Dwight is one unpleasant, manipulative, and hard-drinking son of a bitch who pretty much just does many things wrong, both intentionally and unintentionally, in his 'fathering' of Jack. (Although there is some limited physical abuse, there is much more mental cruelty and general irresponsibility.) So this so-called parental figure - and growing up in a distressed and remote working-class town - provide the engine for Jack to 1.) skate dangerously close to achieving full-blown criminal-level juvenile delinquent status, but then 2.) attempt to gain acceptance (by any means necessary) to a Pennsylvanian prep school to escape from his dismal situation. I laughed, I cringed, I was moved . . . and I really wanted this young man to have his chance to succeed in life.
This Boy's Life was curiously unique example of a memoir - although there were not really any dramatically big surprises or developments (as it is hard to avoid knowing that the titular young man will grow up to be an accomplished writer and college professor) in this low-key coming-of-age story, it absolutely remained compulsively readable. Set in the mid-to-late 1950's, Toby 'Jack' Wolff is uprooted from sunny Florida by his divorced mother to trek westward across the nation to settle in the dreary Pacific Northwest. His mother soon remarries, and we now have the required antagonist for this tale - the shifty Dwight. Dwight is one unpleasant, manipulative, and hard-drinking son of a bitch who pretty much just does many things wrong, both intentionally and unintentionally, in his 'fathering' of Jack. (Although there is some limited physical abuse, there is much more mental cruelty and general irresponsibility.) So this so-called parental figure - and growing up in a distressed and remote working-class town - provide the engine for Jack to 1.) skate dangerously close to achieving full-blown criminal-level juvenile delinquent status, but then 2.) attempt to gain acceptance (by any means necessary) to a Pennsylvanian prep school to escape from his dismal situation. I laughed, I cringed, I was moved . . . and I really wanted this young man to have his chance to succeed in life.
October 18, 2022
This classic memoir of a childhood in the 1950s is perhaps better-known because it was made into an excellent movie. The movie hews fairly closely to the outlines of the story here in the book, but of course, as is almost always the case, the book is approximately 37 times better than the movie.
The incredible thing is what a troubled youth this boy was, in trouble and making trouble, and how he was on such a clear path to a wasted life, and then — somehow that didn't happen. Instead of a life in and out of jail, he became a writer and an educator.
The towns that step-father Dwight bring them to east of Seattle (they live in Chinook and go to school in Concrete; these are reversed in the movie) were built as part of a hydroelectric project. Lights went on in my head, because I know something about these towns: a few years ago I visited a region close to the US border in the Skagit Valley in BC that was flooded by the dam (yes, the reservoir that helps power Seattle extends into Canada, was hugely controversial at the time, and Washington State pays compensation for the intrusion to this day).
The question remains: what impels one child towards achievement and another child towards self-destruction? The twists and turns of fate remains a mystery, as is delineated in this book with the friend Chuck, the minister's son, who refuses to marry the teenage girl he has lain with and faces statutory rape charges.
Our young hero in the memoir, known as Jack in his youth, Jack Wolff, takes care of his mother and lies to her face, appeases admires and resists his abusive step-father, steals from the step-father who has stolen from him, forges references letters and transcripts to gain admission to school, and perhaps most tellingly has a rich imaginary life that is both frustrating and aspirational. But many of the boys around him also dream of escape, so how is he any different?
The writing in this book is clear and precise, and deservedly is recognized as a masterpiece in the genre.
The incredible thing is what a troubled youth this boy was, in trouble and making trouble, and how he was on such a clear path to a wasted life, and then — somehow that didn't happen. Instead of a life in and out of jail, he became a writer and an educator.
The towns that step-father Dwight bring them to east of Seattle (they live in Chinook and go to school in Concrete; these are reversed in the movie) were built as part of a hydroelectric project. Lights went on in my head, because I know something about these towns: a few years ago I visited a region close to the US border in the Skagit Valley in BC that was flooded by the dam (yes, the reservoir that helps power Seattle extends into Canada, was hugely controversial at the time, and Washington State pays compensation for the intrusion to this day).
The question remains: what impels one child towards achievement and another child towards self-destruction? The twists and turns of fate remains a mystery, as is delineated in this book with the friend Chuck, the minister's son, who refuses to marry the teenage girl he has lain with and faces statutory rape charges.
Our young hero in the memoir, known as Jack in his youth, Jack Wolff, takes care of his mother and lies to her face, appeases admires and resists his abusive step-father, steals from the step-father who has stolen from him, forges references letters and transcripts to gain admission to school, and perhaps most tellingly has a rich imaginary life that is both frustrating and aspirational. But many of the boys around him also dream of escape, so how is he any different?
The writing in this book is clear and precise, and deservedly is recognized as a masterpiece in the genre.
September 29, 2024
CRITIQUE:
A Personal Stamp on a Straight Account
Memoirs don't just create a factual record of the past. They can also capture the stories of the past as we imagined them at the time (assuming that we haven't since forgotten them).
Tobias Wolff explains it better in the introduction to the 30th edition of this book:
This personal stamp is something different from what occurs in fiction. In fiction, "you understand that the novelist is revealing an aspect of the narrator's character." If the narrator says something false or causes a character to say something false, the falsity reveals something about the narrator or the character, whereas if a memoirist says the same false thing, they are deceiving the reader and telling a lie, which Wolff believes is forbidden:
That said, there is much lying and deception in this memoir of a poor working class family. Tobias (who has changed his first name to Jack) lies to achieve his goals, including escaping punishment at school and gaining entry to a college.
Ellin Barkin and Leonardo DiCaprio in the film version of this memoir (Source: Takashi Seida)
This Boy's Adoration of His Mother
As Wolff wrote this memoir, he was overcome by "admiration for my mother's courage, and gratitude for her loyalty; by anger at the cruelty and abuse we both suffered at the hands of a petty, foolish, dangerous man...; and by thankfulness for the profound friendship we had."
He describes his mother as "glamorous", "unconventional", and "footloose to the point of recklessness".
In a way, his mother was like a younger sister who made poor choices with respect to the men she had relationships with and/or married.
You can imagine Tobias/Jack wondering whether she would have been better off, if only she could have taken her son/big brother's advice, or even had a relationship with him instead. Although his mother's husband (Dwight) was his step-father, Tobias' story rarely deviates from the path of a classic Oedipus Complex.
Oedipus and Jocasta
The Purpose of This Boy's Memoir
One of Wolff's purposes in writing his memoir was to correct his children's perception of their grandmother as "quite proper and just a little prim". They needed to know what an adventuress she had been.
Equally importantly, what he hoped to achieve was:
* "an informal history for my family"; and
* "a bank of memories for me to draw on for my fiction."
No doubt he achieved these purposes, but from a reader's perspective he also created a memoir that is as lyrical and precise as the best fiction of his contemporaries.
FAKE GRADES (AN HOMAGE):
I studied at a university outside the state in which my family lived. I was the first person from my secondary school to go there. Nobody followed me until six years later, so our paths didn't cross either at school or university. However, the university compared our applications and our academic records, in an effort to determine whether there was anything untoward in how we got there.
Because we had gone to the same school, somebody in the Admissions Office thought to examine the signature of the Principal on our academic records. Although the Principal was the same person, it was immediately realised that the two signatures were different. Just as quickly, the second student fell under suspicion of fraud.
