Raw, compassionate, and perceptive, Michael Swerdloff’s memoir RAISED BY WOLVES, POSSIBLY MONSTERS is a vital excavation of toxic masculinity’s rot—and an urgent call for individual and cultural transformation. ~Edward Sung for IndieReader
This is a story about a boy who wanted to be kind and loving but was raised by wolves and monsters who taught him to choose violence and aggression. As the boy grew to be a man, he wanted to be a protector of women but ended up being what girls and women needed protection from. He lied, cheated, and scammed his way through life until he couldn't.
This memoir is his moving account of discovering healthy masculinity from the inside out. His journey has been sensational at times and unbelievable at others, but for many readers, it has been absolutely inspiring. Will the hungry wolves outlast the desire to be loving and beautiful? Can men truly change?
There is hope in witnessing the depth and commitment of a person willing to try to be better without knowing exactly how. This memoir captures one man’s struggle to transcend his past and imagine an entirely new future for himself premised on compassion, care, and advocacy.
We do not have to be what they did to us, but it's our responsibility to do something about it.
T.W. Sexual violence, generalised violence, hate, sexism, drugs/alcohol use.
I wasn’t quite sure I was going to finish when I first started it if I’m honest (the trigger warnings are certainly triggering.) It’s a hard read, I’ll not lie, but it’s raw, it’s honest and I really appreciated Michael’s courage in sharing his story. With so many horrific experiences and so many reasons to judge and to hate, not many people would.
Raised By Wolves, Possibly Monsters is a powerful but sometimes difficult read following one boy’s traumatic journey into adulthood, making the wrong choices and choosing a path filled with violence, aggression and abuse. But it’s also a story of change. A story of making things right. About fixing what’s broken and looking forward to a future free from hate. Michael’s memoir is tough to stomach at times, but his honesty and self reflection really made this a fascinating read for me. The book asks the question, ‘Can men truly change?’ and I think that Michael is proof that, when taking the right steps, sticking to your guns, and having the right people around you, you can turn your life around. The book turns into an enlightening read by the end, full of lessons and food for thought. It will really stick with me!
This book was entered in The Wishing Shelf Book Awards. This is what our readers thought: Title: Raised by Wolves, Possibly Monsters: From Mobster to Reiki Master Author: Michael Swerdloff
Star Rating: 4 Stars Number of Readers: 15 Stats Editing: 8/10 Writing Style: 7/10 Content: 7/10 Cover: 3/5 Of the 15 readers: 10 would read another book by this author. 11 thought the cover was good or excellent. 15 felt it was easy to follow. 11 would recommend this book to another reader to try. Of all the readers, 10 felt the author’s strongest skill was ‘subject knowledge’. Of all the readers, 3 felt the author’s strongest skill was ‘writing style’. Of all the readers, 2 felt the author’s strongest skill was ‘clarity of message’. 9 felt the pacing was good or excellent. 10 thought the author understood the readership and what they wanted.
Readers’ Comments “A well-written insight into the toxicity of masculinity. Sad in many ways, but there’s still a light at the end of the tunnel. Enjoyed this very much!” Male reader, aged 54 “This is a story of personal development. The writing style is simple, accessible and works well for the genre. The author can go a little off track; a little unfocused, but it’s still an interesting journey.” Female reader, aged 52 “This felt very honest, and it was this element which is the book’s strength. You get the author’s story, warts and all. It just shows, no matter what your upbringing, you can find purpose in life. There are triggers in the story (sexual abuse, for example), but it’s well-handled.” Male reader, aged 44 “I wouldn’t like to live next door to this fellow when he was young! Gritty, a little depressing, even shocking in parts. But there’s a journey here which I suspect many readers will enjoy going on.” Female reader, aged 37
To Sum It Up: ‘An honestly written, and often fascinating journey into toxic masculinity. A RED RIBBON WINNER and highly recommended!’ The Wishing Shelf Book Awards
The author's story's raw honesty and emotional impact were refreshing and memorable. The way the author can honestly depict and write out the painful experiences of his childhood, as well as the actions he himself took to continuously perpetuate this harmful lifestyle and the transformative experience of bettering himself, made this such a phenomenal memoir. The imagery found in his writing style and the importance of his ability to hone in on the conversational aspect of his writing, allowing readers to feel as if they have been having a true heart-to-heart with the author, made this an engaging read.
