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My Almost Certainly Real Imaginary Jesus
Kelly Barth, like many American kids, went to Sunday school, sang songs about Zaccheas, and was tucked in with bedtime prayers. A typical Christian kid, that is, until she developed a searingly deep crush on another little girl playing afterhours in church, and more importantly, until Jesus—a tiny, imaginary Jesus, one that stays “safely tucked behind the baseboard or the petals of a peony”—became her invisible friend and constant companion.
Heartbreakingly honest and hilarious, My Almost Certainly Real Imaginary Jesus shows just how easy it can be to fall headlong into fundamentalism, venturing into the very heart of enemy territory and the church’s false promises of altar calls and sexual cures. In the spirit of Anne Lamott’s Traveling Mercies , this debut memoir is plainspoken, speaking with candor and insight. Barth particularly addresses the disconnect between the radical and very human Jesus of history and the church’s supernatural savior. She asks the question to all in the closet—both closet Christians and closet Which is more difficult, admitting to being Christian or admitting to being gay?
An answer is found in her own hard-won journey, a hopeful answer that is an “attempt to leave a record of the early signs of the turning and softening of a collective heart.” Giving voice to many who have searched for sanctuary in a church that has largely rejected them, this story pauses at the threshold of one of a growing number of churches which, in opening the door to her and other homosexuals, welcome Jesus back inside as well.
Heartbreakingly honest and hilarious, My Almost Certainly Real Imaginary Jesus shows just how easy it can be to fall headlong into fundamentalism, venturing into the very heart of enemy territory and the church’s false promises of altar calls and sexual cures. In the spirit of Anne Lamott’s Traveling Mercies , this debut memoir is plainspoken, speaking with candor and insight. Barth particularly addresses the disconnect between the radical and very human Jesus of history and the church’s supernatural savior. She asks the question to all in the closet—both closet Christians and closet Which is more difficult, admitting to being Christian or admitting to being gay?
An answer is found in her own hard-won journey, a hopeful answer that is an “attempt to leave a record of the early signs of the turning and softening of a collective heart.” Giving voice to many who have searched for sanctuary in a church that has largely rejected them, this story pauses at the threshold of one of a growing number of churches which, in opening the door to her and other homosexuals, welcome Jesus back inside as well.
240 pages, Kindle Edition
First published September 1, 2012
6 people are currently reading
279 people want to read
About the author
Kelly Barth
1 book27 followersKelly Barth lives on very little money in a very small house with her partner Lisa Grossman in Lawrence, Kansas. She was a fiction fellow in the University of Montana’s creative writing program and has received fellowships from the Missouri Arts Council and the Kansas Arts Commission. Her work has been published in anthologies and literary journals, most recently Coal City Review, Literary Bird Journal, and Muse & Stone. My Almost Certainly Real Imaginary Jesus is her first memoir.
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Displaying 1 - 29 of 29 reviews
September 23, 2012
I went to church yesterday. Not in the literal, time honored sense, but I finished a book I've been reading and felt as if I had been to church. The book is ironically named My Almost Certainly Real Imaginary Jesus by Kelly Barth. Told with sincerity, honesty, and humor, this memoir could have been my life on so many levels - not so much in specific details, but in many of the passages Barth traveled on her journey as a gay woman of faith. I like that better than describing her as a woman of faith coming to grips with her gayness. For while she hesitated to publicly acknowledge it, she always knew she was gay. Her journey was in discovering how to reconcile that fact with a faith that went through so many permutations, only she and "Imaginary Jesus" could really discover the truth and substance of that faith.
As I've been reflecting on the book last night and this morning, I've chuckled again at Kelly's ability to describe her experiences with a humor that avoids insipid superficiality. And admirably, for this reader, she is able to reconcile both her sexuality and her spirituality with a depth that defies many of the more shallow memoirs I have read of late.
Perhaps the most touching moment in the book for me was after she "came out" to her parents, and met with them for the first time after that revelation in her childhood home. The image of her parents with their "powerful" clipboards of questions, Kelly sitting as a dutiful child in a chair where they "both could see her," and the clinical, yet far more tender way these two parents attempted to both understand and respectfully protect their child after having received news that no doubt turned their world upside down is one of the most moving moments of the entire memoir. For these parents, nothing changed the fact that they loved their child, and no matter how their previous acts or words may have indicated otherwise and how unsettling the news may have been for them, they ultimately wanted only that their daughter know that she was loved and accepted. "'You're ours and we love you. Nothing wrong. We just go on from here.' . . . Daddy picked up his clipboard, found a clear sheet of paper, and started a letter to Lisa, welcoming her to the family."