Before contacting the other student, the university sent copies of our academic records to the school, hoping to determine which was genuine.
After examining its records, the school replied to the university that the first academic record wasn't genuine. This was, in fact, correct, because I had indeed forged the Principal's signature on my fake academic record, which inflated my grades, in order to gain admission.
Unbeknown to me at the time, the university declined to take any action against either me or the other student from my school. In fact, nobody actually believed that the signature on my academic record was false. I had had an exemplary academic record at university post-admission, and the administrative staff couldn't believe that I hadn't earned my place there. Besides, what could they do about it? Retroactively cancel my admission? Nullify my university grades? Pretend I'd never studied there?
I only know this now, because a fellow student of mine at university ended up working there, and was one of the staff who examined the signatures. When he told me what had happened over a cup of coffee, I perpetuated the falsehood. I didn't have the courage to tell the truth, even to a former friend.
A Personal Stamp on a Straight Account
Memoirs don't just create a factual record of the past. They can also capture the stories of the past as we imagined them at the time (assuming that we haven't since forgotten them).
Tobias Wolff explains it better in the introduction to the 30th edition of this book:
"It's true that life doesn't happen to us in stories, that we make stories out of it, and that in making those stories we can't help but put a personal stamp on them, for better or worse."
This personal stamp is something different from what occurs in fiction. In fiction, "you understand that the novelist is revealing an aspect of the narrator's character." If the narrator says something false or causes a character to say something false, the falsity reveals something about the narrator or the character, whereas if a memoirist says the same false thing, they are deceiving the reader and telling a lie, which Wolff believes is forbidden:
"The writer [/memoirist] is charged to keep these things straight."
That said, there is much lying and deception in this memoir of a poor working class family. Tobias (who has changed his first name to Jack) lies to achieve his goals, including escaping punishment at school and gaining entry to a college.
Ellin Barkin and Leonardo DiCaprio in the film version of this memoir (Source: Takashi Seida)
This Boy's Adoration of His Mother
As Wolff wrote this memoir, he was overcome by "admiration for my mother's courage, and gratitude for her loyalty; by anger at the cruelty and abuse we both suffered at the hands of a petty, foolish, dangerous man...; and by thankfulness for the profound friendship we had."
He describes his mother as "glamorous", "unconventional", and "footloose to the point of recklessness".
In a way, his mother was like a younger sister who made poor choices with respect to the men she had relationships with and/or married.
You can imagine Tobias/Jack wondering whether she would have been better off, if only she could have taken her son/big brother's advice, or even had a relationship with him instead. Although his mother's husband (Dwight) was his step-father, Tobias' story rarely deviates from the path of a classic Oedipus Complex.
Oedipus and Jocasta
The Purpose of This Boy's Memoir
One of Wolff's purposes in writing his memoir was to correct his children's perception of their grandmother as "quite proper and just a little prim". They needed to know what an adventuress she had been.
Equally importantly, what he hoped to achieve was:
* "an informal history for my family"; and
* "a bank of memories for me to draw on for my fiction."
No doubt he achieved these purposes, but from a reader's perspective he also created a memoir that is as lyrical and precise as the best fiction of his contemporaries.
FAKE GRADES (AN HOMAGE):
I studied at a university outside the state in which my family lived. I was the first person from my secondary school to go there. Nobody followed me until six years later, so our paths didn't cross either at school or university. However, the university compared our applications and our academic records, in an effort to determine whether there was anything untoward in how we got there.
Because we had gone to the same school, somebody in the Admissions Office thought to examine the signature of the Principal on our academic records. Although the Principal was the same person, it was immediately realised that the two signatures were different. Just as quickly, the second student fell under suspicion of fraud.
Before contacting the other student, the university sent copies of our academic records to the school, hoping to determine which was genuine.
After examining its records, the school replied to the university that the first academic record wasn't genuine. This was, in fact, correct, because I had indeed forged the Principal's signature on my fake academic record, which inflated my grades, in order to gain admission.
Unbeknown to me at the time, the university declined to take any action against either me or the other student from my school. In fact, nobody actually believed that the signature on my academic record was false. I had had an exemplary academic record at university post-admission, and the administrative staff couldn't believe that I hadn't earned my place there. Besides, what could they do about it? Retroactively cancel my admission? Nullify my university grades? Pretend I'd never studied there?
I only know this now, because a fellow student of mine at university ended up working there, and was one of the staff who examined the signatures. When he told me what had happened over a cup of coffee, I perpetuated the falsehood. I didn't have the courage to tell the truth, even to a former friend.
April 1, 2014
Find all of my reviews at: http://52bookminimum.blogspot.com/
I read this book almost two months ago and have struggled to come up with some kind (any kind) of review. Sometimes when I read a memoir I’m struck with the question “what made this person think their personal history was novel worthy?” Such is the case with This Boy’s Life. Sure Tobias Wolf had a shitty childhood, but when compared to other autobiographies (Night stands out as the most monumental personal history I can think of, or even The Glass Castle as the most bizarre. Those are books that must have begged to be written). Whatever the reasoning behind Wolff’s decision to write his story, I’m glad he did.
I believe Wolff’s honesty while telling his tale is both what made this book so memorable and made it so hard for me to summarize. Not only does he tell us about his stepfather, who was a real piece of work, but he is also honest about the fact that he was more than a handful himself during his formative years. While I wanted to jump into the pages and beat the living hell out of Dwight, at times I also wanted to jump in to wash Wolff’s mouth out with soap or give him a good throttling.
This book is so well-written and reads like fiction. A truly unforgettable coming-of-age story. If you’re generally not the sort who reads non-fiction, this is a great choice.
Sidenote: The movie adaptation features a fresh faced young boy who will give us a glimpse of the brilliant career that is to follow . . .
I read this book almost two months ago and have struggled to come up with some kind (any kind) of review. Sometimes when I read a memoir I’m struck with the question “what made this person think their personal history was novel worthy?” Such is the case with This Boy’s Life. Sure Tobias Wolf had a shitty childhood, but when compared to other autobiographies (Night stands out as the most monumental personal history I can think of, or even The Glass Castle as the most bizarre. Those are books that must have begged to be written). Whatever the reasoning behind Wolff’s decision to write his story, I’m glad he did.
I believe Wolff’s honesty while telling his tale is both what made this book so memorable and made it so hard for me to summarize. Not only does he tell us about his stepfather, who was a real piece of work, but he is also honest about the fact that he was more than a handful himself during his formative years. While I wanted to jump into the pages and beat the living hell out of Dwight, at times I also wanted to jump in to wash Wolff’s mouth out with soap or give him a good throttling.
This book is so well-written and reads like fiction. A truly unforgettable coming-of-age story. If you’re generally not the sort who reads non-fiction, this is a great choice.
Sidenote: The movie adaptation features a fresh faced young boy who will give us a glimpse of the brilliant career that is to follow . . .
December 28, 2019
I absolutely loved this book. Wolff’s writing is so vivid and well paced, I could hardly put it down. This memoir reads like a brilliant novel. A review in the San Francisco Chronicle says in part, “we are also moved by the universality of his experience.” The only thing I found universal was how awful it can be to be a teenager. This is a unique, moving story well told; Wolff reveals the depth and confusion of his young self by turns, as the adult and the mother in me sees the scared boy behind the bravado.