The true heart of this story is both the author’s transformative journey and the theme of toxic masculinity, and the impact toxicity can have on child development as a whole. The heartbreak of the author’s experiences in childhood, primarily his father’s actions, and the role addiction and toxicity played in his life were so poignant. The author never shies away rom the challenging moments, from his lying and cheating to his hospitalization in a mental hospital and the reformative path he found afterward in healing energy and Reiki as a whole.
The Verdict
A remarkable testament to the power of forgiveness and transformation as one man shares his journey to overcome the toxic traits that defined his early life, author Michael Swerdloff’s “Raised by Wolves, Possibly Monsters” is a must-read nonfiction memoir. The way the author can creatively paint an image of each and every experience he shares and can find a way of bridging the gap between the lessons he grew up with and the path to better-helping others, especially women, after the way he acted in his youth, made this a stunning message of hope and the path of change that hope can provide.
Michael Swerdloff’s Raised by Wolves, Possibly Monsters is an unfiltered, gut-wrenching memoir that follows the author’s life from a violent, chaotic childhood to the slow, painful process of redemption. It begins with his experiences growing up under an abusive father and brother, two figures who shaped his early views on manhood, love, and power. Through raw honesty and reflection, Swerdloff recounts how those early lessons turned him into someone he no longer recognized, and how he eventually found the courage to change. This book is a story about transformation, accountability, and learning to reclaim compassion after a life built on pain.
I’m giving this book 5 out of 5 stars because of how fearless and emotionally honest it is. The writing feels human. It is real, flawed, and vulnerable. It doesn’t try to impress; it just tells the truth, and that truth hits hard. You can feel the weight of every memory, yet the tone somehow remains hopeful. What stood out most to me is how Swerdloff doesn’t excuse his actions but uses them to show that growth is possible, even for those who’ve done harm. It’s heavy, yes, but deeply moving and ultimately inspiring.
Content warning: This book includes explicit scenes of sexual violence, abuse, strong language, and drug use. It’s a tough read, but if you’re ready for something brutally honest and redemptive, this memoir will stay with you long after you finish it.
For a decent portion of this book, especially in the beginning, it’s hard to see how Michael is going to end up a decent person. That’s in spite of knowing from the book description that this is going to happen. To say he’s not a good person in his younger years would be an extreme understatement. Issues with misogyny, lots of criminal actions, and extreme drug use all figure into the story. Needless to say, the change takes a long time and doesn’t happen all at once.
Although he mentions in the introduction things he did to keep the story shorter than it might have been, the result is still a book that is much longer than you might expect (almost double the length of an average novel). That length is the one tweak I’d like to see, but I suspect that the parts I’d suggest might be cut are those that other will find the most inspirational, so I see why it didn’t happen. I can see this as a good and inspirational read for both men and women, but for different reasons.
**Originally written for "Books and Pals" book blog. May have received a free review copy. **
I went into this book expecting a straightforward memoir, but it felt much more layered than that. What really stayed with me was how the author talks about his younger self without trying to excuse anything. He writes about being a kid called Squirrel, about friendships, neighborhoods, and moments that seem ordinary until you realize how much they shaped him. The early sections especially hit hard because they show how empathy and cruelty can exist in the same person. The setting moves through homes, schools, and social spaces that feel familiar and uncomfortable at the same time. I appreciated how honest the writing is, even when it is ugly. It feels like someone telling the truth because they need to, not because they want sympathy.
Michael Swerdloff’s Raised by Wolves, Possibly Monsters is a raw, unflinching memoir that balances pain with redemption. What works best is the honesty—he doesn’t shy away from exposing both the harm he endured and the harm he caused, and his reflections on change and healing feel genuine. The book’s emotional weight, combined with moments of compassion and resilience, makes it deeply affecting. However, at times the detail is overwhelming and the pacing uneven, with certain sections feeling repetitive or unnecessarily extended. Still, the vulnerability and message of transformation outweigh these flaws, leaving a powerful and hopeful impression.
One thing I really liked was how specific the people in this book feel. Doreen, Ira, teachers, partners, and community members are not just background characters. They clearly left marks on the author’s life. Even small scenes, like kids playing in a cul-de-sac or awkward moments in classrooms, felt vivid and grounded. The book does not rush through its lessons. It lets them emerge slowly through repetition and reflection. The writing style feels conversational, like someone talking through memories they have carried for decades. I finished this feeling unsettled but also thoughtful about how early lessons around fairness, cruelty, and attention can shape an entire life.