Acceptance by my own family and close friends - many of whom I feared simply wouldn't be able to make the leap - was very similar. As was my partner's. I had worried overmuch about their reactions and potential rejections. My therapist even suggested that perhaps I didn't give my parents enough credit. I'm not naive enough to believe all people are so lucky in their coming out experiences. I know they aren't and that lack of family acceptance is one of the key causes of suicide among LGBT teens. Perhaps we "late bloomers" have a greater capacity for dealing with the ramifications, or maybe we are just fortunate to have the families we have.
I'll not say more on the book because I could not possibly do it justice. But this I will say, this book isn't just for gay people of faith - although, it will speak deeply to them. It is not just for families of gay people of faith. This is a book that anyone on a faith journey should read. It is a book about a person. Someone with an aspect of their personhood that isn't readily accepted by everyone else - yes. But isn't that true of us all?
(from my blog - http://ladycinzia.blogspot.com)
As I've been reflecting on the book last night and this morning, I've chuckled again at Kelly's ability to describe her experiences with a humor that avoids insipid superficiality. And admirably, for this reader, she is able to reconcile both her sexuality and her spirituality with a depth that defies many of the more shallow memoirs I have read of late.
Perhaps the most touching moment in the book for me was after she "came out" to her parents, and met with them for the first time after that revelation in her childhood home. The image of her parents with their "powerful" clipboards of questions, Kelly sitting as a dutiful child in a chair where they "both could see her," and the clinical, yet far more tender way these two parents attempted to both understand and respectfully protect their child after having received news that no doubt turned their world upside down is one of the most moving moments of the entire memoir. For these parents, nothing changed the fact that they loved their child, and no matter how their previous acts or words may have indicated otherwise and how unsettling the news may have been for them, they ultimately wanted only that their daughter know that she was loved and accepted. "'You're ours and we love you. Nothing wrong. We just go on from here.' . . . Daddy picked up his clipboard, found a clear sheet of paper, and started a letter to Lisa, welcoming her to the family."
Acceptance by my own family and close friends - many of whom I feared simply wouldn't be able to make the leap - was very similar. As was my partner's. I had worried overmuch about their reactions and potential rejections. My therapist even suggested that perhaps I didn't give my parents enough credit. I'm not naive enough to believe all people are so lucky in their coming out experiences. I know they aren't and that lack of family acceptance is one of the key causes of suicide among LGBT teens. Perhaps we "late bloomers" have a greater capacity for dealing with the ramifications, or maybe we are just fortunate to have the families we have.
I'll not say more on the book because I could not possibly do it justice. But this I will say, this book isn't just for gay people of faith - although, it will speak deeply to them. It is not just for families of gay people of faith. This is a book that anyone on a faith journey should read. It is a book about a person. Someone with an aspect of their personhood that isn't readily accepted by everyone else - yes. But isn't that true of us all?
(from my blog - http://ladycinzia.blogspot.com)
February 8, 2013
An honest, interesting, and frequently humorous memoir by a gay woman from a fundamentalist background coming to terms with her Christian faith.
October 18, 2012
A review of mine, published in the Missoula Independent:
Fundamentalist religion and homosexuality have never been on especially good terms. In Kelly Barth's debut memoir, My Almost Certainly Real Imaginary Jesus, the tension between being Christian and being gay results in a personal implosion. In the book, Barth, who studied writing at the University of Montana, immerses herself in the ritual self-hatreds of right-wing religion while attempting to find distinctiveness as a lesbian and a writer. The result is a fascinating chronicle of guilt, doubt and transformation.
Imaginary Jesus begins during Barth's childhood in a suburb of Kansas City where her religious fervor—in the form of Presbyterianism—even eclipses that of her devout parents and siblings. She wiles away her formative years trying to glimpse her imaginary friend, Jesus, as she attends Sunday school. She identifies with the masculine stereotypes of the Old Testament. Meanwhile, she grows ever more frightened by her burgeoning sexual inclinations.
Everything about the book is provocative without trying to provoke. Humor and honesty are the memoir's mainstays as Barth describes her awkward attempts to be normal, straight and a conservative Jesus freak to the strictest degree. Highlights include embarrassing accounts of Presbyterian Bible camp, being prevented by her parents from joining an all-girls choir and latching onto an extremist group called Youth for Christ where she is indoctrinated into the fold through scary cautionary tales of non-Christians. That's just the first section of the book.