July 3, 2016
“Knowing that everything comes to an end is a gift of experience, a consolation gift for knowing that we ourselves are coming to an end."
"Before we get it we live in a continuous present, and imagine the future as more of that present. Happiness is endless happiness, innocent of its own sure passing. Pain is endless pain.”
― Tobias Wolff, This Boy's Life
One of my favorite memoirs of all time. IT was perfect in its pacing, its pitch. It was a beautiful, but unsentimental look at youth, poverty, family, and all the cracks and fissures that the world creates to swallow the dreams of youth. Wolff's language still rings with me. I find myself, going back and reading whole passages of 'This Boy's Life' just to drink the language and the rub against the energy and charge of Wolff's vitality. A good memoirist gets the reader to experience the artist's past life through his words, a great memoirist seduces the reader into a place where the reader suddenly recognizes the universal experiences in our shared lives.
There were parts of the book I felt like Tobias Wolff was not writing his history, but mine. The details of our lives might have been different, our stories might be adolescent antipoles, but I read Wolff and I think he has robbed me of my emotions, faked my youthful hope, slandered my stripling reputation, and squandered all of my schoolboy potential.
"Before we get it we live in a continuous present, and imagine the future as more of that present. Happiness is endless happiness, innocent of its own sure passing. Pain is endless pain.”
― Tobias Wolff, This Boy's Life
One of my favorite memoirs of all time. IT was perfect in its pacing, its pitch. It was a beautiful, but unsentimental look at youth, poverty, family, and all the cracks and fissures that the world creates to swallow the dreams of youth. Wolff's language still rings with me. I find myself, going back and reading whole passages of 'This Boy's Life' just to drink the language and the rub against the energy and charge of Wolff's vitality. A good memoirist gets the reader to experience the artist's past life through his words, a great memoirist seduces the reader into a place where the reader suddenly recognizes the universal experiences in our shared lives.
There were parts of the book I felt like Tobias Wolff was not writing his history, but mine. The details of our lives might have been different, our stories might be adolescent antipoles, but I read Wolff and I think he has robbed me of my emotions, faked my youthful hope, slandered my stripling reputation, and squandered all of my schoolboy potential.
November 8, 2014
DNF
I read just over half before calling it quits.
Toby’s life really wasn’t as bad as I expected. Whether or not that’s because of the way he tells his story, I’m not sure. It was flat and lacked feeling; very matter-of-fact.
The narrative itself seemed endless. It’s dreary, slow and boring. It also jumps around at times, enough to be confusing.
All this was bad enough, but I soldiered valiantly onwards...until it came to Toby beating the family dog with a floor mop. A hunting dog that hid in fear at the first sound of a gun shot.
I went searching reviews, and learned there was more to come, involving shooting at cats.
Big, brave Toby.
I only hope someone took pot shots at him, and then beat him with a floor mop!
February 8, 2023
Excellent! I also watched the movie.
November 11, 2017
This Boy's Life is a memoir about the author Tobias Wolff. Although, for most of this book he picks a different name-- Jack. I immediately got swept up in the life of Jack and his mother as they leave place after place, boyfriend after boyfriend. We start as they leave from Florida to head to Utah and we quickly understand the instability of Jack's life. Eventually she re-marries a crazy man named Dwight, who constantly is on some power trip and takes control of Jack's life. That is, until he takes it back.
I enjoyed this memoir-- it hit a point where I realized we were only getting a snippet of Wolff's life. This book kept moving and we didn't move forward in Jack's life. I can understand spending this time developing Jack's rationale for some of his decisions and looking back to evaluate what impacted his life. It just felt stuck for me towards the end, then a quick summary of what happened next didn't feel fluid as the rest of the book did. I enjoyed the antics, but ultimately left unsatisfied. This book now struck a chord with all the gun violence and Nazi sentiments to this current point in our history. It was an interesting juxtaposition given the environment today and history's cyclical performance. My first book by Mr. Wolff and a peek into his juvenile life that made him successful today.
I enjoyed this memoir-- it hit a point where I realized we were only getting a snippet of Wolff's life. This book kept moving and we didn't move forward in Jack's life. I can understand spending this time developing Jack's rationale for some of his decisions and looking back to evaluate what impacted his life. It just felt stuck for me towards the end, then a quick summary of what happened next didn't feel fluid as the rest of the book did. I enjoyed the antics, but ultimately left unsatisfied. This book now struck a chord with all the gun violence and Nazi sentiments to this current point in our history. It was an interesting juxtaposition given the environment today and history's cyclical performance. My first book by Mr. Wolff and a peek into his juvenile life that made him successful today.
September 12, 2023
1.5 stars ... DNF @ 50%.
Dull as f**k! 😖
Watch the movie,
skip the book. 😒
Dull as f**k! 😖
Watch the movie,
skip the book. 😒
December 4, 2013
I can't very well articulate why this book elicited a 5 star response from me, which is why I enjoyed it so much. Despite not being able to put my finger on it, I found myself wanting to get back to it all the time.
Not a reaction I typically have to memoirs by established authors.
He spoke in away that maintained the feel of adolescence without condescending hindsight or grandiose naivety. The writing seems so simple and concise and yet there were numerous times when I had to fight my urge to underline the threading together of 3 or 4 words (note to Sarah: I kept your book as pristine as the day I pilfered it from your house). The description of watching t.v. in a dark room with his step father keeps coming to mind.
p.s. Sarah it's on your desk at work - thanks
Not a reaction I typically have to memoirs by established authors.
He spoke in away that maintained the feel of adolescence without condescending hindsight or grandiose naivety. The writing seems so simple and concise and yet there were numerous times when I had to fight my urge to underline the threading together of 3 or 4 words (note to Sarah: I kept your book as pristine as the day I pilfered it from your house). The description of watching t.v. in a dark room with his step father keeps coming to mind.
p.s. Sarah it's on your desk at work - thanks
May 11, 2007
Tobias Wolff was a professor at Stanford. He was my friend Laurel's Italian partner. His friends called him Toby. He scared the bejesus outta me. This is technically unfair, as I never once spoke to him or took one of his classes. I think it was the mustache that did it. It was a very intimidating mustache.
Of course, none of this has anything to do with the book, which I loved. I just thought you'd like to know.
Of course, none of this has anything to do with the book, which I loved. I just thought you'd like to know.
April 20, 2025
¿Alguna vez has querido borrarte?
No, no me refiero a mejorar, o pulirte… No. Me refiero a borrarte entero. Del todo. Arrancar la hoja, hacer trizas el borrador que eres y empezar desde cero, con otra letra, otro nombre, otra vida. Tobias Wolff no solo lo deseó, lo intentó. Y Vida de este chico es el mapa de ese intento desesperado por huir de uno mismo cuando uno mismo se convierte en una trampa.
Esta novela de memorias —sí, novela, porque la memoria no es un acta notarial sino una forma de narrarse— cuenta la infancia de Wolff, aunque el protagonista pronto deja de llamarse Tobias para convertirse en Jack, un intento prematuro de autoedición. Un chico que viaja con su madre de ciudad en ciudad, de fracaso en fracaso, con la esperanza tenaz —casi ridícula— de que el próximo sitio sí será el bueno. Lo que encuentra, en cambio, es un padrastro tan vulgar como cruel, y una infancia hecha de huidas, mentiras y silencios. Jack miente porque la realidad no le sirve. Falsifica notas, cartas, identidades. No lo hace para engañar al mundo. Lo hace para sobrevivir a él.