This is not an easy read, but it is an honest one. The author does not soften his past behavior or blame it entirely on others, even though family dynamics clearly play a huge role. I found the sections about community life and alternative spaces especially interesting. They show that changing your environment does not automatically change who you are. You still bring your habits and blind spots with you. The book asks hard questions about accountability, masculinity, and what real change actually looks like over time. I appreciate that the lessons come from reflection. It feels like the author is still learning, and that makes the story more believable.
What surprised me most was how reflective this book is. It is not just about what happened, but about how those moments are understood years later. The author often pauses to examine his thinking at the time and how it shifted. The settings move from childhood neighborhoods to intense adult experiences, and each place seems to reveal a different version of him. I liked that the book includes moments of kindness and connection alongside the darker parts. It reminded me that people are rarely just one thing. The writing feels direct and sometimes messy, which made it feel human rather than polished or performative.
This book made me uncomfortable in a way that felt intentional. The author talks openly about harmful behavior, addiction, and misuse of power without trying to shock the reader. It just feels like the truth as he remembers it. The structure works well, moving through phases of life rather than forcing a strict timeline. I found the later sections especially meaningful because they show how long and uneven change can be. There is no single turning point that fixes everything. Instead, it is a series of realizations, mistakes, and small shifts. That felt more honest than most memoirs I have read.
This book feels like a long conversation with someone who is finally being honest with themselves. The writing is straightforward and often raw, especially when talking about harm caused to others. I like how the author includes moments of compassion from his past alongside the darker behavior. It shows how contradictions can live in the same person. The settings shift across different stages of life, and each one brings new challenges rather than easy solutions. The lessons here are about accountability, not forgiveness. I finished it feeling reflective and a little shaken, which I think is the point.
This book is raw and brutally honest from the very first page. Michael Swerdloff’s storytelling pulls you straight into his life, exposing both his pain and his redemption. What makes it powerful isn’t just what happened, but how he tells it — with clarity, humility, and courage. I didn’t expect something so heavy to also be hopeful, but it is. He takes responsibility for who he was and shows what change actually looks like from the inside. It’s uncomfortable, but it’s also strangely comforting to see someone dig that deep.
I kept thinking about how memory is handled in this book. The author is clear that he remembers a lot, but he also admits where things are imperfect or shaped by trauma. That honesty made me trust the story more. The characters from his early life feel like real people, not symbols. The book does a good job showing how shame and power can exist side by side, especially in adolescence. The lessons are not spelled out, but they are there, especially around responsibility and the cost of avoiding hard feelings. This felt like someone trying to understand himself, not defend himself.
The title makes a lot of sense once you get into the book. There is a constant tension between survival, cruelty, and the desire to be better. I found the family dynamics especially powerful. They explain a lot without being used as excuses. The author’s reflections on masculinity and addiction felt grounded in lived experience. I also appreciated how the book shows moments of community and healing that are imperfect and sometimes flawed. It made the journey feel real. This is the kind of book that stays with you because it refuses to simplify anything.
This book is raw and courageous, and I admire the vulnerability it takes to write something this personal. The memories are vivid and sometimes painfully clear, which kept me hooked. What makes it fall short of 5 stars for me is the pacing. At times the writing drifts or circles back on the same themes, and I found myself wishing for tighter editing. Still, the honesty and humanity in these pages more than make up for it. It’s a book that lingers with you long after you put it down.
The detail in this memoir is incredible. You can almost see the cul-de-sac games, hear the shouts of kids, and feel the cold of that snow-covered yard. The author doesn’t flinch from the darker parts, and I respect that. My only issue is the uneven writing style. Some sections flow beautifully, while others feel almost like a transcript, which pulled me out of the rhythm. That said, it’s powerful, honest, and worth reading. Just not quite as polished as a five-star book.
I was deeply moved by the balance of hurt and healing here. The story doesn’t just stay stuck in the pain, it reaches toward hope. That’s what I loved most. The reason I can’t give it five stars is that it’s heavy-handed at times. Certain passages repeat the same ideas in slightly different words, which made me want to skim. Still, the overall impact is strong. It’s a book that doesn’t let you off the hook, and that’s both its strength and its weight.