I'm not a lesbian, a woman or a believer, but Barth's book had me riveted from the first page. Unflinching and funny, the book concerns itself with the seeming impossibility of coming out gay in an extreme Christian milieu and, at the same time, coming out Christian in an increasingly secular era. Barth picks her tongue-in-cheek moments, saving them for her most absurd anecdotes: her disastrous engagement to Royall, a boy she meets via a Christian singles group, and her experience at Living Waters, a mortifyingly sectarian seminar on overcoming homosexuality. But this isn't just a droll coming-out story; it's a serious expose of organized intolerance, which explores antagonism and social issues of dignity.
It is also a call for equal rights. Barth's straightforward prose sparkles with tales of her ambivalent lifestyle, but it also starkly illuminates an entire subculture of homophobia from the intimate viewpoint of the insider, while remaining refreshingly non-polemical. Outside of all the melodramatic episodes and chatty asides, the book is a primer on acceptance and forbearance. It's a rough sketch of the hypocrisy of blind faith, and the discontent that it inspires among reasonable followers.
Barth's path away from zealotry comes in many forms: finding her partner, announcing her concealed identity to her parents—an unexpectedly affecting scene of warmth and clipboards—and her involvement in helping to outline the doctrines of gay marriage for a new church. This isn't about a magical conversion or a swift instance of clarity. Even these moments are filled with self-denigrating snark, musings on theological weirdness and the right balance of belief and non-belief for the atheist and the Christian to appreciate equally. The fact that the complexities are never fully ironed out makes the story that much easier to buy into. "Trying to find Jesus is one of the first things I remember doing," Barth notes. Over the course of her tell-all, that quest to pinpoint the voice of a tiny imaginary deity turns into a hankering for a voice of reason—one that seems to resemble her own.
Fundamentalist religion and homosexuality have never been on especially good terms. In Kelly Barth's debut memoir, My Almost Certainly Real Imaginary Jesus, the tension between being Christian and being gay results in a personal implosion. In the book, Barth, who studied writing at the University of Montana, immerses herself in the ritual self-hatreds of right-wing religion while attempting to find distinctiveness as a lesbian and a writer. The result is a fascinating chronicle of guilt, doubt and transformation.
Imaginary Jesus begins during Barth's childhood in a suburb of Kansas City where her religious fervor—in the form of Presbyterianism—even eclipses that of her devout parents and siblings. She wiles away her formative years trying to glimpse her imaginary friend, Jesus, as she attends Sunday school. She identifies with the masculine stereotypes of the Old Testament. Meanwhile, she grows ever more frightened by her burgeoning sexual inclinations.
Everything about the book is provocative without trying to provoke. Humor and honesty are the memoir's mainstays as Barth describes her awkward attempts to be normal, straight and a conservative Jesus freak to the strictest degree. Highlights include embarrassing accounts of Presbyterian Bible camp, being prevented by her parents from joining an all-girls choir and latching onto an extremist group called Youth for Christ where she is indoctrinated into the fold through scary cautionary tales of non-Christians. That's just the first section of the book.
I'm not a lesbian, a woman or a believer, but Barth's book had me riveted from the first page. Unflinching and funny, the book concerns itself with the seeming impossibility of coming out gay in an extreme Christian milieu and, at the same time, coming out Christian in an increasingly secular era. Barth picks her tongue-in-cheek moments, saving them for her most absurd anecdotes: her disastrous engagement to Royall, a boy she meets via a Christian singles group, and her experience at Living Waters, a mortifyingly sectarian seminar on overcoming homosexuality. But this isn't just a droll coming-out story; it's a serious expose of organized intolerance, which explores antagonism and social issues of dignity.
It is also a call for equal rights. Barth's straightforward prose sparkles with tales of her ambivalent lifestyle, but it also starkly illuminates an entire subculture of homophobia from the intimate viewpoint of the insider, while remaining refreshingly non-polemical. Outside of all the melodramatic episodes and chatty asides, the book is a primer on acceptance and forbearance. It's a rough sketch of the hypocrisy of blind faith, and the discontent that it inspires among reasonable followers.