Y sin embargo, Vida de este chico no es un libro oscuro. O no solo. Porque Wolff tiene ese raro talento de hablarte de la desesperación como quien te cuenta una anécdota en un bar. Hay dolor, sí, pero también ironía, distancia, incluso ternura. Su prosa no se arrastra ni se lamenta: avanza con una contención casi monacal. Nada sobra. Nada chirría. Y, sobre todo, nada se edulcora. Wolff escribe como quien ha aprendido que el dolor no necesita decorados para doler más, solo precisión.
La estructura sigue esa lógica fragmentaria de los recuerdos. Nada de cronologías rígidas ni narrativas académicas. Aquí la memoria salta, olvida, vuelve atrás, inventa si hace falta. Porque lo que Wolff construye no es un relato cerrado de su infancia, sino una constelación de momentos que, leídos juntos, revelan algo más grande que una biografía: una identidad que se tambalea, que se inventa, que se ensaya. Hay silencios que dicen más que las escenas. Vacíos que duelen más que los golpes. Y eso no se consigue con datos, sino con literatura. Y Wolff, por mucho que escriba sobre su vida, es antes que nada un escritor.
El retrato que hace de su yo infantil es descarnado, sin trampa ni cartón. No se excusa, no se embellece. El chico que fue es mezquino a veces, torpe, cobarde. Pero siempre profundamente humano. Y su madre… ay, su madre. Uno de esos personajes que te rompe el corazón sin proponérselo. Tan perdida como él, pero siempre apostando por la esperanza. Aunque sea falsa. Aunque sea la misma de siempre. Y Dwight, el padrastro, es uno de esos villanos sin épica ni grandeza, que precisamente por eso resultan tan inquietantes. No necesita hacer nada espectacular para darte miedo. Le basta con existir.
Si hay que compararlo con algo, Vida de este chico es lo que obtendríamos si J.D. Salinger y Mary Karr hubieran escrito un libro juntos. Hay algo de El guardián entre el centeno aquí, en esa voz juvenil desorientada y desafiante. Pero también hay ecos de El club de los mentirosos de Mary Karr, con esa conciencia brutal de que recordar es reescribir y que toda memoria es un acto de ficción. Wolff no nos ofrece certezas, nos ofrece heridas. Y las muestra sin limpiarlas. Sin buscar que el lector diga ‘pobrecito’. Al contrario: muchas veces uno quiere zarandear al protagonista, gritarle ‘¿pero por qué haces eso?’. Y eso lo hace aún más real.
Lo más fascinante de este libro es que no busca redención. No hay una gran lección moral. Nadie se convierte en héroe. Nadie ‘vence’ a su pasado. Jack crece. Punto. Sobrevive. Aprende a contarse. Que ya es bastante. Y lo más valiente es que Wolff, ya adulto, decide no corregirse en el relato. No blanquear al niño que fue. No inventarse un final feliz. Solo mirar hacia atrás y decir: esto fui. Y eso, en un mundo obsesionado con las narrativas de superación, es un acto de coraje casi ofensivo.
La película de 1993, con DiCaprio y De Niro, hace un buen intento por capturar la historia. DiCaprio lo da todo: esa mezcla de rabia y fragilidad está ahí. De Niro da miedo con solo entrar en escena. Pero algo queda ‘lost in translation’; algo se pierde en la ‘traducción’: no la del doblaje, sino la de llevar una novela tan compleja al lenguaje visual del cine. Porque el cine tiene un problema con los matices: le cuesta sugerir. Y Vida de este chico está hecha de sugerencias, de lo que no se dice, de lo que se intuye en una frase seca o una pausa larga. Hay cosas que simplemente no se pueden traducir a imágenes. Porque este libro no se basa en lo que pasa, sino en cómo se cuenta lo que pasó. Y eso el cine, por muy bueno que sea, no siempre sabe hacerlo.
Porque al final, todos somos narradores de nosotros mismos. Todos mentimos un poco al contar nuestra historia. Todos tratamos de encajarla en una versión soportable. Y lo que hace Wolff es desnudar ese proceso. No tanto contarnos su infancia como mostrarnos lo difícil que es recordarla sin disfrazarla. Y en ese gesto —tan literario, tan profundamente humano— está la grandeza de este libro.
Vida de este chico no te grita. Te susurra. No te dice ‘mira lo que sufrí’. Te pregunta: ‘¿y tú, qué hiciste con lo que te tocó?’. No hay redención, pero sí hay verdad. Y esa verdad, dicha con esta honestidad, duele más que cualquier tragedia inventada. Porque, seamos sinceros, ¿quién no ha querido alguna vez contar una versión mejorada de sí mismo? ¿Quién no ha mentido un poco para que su historia parezca menos triste, menos torpe, menos rota?
Pues Wolff no lo hace. Porque el pasado es un narrador implacable: por mucho que intentemos modificarlo, siempre encuentra la manera de imponerse. Wolff no logró escapar de su historia, pero al contarla sin disfraces, hizo algo aún más valioso: nos dejó un testimonio sincero, brutal y, en el fondo, universal. Y eso, en estos tiempos de autoficción complaciente, ya es una forma de resistencia.
No, no me refiero a mejorar, o pulirte… No. Me refiero a borrarte entero. Del todo. Arrancar la hoja, hacer trizas el borrador que eres y empezar desde cero, con otra letra, otro nombre, otra vida. Tobias Wolff no solo lo deseó, lo intentó. Y Vida de este chico es el mapa de ese intento desesperado por huir de uno mismo cuando uno mismo se convierte en una trampa.
Esta novela de memorias —sí, novela, porque la memoria no es un acta notarial sino una forma de narrarse— cuenta la infancia de Wolff, aunque el protagonista pronto deja de llamarse Tobias para convertirse en Jack, un intento prematuro de autoedición. Un chico que viaja con su madre de ciudad en ciudad, de fracaso en fracaso, con la esperanza tenaz —casi ridícula— de que el próximo sitio sí será el bueno. Lo que encuentra, en cambio, es un padrastro tan vulgar como cruel, y una infancia hecha de huidas, mentiras y silencios. Jack miente porque la realidad no le sirve. Falsifica notas, cartas, identidades. No lo hace para engañar al mundo. Lo hace para sobrevivir a él.
Y sin embargo, Vida de este chico no es un libro oscuro. O no solo. Porque Wolff tiene ese raro talento de hablarte de la desesperación como quien te cuenta una anécdota en un bar. Hay dolor, sí, pero también ironía, distancia, incluso ternura. Su prosa no se arrastra ni se lamenta: avanza con una contención casi monacal. Nada sobra. Nada chirría. Y, sobre todo, nada se edulcora. Wolff escribe como quien ha aprendido que el dolor no necesita decorados para doler más, solo precisión.