What I enjoyed was the way small details like a nickname, a neighborhood game, a simple lunch conversation carried so much meaning. They show how early experiences shape identity in ways we don’t see until later. My critique is more about structure. The book jumps around in places, which felt disorienting. I wanted smoother transitions. It doesn’t ruin the story, but it made the reading experience a bit uneven. Still, the honesty here is rare and makes it a solid four stars.
This is not a book you breeze through, and I appreciate that. It asks you to sit with discomfort, to reflect, and to really listen. The author’s honesty is the highlight, and the moments of compassion amid the chaos are unforgettable. The one thing keeping me from giving five stars is the length. Some sections could have been shortened without losing impact, and a tighter edit would have made the message even stronger. Even so, I’d recommend it to anyone who values truth in storytelling.
The part about being called “Squirrel” in sixth grade really stood out to me. It’s such a small, almost playful detail, but it paints a picture of childhood innocence before everything started shifting. Those neighborhood games and the way he made sure everyone could play, no matter their skill or size, reminded me of the good side of being a kid. It made the darker turns hit harder later on because you know that kindness was there all along.
I really noticed the generational patterns here. The way his dad talked about women at the dinner table was chilling. It wasn’t just the words, it was the casual way he said them while eating spaghetti, as if passing down harmful lessons was normal family conversation. That detail made me stop and reread. It showed me how toxicity doesn’t always arrive with a scream. Sometimes it’s just sitting across the table smiling.
This book really pulled me in from the start. Michael Swerdloff’s writing is brutally honest and raw, but it’s also full of hope. I could feel his struggle and transformation throughout, and it made me reflect on my own capacity to change. The mix of pain, redemption, and personal insight hits deep. It’s not always an easy read, but it’s worth every page. It made me see masculinity, trauma, and healing in new ways.
Reading Raised by Wolves, Possibly Monsters felt like being invited into someone’s truth with no filter. There’s no pretending here. The writing isn’t polished for perfection, it’s personal and real. The author lets you see the parts of himself most people would hide forever. What stood out to me most was his self-awareness. He doesn’t glorify his past, he owns it. It’s emotional and ugly in parts, but that’s exactly what makes it beautiful.
Michael Swerdloff’s story surprised me in how honest it is. It’s not just another memoir about trauma; it’s an exploration of what happens when someone refuses to stay broken. The early chapters are hard to read, but they’re necessary to understand the transformation that follows. I could feel his guilt, confusion, and eventual awakening through his words. What I admire is his refusal to make excuses. You can tell this book wasn’t written for sympathy. It was written for healing.
This isn’t a feel-good story, but it’s an important one. The honesty is relentless. What I found most moving was how Swerdloff talks about masculinity. The way boys are taught to numb their feelings, to hide tenderness. It’s not often you see a man write so openly about that. Some parts made me pause and think about how we all learn the wrong lessons growing up. The journey from hate to compassion here feels real, not forced.
I started this book expecting something dark, but I didn’t expect it to be this thoughtful. The author looks back on his life without bitterness. He doesn’t shy away from what he did or what was done to him, but he also doesn’t let the past define the ending. The writing is conversational, almost like he’s talking directly to you. I felt his sincerity, especially when he describes learning what it means to actually change.
Raised by Wolves, Possibly Monsters made me think a lot about how people become who they are. There’s so much pain in these pages, but also moments of humanity that remind you people aren’t born monsters. The storytelling is detailed, vivid, and sometimes uncomfortable to sit with, but it’s real. What kept me reading was his honesty. He doesn’t ask for forgiveness. He simply shows the process of becoming accountable.
This book hits differently because it’s not written from a victim’s standpoint or from denial. It’s written by someone who lived through chaos, caused harm, and then chose to face it. The way Swerdloff explains his transformation doesn’t sound preachy. It’s grounded in real work, real pain. You can feel how much effort went into unlearning everything he was taught. By the end, I felt strangely hopeful about people’s ability to change, even after years of damage.
What drew me in most was the vulnerability. There’s a certain rhythm in the writing that feels like someone finally taking a deep breath after holding it for decades. The book doesn’t sugarcoat anything — family dysfunction, violence, shame — it’s all there. But in the middle of that darkness, there’s reflection and clarity. It’s the kind of memoir that stays with you because it feels like truth, not performance.