Barth's path away from zealotry comes in many forms: finding her partner, announcing her concealed identity to her parents—an unexpectedly affecting scene of warmth and clipboards—and her involvement in helping to outline the doctrines of gay marriage for a new church. This isn't about a magical conversion or a swift instance of clarity. Even these moments are filled with self-denigrating snark, musings on theological weirdness and the right balance of belief and non-belief for the atheist and the Christian to appreciate equally. The fact that the complexities are never fully ironed out makes the story that much easier to buy into. "Trying to find Jesus is one of the first things I remember doing," Barth notes. Over the course of her tell-all, that quest to pinpoint the voice of a tiny imaginary deity turns into a hankering for a voice of reason—one that seems to resemble her own.
March 17, 2013
I enjoyed reading this memoir by a woman I am privileged to know, who grew up in Raytown, Missouri, where I now live and went, among others, to where I went to church at Broadway Baptist and Crossroads Churches. Kelly Barth is particularly open and creative in sharing how she went through much of the same religious questioning and emotional challenges about trying to fit in as the rest of us, but the same time was trying to work through questions of her own sexual identity. Let me know whether you laugh some times and cry others. I did.
May 10, 2013
A little slow-moving at times, but well-worth a read. Ms. Barth's honesty is incredible. A beautiful story of finding love and finding faith and combining the two, whether judged for it or not. I was often sickened by what the author went through as she grew up denying her sexuality, being taught things that I was taught growing up but didn't affect me as greatly as a straight woman. This is such an amazing story and testament of how life can be changed by faith, love, and acceptance, of oneself and of others. Highly recommend.
January 7, 2013
An illuminating and rewarding read for straight and gay Christians alike, this engagingly powerful memoir tells the story of a lesbian Christian's journey through fundamentalism to a place where even she can feel loved and secure within her Christian faith. Highly recommended!
March 22, 2013
Funny in an Anne Lamott sort of way, and poignant throughout. Proof that coming out is not for sissies.
February 14, 2013
There are many reasons I draw a heart around this book, not the least of which is the similarities of the author's journey to mine: Being gay and growing up in a compulsorily religious family, Fundamentalism, Youth for Christ, Bill Gothard, Pentecostalism, Exodus, Living Waters, feeling in the church like a piece of "machinery in need of parts and service." More surprising still is that she grew up in the Kansas City area, making her story seem even more uncannily familiar. I could not help laughing heartily and often at her many insights and observations. Even more encouraging, she does not bitterly abandon the title character as so many gay people who are raised in the church have done. "Where many of his followers offered me not love but judgement they mistook for it, Jesus left me with a sense of the wideness of mercy." This candid and irresistible memoir is as spiritually and emotionally affirming a book as any I've read in recent memory.
October 19, 2012
I am ten years older than Kelly Barth, but we might have grown up in the same church. I could identify with many of the issues on the table, and I wondered if any of my friends had a similar experience to Kelly's, being gay or lesbian. Funny and moving.
December 24, 2012
I especially found the first part of this book funny- laugh out loud funny in spots. Her struggles with being lesbian and Christian are depicted with both humor and poignancy. My heart was warmed with the falling-in-love section.
February 22, 2013
My almost certainly real imaginary Jesus by Kelly Barth was a very hard book for me to read. Kelly's search for acceptance, her struggle to find people like herself was heartbreaking.
April 2013
April 2013
March 1, 2013
The author tried for many years not to be gay, though she knew she was at age 4. Always maintaining a relationship with Jesus (the one in the title), she veered through multiple expressions of church and of repression. This is a good read and a great tale of learning to be true to self.
May 7, 2013
This memoir was both funny and thoughtful. I enjoyed getting a look into what it was like for Barth to grow up in a fundamentalist faith, and come out as a lesbian. I especially liked how she was able to bring her faith and her true self together, giving up neither.
January 5, 2013
4 1/2. Nice memoir!
January 28, 2013
Sincere, authentic, and heart-felt. You could feel that this story has been trying to come out of Kelly for a while. A wonderful journey of struggle and ultimately of acceptance.
April 22, 2013
A wonderful, thoughtful, insightful memoir, gently told, delicately provocative, intimate without being gratuitous and kind.
July 12, 2013
A very honest and straightforward account of the author's life as a Christian and a-trying-not-to-be-lesbian. Luckily, there is a happy ending for everyone-even Jesus.