La estructura sigue esa lógica fragmentaria de los recuerdos. Nada de cronologías rígidas ni narrativas académicas. Aquí la memoria salta, olvida, vuelve atrás, inventa si hace falta. Porque lo que Wolff construye no es un relato cerrado de su infancia, sino una constelación de momentos que, leídos juntos, revelan algo más grande que una biografía: una identidad que se tambalea, que se inventa, que se ensaya. Hay silencios que dicen más que las escenas. Vacíos que duelen más que los golpes. Y eso no se consigue con datos, sino con literatura. Y Wolff, por mucho que escriba sobre su vida, es antes que nada un escritor.
El retrato que hace de su yo infantil es descarnado, sin trampa ni cartón. No se excusa, no se embellece. El chico que fue es mezquino a veces, torpe, cobarde. Pero siempre profundamente humano. Y su madre… ay, su madre. Uno de esos personajes que te rompe el corazón sin proponérselo. Tan perdida como él, pero siempre apostando por la esperanza. Aunque sea falsa. Aunque sea la misma de siempre. Y Dwight, el padrastro, es uno de esos villanos sin épica ni grandeza, que precisamente por eso resultan tan inquietantes. No necesita hacer nada espectacular para darte miedo. Le basta con existir.
Si hay que compararlo con algo, Vida de este chico es lo que obtendríamos si J.D. Salinger y Mary Karr hubieran escrito un libro juntos. Hay algo de El guardián entre el centeno aquí, en esa voz juvenil desorientada y desafiante. Pero también hay ecos de El club de los mentirosos de Mary Karr, con esa conciencia brutal de que recordar es reescribir y que toda memoria es un acto de ficción. Wolff no nos ofrece certezas, nos ofrece heridas. Y las muestra sin limpiarlas. Sin buscar que el lector diga ‘pobrecito’. Al contrario: muchas veces uno quiere zarandear al protagonista, gritarle ‘¿pero por qué haces eso?’. Y eso lo hace aún más real.
Lo más fascinante de este libro es que no busca redención. No hay una gran lección moral. Nadie se convierte en héroe. Nadie ‘vence’ a su pasado. Jack crece. Punto. Sobrevive. Aprende a contarse. Que ya es bastante. Y lo más valiente es que Wolff, ya adulto, decide no corregirse en el relato. No blanquear al niño que fue. No inventarse un final feliz. Solo mirar hacia atrás y decir: esto fui. Y eso, en un mundo obsesionado con las narrativas de superación, es un acto de coraje casi ofensivo.
La película de 1993, con DiCaprio y De Niro, hace un buen intento por capturar la historia. DiCaprio lo da todo: esa mezcla de rabia y fragilidad está ahí. De Niro da miedo con solo entrar en escena. Pero algo queda ‘lost in translation’; algo se pierde en la ‘traducción’: no la del doblaje, sino la de llevar una novela tan compleja al lenguaje visual del cine. Porque el cine tiene un problema con los matices: le cuesta sugerir. Y Vida de este chico está hecha de sugerencias, de lo que no se dice, de lo que se intuye en una frase seca o una pausa larga. Hay cosas que simplemente no se pueden traducir a imágenes. Porque este libro no se basa en lo que pasa, sino en cómo se cuenta lo que pasó. Y eso el cine, por muy bueno que sea, no siempre sabe hacerlo.
Porque al final, todos somos narradores de nosotros mismos. Todos mentimos un poco al contar nuestra historia. Todos tratamos de encajarla en una versión soportable. Y lo que hace Wolff es desnudar ese proceso. No tanto contarnos su infancia como mostrarnos lo difícil que es recordarla sin disfrazarla. Y en ese gesto —tan literario, tan profundamente humano— está la grandeza de este libro.
Vida de este chico no te grita. Te susurra. No te dice ‘mira lo que sufrí’. Te pregunta: ‘¿y tú, qué hiciste con lo que te tocó?’. No hay redención, pero sí hay verdad. Y esa verdad, dicha con esta honestidad, duele más que cualquier tragedia inventada. Porque, seamos sinceros, ¿quién no ha querido alguna vez contar una versión mejorada de sí mismo? ¿Quién no ha mentido un poco para que su historia parezca menos triste, menos torpe, menos rota?
Pues Wolff no lo hace. Porque el pasado es un narrador implacable: por mucho que intentemos modificarlo, siempre encuentra la manera de imponerse. Wolff no logró escapar de su historia, pero al contarla sin disfraces, hizo algo aún más valioso: nos dejó un testimonio sincero, brutal y, en el fondo, universal. Y eso, en estos tiempos de autoficción complaciente, ya es una forma de resistencia.
January 26, 2022
It was 1955 and we were driving from Florida to Utah, to get away from a man my mother was afraid of and to get rich on uranium. We were going to change our luck.
Ten-year-old Toby “Jack” Wolff dreams of escape and freedom. He dreams of transformation. Traveling with his mother from Florida to Utah in their Nash Rambler, their prospects finally seem bright and expansive. The future was theirs for the taking…that is if their luck changed which, in Toby’s case, seems highly unlikely.
Tobias Wolff’s memoir is not one of those redemptive stories where everyone links arms and watches the sunset over the mountain or one where friends and family cheer as our young hero makes his way across the stage, grabs his diploma, and raises it high into the air signaling triumph. This is another kind of story where the reader bangs their head against the wall as our young protagonist continues to make one horribly bad decision after another. Where the hero doesn’t learn from his mistakes and continually seems to disappoint everyone around him except himself. This horribly flawed and painfully real boy is the reason why I fell in love with this book.
Former UCLA basketball coach John Wooden once said that the true test of a man’s character is what he does when no one’s watching. A lot of what Wolff includes in his memoir could certainly have been softened or even omitted in order to allow the reader to have just a small bit of sympathy for him and his circumstances. Instead, he goes full bore and gives us all the ugly, raw, and sordid details of his early years. He deprives us of feeling any sense of pity although we understand that he is but a product of a mother who continues to be drawn to poisonous men and friends that are a whisper away from juvenile detention.
Throughout this book, Wolff explains that he craved distinction, that he only wanted what he couldn’t have, and that he was merely living off of an idea that he had of himself. Although we understand and accept this, we still ache when he tries to please a parent who neither deserves nor earns it and hold our breath and silently curse as we realize yet again that another opportunity has been squandered away. Through all of his pain and suffering, Wolff reminds us that life is messy. It’s gnarled. It’s complicated. Life sometimes is just like that…especially this boy’s life.
Ten-year-old Toby “Jack” Wolff dreams of escape and freedom. He dreams of transformation. Traveling with his mother from Florida to Utah in their Nash Rambler, their prospects finally seem bright and expansive. The future was theirs for the taking…that is if their luck changed which, in Toby’s case, seems highly unlikely.
Tobias Wolff’s memoir is not one of those redemptive stories where everyone links arms and watches the sunset over the mountain or one where friends and family cheer as our young hero makes his way across the stage, grabs his diploma, and raises it high into the air signaling triumph. This is another kind of story where the reader bangs their head against the wall as our young protagonist continues to make one horribly bad decision after another. Where the hero doesn’t learn from his mistakes and continually seems to disappoint everyone around him except himself. This horribly flawed and painfully real boy is the reason why I fell in love with this book.
Former UCLA basketball coach John Wooden once said that the true test of a man’s character is what he does when no one’s watching. A lot of what Wolff includes in his memoir could certainly have been softened or even omitted in order to allow the reader to have just a small bit of sympathy for him and his circumstances. Instead, he goes full bore and gives us all the ugly, raw, and sordid details of his early years. He deprives us of feeling any sense of pity although we understand that he is but a product of a mother who continues to be drawn to poisonous men and friends that are a whisper away from juvenile detention.
Throughout this book, Wolff explains that he craved distinction, that he only wanted what he couldn’t have, and that he was merely living off of an idea that he had of himself. Although we understand and accept this, we still ache when he tries to please a parent who neither deserves nor earns it and hold our breath and silently curse as we realize yet again that another opportunity has been squandered away. Through all of his pain and suffering, Wolff reminds us that life is messy. It’s gnarled. It’s complicated. Life sometimes is just like that…especially this boy’s life.
June 9, 2017
Well done. Honest story of how we must overcome our demons lest they consume us ...
February 4, 2017
En Vida de este chico, Tobias Wolff nos deja entrar en ciertas impresiones sobre su infancia y adolescencia.
Lejos de los áticos del Upper East Side, del footing matutino por Central Park, de los brunchs exclusivos de fin de semana de las chicas de Sex and the City en los que se dan encuentros de conversaciones banales en los que se comenta la adquisición de los últimos “Manolos” (zapatos de tacón imposible de Manolo Blahnik –aclaración para los no entendidos en la materia-) y se habla de la forma de amar del último tío con el que te has cruzado en el correspondiente club de moda, Wolff nos conduce a la América profunda de los 50. La pobre. La rural. La de buscarse la vida por obligación y no por gusto. La de carreteras infinitas. La de huidas. La de las armas. La de la homofobia y el machismo. La violenta y la religiosa a la vez. La mayoritaria. La real. La misma que podría dar la presidencia a Donald Trump en la actualidad. Y realiza un retrato sociológico estupendo, por minucioso, de la época y lugar y de los personajes que por allí transitan.
Lo único que me falló fue ese deje referente a la idea del sueño americano de hacerse a uno mismo con trabajo y esfuerzo que, aunque criticado en la novela, no acaba de ser abandonado por el protagonista/autor. La misma creencia que acompaña al reflejo de Audrey Hepburn en el escaparate de Tiffany’ s en “Desayuno con diamantes.” Muy americano. Muy superfluo. Que se lo cuenten a los millones de refugiados en Europa que huyen de la guerra de Siria, a todos lo que intentan salvar el muro que señala un abismo entre México y los Estados Unidos y a los que se embarcan en un viaje a una muerte más que posible en aguas del Mediterráneo escapando de África.
Pero ya se sabe que todo el mundo necesita creer en algo por muy absurdo que nos pueda parecer al resto.
Lejos de los áticos del Upper East Side, del footing matutino por Central Park, de los brunchs exclusivos de fin de semana de las chicas de Sex and the City en los que se dan encuentros de conversaciones banales en los que se comenta la adquisición de los últimos “Manolos” (zapatos de tacón imposible de Manolo Blahnik –aclaración para los no entendidos en la materia-) y se habla de la forma de amar del último tío con el que te has cruzado en el correspondiente club de moda, Wolff nos conduce a la América profunda de los 50. La pobre. La rural. La de buscarse la vida por obligación y no por gusto. La de carreteras infinitas. La de huidas. La de las armas. La de la homofobia y el machismo. La violenta y la religiosa a la vez. La mayoritaria. La real. La misma que podría dar la presidencia a Donald Trump en la actualidad. Y realiza un retrato sociológico estupendo, por minucioso, de la época y lugar y de los personajes que por allí transitan.
Lo único que me falló fue ese deje referente a la idea del sueño americano de hacerse a uno mismo con trabajo y esfuerzo que, aunque criticado en la novela, no acaba de ser abandonado por el protagonista/autor. La misma creencia que acompaña al reflejo de Audrey Hepburn en el escaparate de Tiffany’ s en “Desayuno con diamantes.” Muy americano. Muy superfluo. Que se lo cuenten a los millones de refugiados en Europa que huyen de la guerra de Siria, a todos lo que intentan salvar el muro que señala un abismo entre México y los Estados Unidos y a los que se embarcan en un viaje a una muerte más que posible en aguas del Mediterráneo escapando de África.
Pero ya se sabe que todo el mundo necesita creer en algo por muy absurdo que nos pueda parecer al resto.
March 10, 2009
This memoir would be overwhelmingly sad for me, had I not already read Old School by the same author and know that he becomes a successful author and teacher of literature at Stanford. But if you didn’t know that this child redeems himself in the end, this would be sad, a sad tale indeed.
Tobias’ parents divorced when he was a young boy, and his mother set off looking for a better life, leaving her oldest son with her ex-husband. In 1955 it was hard for a single mother, and life treated Tobias’ mother no better than the next. When the hard-scrabble life started to wear her down, she married a man who turned out to be selfish, mean, manipulative and vindictive.
While the challenges of the everyday events in Tobias’ life make for compelling reading, his honesty about his reactions to those events are what make the book worthy of the Pen Faulkner Award. He falls in with the unruly kids and makes terrible choices. But at the same time there is a bizarre innocence about him that simultaneously disappoints and endears. For instance, after scratching an unmentionable phrase on a bathroom wall, in his fervor to convince others of his innocence, he manages to convince himself as well.
Insight into his the lies he told and why he told them is, for me, the most fascinating aspect of This Boy’s Life. At the same time you want to strangle him for his deceits, his lies are what ultimately save him. He completely fabricates an application to a private boarding school, where he goes on full scholarship; despite the fact that he is a very poor student with nothing to recommend him. He is eventually expelled for poor grades, but while there he engages with a teacher or two who recognize that he is not lazy or stupid, but too far behind academically to keep up.
As the novel comes to a close, Wolff is headed off to war. Yet instead of ending there, the story flashes back to a time when he was, if not happy, at least hopeful.
Readers who enjoyed Rick Bragg’s All Over But the Shoutin’ will appreciate Wolff’s family portrait.
Tobias’ parents divorced when he was a young boy, and his mother set off looking for a better life, leaving her oldest son with her ex-husband. In 1955 it was hard for a single mother, and life treated Tobias’ mother no better than the next. When the hard-scrabble life started to wear her down, she married a man who turned out to be selfish, mean, manipulative and vindictive.
While the challenges of the everyday events in Tobias’ life make for compelling reading, his honesty about his reactions to those events are what make the book worthy of the Pen Faulkner Award. He falls in with the unruly kids and makes terrible choices. But at the same time there is a bizarre innocence about him that simultaneously disappoints and endears. For instance, after scratching an unmentionable phrase on a bathroom wall, in his fervor to convince others of his innocence, he manages to convince himself as well.
Insight into his the lies he told and why he told them is, for me, the most fascinating aspect of This Boy’s Life. At the same time you want to strangle him for his deceits, his lies are what ultimately save him. He completely fabricates an application to a private boarding school, where he goes on full scholarship; despite the fact that he is a very poor student with nothing to recommend him. He is eventually expelled for poor grades, but while there he engages with a teacher or two who recognize that he is not lazy or stupid, but too far behind academically to keep up.
As the novel comes to a close, Wolff is headed off to war. Yet instead of ending there, the story flashes back to a time when he was, if not happy, at least hopeful.
Readers who enjoyed Rick Bragg’s All Over But the Shoutin’ will appreciate Wolff’s family portrait.
November 19, 2017
Read this back in 2003, remembered it fondly but 4 stars since I somehow don't remember the plot very well. The movie ahead of the reading poisoned it somewhat methinks.
December 31, 2011
Exquisitely written, desperately honest memoir that was incredibly difficult to read. I had to keep walking away, but I kept coming back for more. I am coming away from this wanting to read every word Wolff ever wrote, right away. He's so penetratingly analytical, so able to distance himself from his adolescent pretensions without disavowing the, so incisive and so true. He broke my heart, over and over and over. The prose is knife-like, crystalline and icy. I recommend it.
May 4, 2017
Buen libro en el que el escritor novela sus recuerdos de adolescencia mientras recorria los estados unidos junto a su madre divorciada. Esta llena de humor entre toques dickensianos. Hay también una buena adaptación cinematografica protagonizada por un adolescente Di Caprio en el papel protagonista y Robert de Niro.
October 27, 2012
The four best memoirs I have ever read, and I have read too many, are Frank McCort’s, Angela’s Ashes, “Tobias Wolff’s, “This Boy’s Life,” Geoffrey Wolff’s, “The Duke of Deception,” and Jeanette Walls, “The Glass Castle.”
These books are similar in describing horrendous childhood’s of upheaval and instability, complicated by mentally ill, vagabond, eccentric parents, and a sort of lower middle class poverty. (I know that’s an oxymoron, read the books and you’ll understand). But the similarities go much further and deeper. Each author is a brilliant writer with an uncanny ability to recount his or her traumatic childhoods without self-pity. They don’t seem to hold resentment towards their incompetent parents. In fact they are able to recognize the strengths in their parent’s oddity and the positive aspects of their personalities. They find in their chaotic childhood experience, grist for creative tour-de-forces, in each of these four memoirs.
Please see prior review of “Glass Castle”. I will review “Angela’s Ashes,” soon.
Tobias and Geoffrey Wolff are brothers. Geoffrey is eight years older than Tobias. When their parents divorce, Geoffrey heads off to live with his father and Tobias goes with his mother.
Arthur Wolff was a Yalie, fighter pilot, and ersatz aviation engineer, who was also a vagabond, con-man, flim-flam-man, forger and alcoholic. In the “”The Duke of Deception,” Geoffrey describes his chaotic life with his crazy father who bilks and cons everyone he meets, including friends, associates, wives, and Geoffrey himself. They move from place to place in continuous flight from debtors and jail. (They end up in La Jolla, where I was born and living at the time, with my father named Arthur and brother named Jeffrey.) Arthur forges credentials and lands a job as an aeronautical engineer at General Dynamics, where my friends parents worked at the time. Eventually Arthur is committed to a mental hospital and Geoffrey heads off to Princeton.
Geoffrey’s descriptions of his father are brilliantly nuanced, remarkably sympathetic, and psychologically insightful. He says for example, ”As I dislike him more and more. I become more and more like him. I felt trapped.” This is a remarkable statement. As a therapist one of the most difficult things to get across to people is the concept that without significant insight and effort, one tends to possess the very attributes of their own parents that they most despise. Geoffrey masters this in three short sentences.
Tobias Wolff’s book starts in 1955 with ten year old Tobias, fleeing in a Nash Rambler that was continuously boiling over, with his mother, who was leaving one of a series of continuously violent relationships. They were driving from Florida to Utah and had broken down once again on the top of the Continental Divide, when a semi looses it’s brakes, screams it’s air horn in one long wail, and flies off the divide with Tobias and his mother watching. Tobias’s mother was moving to Florida to strike it rich mining uranium.
So starts Tobias’s memoir. Honestly, I don’t understand the appeal of fiction as much anymore, when non-fiction is so much weirder, more incredible, and far more interesting. Tobias eventually ends up living in a town called Concrete (Washington) with a concrete, blockhead of a stepfather, who was a sadistic, martinet. Eventually he escapes all this chaos into the relatively more predictable Vietnam War and training in the special forces. (He wrote a great book about his tour of duty entitled, “In the Pharaoh’s Army: Memoirs of the Lost War.)
Tobias and Geoffrey meet up once, after a six-year separation in La Jolla, just before Geoffrey leaves for Princeton, after their father is institutionalized. Tobias comes out by bus. Geoffrey spends the summer writing technical manuals for General Dynamic’s under his father’s name, while assigning Tobias daily reading requirements of all the Greek tragedies. I was younger at this time swimming at Windansea, right next to where they lived.
Geoffrey eventually goes on to receive his Ph.D. in Literature, was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, and was a Professor of Literature at University of California Irvine. He has published numerous highly acclaimed books. He had two sons and married a Clinical Social Worker. (I am a Clinical Social Worker. Weird coincidences). Tobias studied at Oxford, received his Master’s Degree in Creative Writing at Stanford and is a Professor of Creative Writing at Stanford. He also has written many highly acclaimed books. He is married and has three children. A movie was made of the book, “This Boy’s Life,” starring Leonardo What’s His Name. Their mother eventually became President of the League of Women Voters. Truth is stranger than fiction.
The relationship between the brothers remained close and mutually supportive since their time together in La Jolla. Both are considered two of America’s finest contemporary writers.
It is remarkable and comforting to realize that all four of these authors overcame childhood’s of shocking hardship and trauma, and used their experiences to write creative, beautiful, and inspiring memoirs.
Highly recommend all four of these books. Recommend you read them in chronological order starting with “Angela’s Ashes,” then “The Duke of Deception,” “This Boys Life,” and “The Glass Castle.” (Toss in Pharaoh’s Army and you’ll be glad you did!)
Happy Reading!
These books are similar in describing horrendous childhood’s of upheaval and instability, complicated by mentally ill, vagabond, eccentric parents, and a sort of lower middle class poverty. (I know that’s an oxymoron, read the books and you’ll understand). But the similarities go much further and deeper. Each author is a brilliant writer with an uncanny ability to recount his or her traumatic childhoods without self-pity. They don’t seem to hold resentment towards their incompetent parents. In fact they are able to recognize the strengths in their parent’s oddity and the positive aspects of their personalities. They find in their chaotic childhood experience, grist for creative tour-de-forces, in each of these four memoirs.
Please see prior review of “Glass Castle”. I will review “Angela’s Ashes,” soon.
Tobias and Geoffrey Wolff are brothers. Geoffrey is eight years older than Tobias. When their parents divorce, Geoffrey heads off to live with his father and Tobias goes with his mother.
Arthur Wolff was a Yalie, fighter pilot, and ersatz aviation engineer, who was also a vagabond, con-man, flim-flam-man, forger and alcoholic. In the “”The Duke of Deception,” Geoffrey describes his chaotic life with his crazy father who bilks and cons everyone he meets, including friends, associates, wives, and Geoffrey himself. They move from place to place in continuous flight from debtors and jail. (They end up in La Jolla, where I was born and living at the time, with my father named Arthur and brother named Jeffrey.) Arthur forges credentials and lands a job as an aeronautical engineer at General Dynamics, where my friends parents worked at the time. Eventually Arthur is committed to a mental hospital and Geoffrey heads off to Princeton.
Geoffrey’s descriptions of his father are brilliantly nuanced, remarkably sympathetic, and psychologically insightful. He says for example, ”As I dislike him more and more. I become more and more like him. I felt trapped.” This is a remarkable statement. As a therapist one of the most difficult things to get across to people is the concept that without significant insight and effort, one tends to possess the very attributes of their own parents that they most despise. Geoffrey masters this in three short sentences.
Tobias Wolff’s book starts in 1955 with ten year old Tobias, fleeing in a Nash Rambler that was continuously boiling over, with his mother, who was leaving one of a series of continuously violent relationships. They were driving from Florida to Utah and had broken down once again on the top of the Continental Divide, when a semi looses it’s brakes, screams it’s air horn in one long wail, and flies off the divide with Tobias and his mother watching. Tobias’s mother was moving to Florida to strike it rich mining uranium.
So starts Tobias’s memoir. Honestly, I don’t understand the appeal of fiction as much anymore, when non-fiction is so much weirder, more incredible, and far more interesting. Tobias eventually ends up living in a town called Concrete (Washington) with a concrete, blockhead of a stepfather, who was a sadistic, martinet. Eventually he escapes all this chaos into the relatively more predictable Vietnam War and training in the special forces. (He wrote a great book about his tour of duty entitled, “In the Pharaoh’s Army: Memoirs of the Lost War.)
Tobias and Geoffrey meet up once, after a six-year separation in La Jolla, just before Geoffrey leaves for Princeton, after their father is institutionalized. Tobias comes out by bus. Geoffrey spends the summer writing technical manuals for General Dynamic’s under his father’s name, while assigning Tobias daily reading requirements of all the Greek tragedies. I was younger at this time swimming at Windansea, right next to where they lived.
Geoffrey eventually goes on to receive his Ph.D. in Literature, was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, and was a Professor of Literature at University of California Irvine. He has published numerous highly acclaimed books. He had two sons and married a Clinical Social Worker. (I am a Clinical Social Worker. Weird coincidences). Tobias studied at Oxford, received his Master’s Degree in Creative Writing at Stanford and is a Professor of Creative Writing at Stanford. He also has written many highly acclaimed books. He is married and has three children. A movie was made of the book, “This Boy’s Life,” starring Leonardo What’s His Name. Their mother eventually became President of the League of Women Voters. Truth is stranger than fiction.
The relationship between the brothers remained close and mutually supportive since their time together in La Jolla. Both are considered two of America’s finest contemporary writers.
It is remarkable and comforting to realize that all four of these authors overcame childhood’s of shocking hardship and trauma, and used their experiences to write creative, beautiful, and inspiring memoirs.
Highly recommend all four of these books. Recommend you read them in chronological order starting with “Angela’s Ashes,” then “The Duke of Deception,” “This Boys Life,” and “The Glass Castle.” (Toss in Pharaoh’s Army and you’ll be glad you did!)
Happy Reading!
June 8, 2017
I know that this is a darling of many; and, I'll admit, there were moments where I flew through Wolff's occasionally exceptional prose-work. What bothered me so much were his hugely obvious sins of omission. Though I won't go into specific details here, I found the story to be highly convenient. So much comes out washed--even two-dimensional at times.
I've heard this billed as a redemption story, a "coming-of-age" tale. That could not possibly be farther than the truth. Wolff builds himself into a "bad kid with a heart of gold" who, in the book at least, never grows up. And I never saw things reach beyond the BKWAHOG trope. He plays with guns, he steals, he lies, he drinks, he fights. Okay. Sure. So...what? There are few attempts to provide perspective or context. And though that may be Wolff's purpose, stylistically--to write a tale of THIS IS HOW IT WAS--I never believed that this is how it actually was. There are too many skips for a chronological ordering, there are too many situations left unexamined. Is this a reflective exercise by the author? Doesn't seem to be very cathartic.
My biggest beef, though, is that it is, essentially, an anti-empathy novel. What do I gain from being in his shoes for 288 pages? I don't need social commentary or strong conclusions about the nature of men, his life or the struggles of a single-parent household. But I do need to feel like the author gives a crap about other people. He makes claims throughout the novel--in brief asides as an adult--of how foolish, silly or unnecessary many of his actions were. Yet, he writes in the style of a tough guy. So his style is engrained in the necessity--the verisimilitude--of his actions. Then he writes a whopper like this:
"The sheriff came to the house one night and told the Bolgers that Chuck was about to be charged with statutory rape. Huff and Psycho were also named in the complaint. The girl was in my class at Concrete High--one of a pack of hysterically miserable girls who ran around in tight clothes, plastered their faces with makeup, chainsmoked and talked in class and did their best to catch the attention of boys who would be sure to use them badly. Somebody knocked her up. She'd kept the pregnancy secret for as long as she could, and she was so fat to begin with that this deception came within two months of bringing her to term. Her name was Tina Flood, but everyone just called her The Flood. She was fifteen years old."
He's not writing as a tough guy. He's writing as a jerk. You might argue that such is the point. Well, I don't need beloved "coming-of-age" novels where jerks remain jerks.
I've heard this billed as a redemption story, a "coming-of-age" tale. That could not possibly be farther than the truth. Wolff builds himself into a "bad kid with a heart of gold" who, in the book at least, never grows up. And I never saw things reach beyond the BKWAHOG trope. He plays with guns, he steals, he lies, he drinks, he fights. Okay. Sure. So...what? There are few attempts to provide perspective or context. And though that may be Wolff's purpose, stylistically--to write a tale of THIS IS HOW IT WAS--I never believed that this is how it actually was. There are too many skips for a chronological ordering, there are too many situations left unexamined. Is this a reflective exercise by the author? Doesn't seem to be very cathartic.
My biggest beef, though, is that it is, essentially, an anti-empathy novel. What do I gain from being in his shoes for 288 pages? I don't need social commentary or strong conclusions about the nature of men, his life or the struggles of a single-parent household. But I do need to feel like the author gives a crap about other people. He makes claims throughout the novel--in brief asides as an adult--of how foolish, silly or unnecessary many of his actions were. Yet, he writes in the style of a tough guy. So his style is engrained in the necessity--the verisimilitude--of his actions. Then he writes a whopper like this:
"The sheriff came to the house one night and told the Bolgers that Chuck was about to be charged with statutory rape. Huff and Psycho were also named in the complaint. The girl was in my class at Concrete High--one of a pack of hysterically miserable girls who ran around in tight clothes, plastered their faces with makeup, chainsmoked and talked in class and did their best to catch the attention of boys who would be sure to use them badly. Somebody knocked her up. She'd kept the pregnancy secret for as long as she could, and she was so fat to begin with that this deception came within two months of bringing her to term. Her name was Tina Flood, but everyone just called her The Flood. She was fifteen years old."
He's not writing as a tough guy. He's writing as a jerk. You might argue that such is the point. Well, I don't need beloved "coming-of-age" novels where jerks remain jerks.
January 5, 2012
This is a very emotional and touching tale about a young boy growing up with a hopeless mother and an abusive step-father. The author describes his childhood in ways that almost anyone can relate to. While you can feel the angst of the writer's plight, you can also laugh you tits off at the hilarity he chooses to make out of it in his later and wiser years. It's impressive that this juvenile delinquent turned out to be such a famous writer. This novel was not only well written, it was a funny and enjoyable read too. I would recommend it to anyone.
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