March 23, 2019
I liked Barth's memoir about growing up both fundamentalist Christian and lesbian. She embraced the former, and tried very very hard not to be the latter. She prayed a lot, tried dating men, tried conversion therapy, tried moving away, and so on, becoming more and more miserable. However, throughout, she held on to the Jesus she had envisioned as a child, which is where the weird title comes from. Since her church taught that she needed to "invite Jesus into her heart," she imagined him as tiny, able to fit into her palm, so that he could be fit in her heart and go with her everywhere else. She talked with him regularly, and even when she realized that her concept of Jesus wasn't exactly on point, she kept the image of him as a Friend to whom she could talk, and who accepted her with gentleness and love no matter what.
Eventually, in the Epilogue, she explains that she lets go of the tiny image of him and says, "He left me my life as a follower, a Christian, one who has left the binding confines of the traditional church. That I am here, loved, and sane is thanks to who I imagined him to be" (p. 229).
I don't know what Barth's current spiritual life is, and I think the memoir ends kind of abruptly, but I appreciated her talking about her struggle with the fundamentalist church. I have my own struggles with it, and appreciate others who have stepped outside it while maintaining a deep love of Jesus.
Eventually, in the Epilogue, she explains that she lets go of the tiny image of him and says, "He left me my life as a follower, a Christian, one who has left the binding confines of the traditional church. That I am here, loved, and sane is thanks to who I imagined him to be" (p. 229).
I don't know what Barth's current spiritual life is, and I think the memoir ends kind of abruptly, but I appreciated her talking about her struggle with the fundamentalist church. I have my own struggles with it, and appreciate others who have stepped outside it while maintaining a deep love of Jesus.
May 11, 2025
A heartbreaking, funny, and hopeful story of a person navigating the view of Jesus they have compared with the view many others have. This memoir was nice to read because I have experienced many of the same struggles of coming to terms with my religiosity and my sexuality. Her writing style was a lot of fun and I would probably listen to her talk about any life experience she has had. A highly recommended read :)
December 9, 2020
I read this book in 2 days, which is extremely fast for this slow reader. suffice to say I couldn't put it down and had me reflecting a lot on faith and queerness. At times uncomfortable and perhaps even triggering but at the end of the day it gave me a renewed hope in the value and trust of one's internal voice as well as the ability for love to allow individuals to evolve.
September 9, 2023
"I was completely entranced by the author's writing style."
August 30, 2025
I hope to hear more from Kelly Barth. This book spans self-loathing to self-acceptance with humor and grace. Bravo!
January 25, 2014
I could relate to Kelly's bumping all over the map of American Christianity, particularly over the fundamentalist parts--a jarring ride that can continue to upset your balance years down the road. The title makes more sense as you read it. I laughed out loud more than once. The last chapter takes several surprising twists.
"A question on the first page read, 'In your own words describe what it means to be a Presbyterian.'...I took a pencil badly in need of sharpening and wrote, 'It means trying to be a good person. You are sprinkled instead of dunked. Presbyterian is hard to spell. Maybe Presbyterians are smart. Our cross looks funny. It doesn't look like a cross. We are not Catholics. We are not Baptists.' Then I ran out of lines" (p. 16).
"I whiled away many hours...learning how to become not only a pariah but a bigot as well" (p. 39).
"In the confusing waltz of religious courtship, frigidity can masquerade as chastity" (p. 70)
"Deep down I wouldn't have been able to explain what I meant by saved. Using such a phrase made me feel rude and embarrassed. How dare I tell someone who is doing their best, that their best isn't good enough? I witnessed out of pure obligation. It had nothing to do with my love for Jesus" (p. 82-83).
"Hoping to return to my progressive religious roots, I tried Evangelical Presbyterian, but Presbyterian doesn't mean the same thing with Evangelical in front of it" (p. 114).
"My awakened sexuality sealed in a cardboard box I would quickly misplace, I drove from town like I had finished everything...But instead of actually leaving things, I drug them all behind, awkwardly bundled together. Every night, they all appeared in my dreams, haunting me in their disarray. Every morning, I had to put them all back. Everything had a proper place 1,000 miles away except the authentic person I had just started to become. Waking or sleeping, I could find no place to put the unreconciled pieces of myself" (p. 122).
"We would learn to need no dwelling place but God...which inevitably happens to my kind of Baptist. Given enough time, we can talk ourselves out of anything, even being Baptist. That's the risk and the gift" (p. 208).
"Like a stroke victim does the alphabet, I had to relearn how to be happy" (p. 167).
"A question on the first page read, 'In your own words describe what it means to be a Presbyterian.'...I took a pencil badly in need of sharpening and wrote, 'It means trying to be a good person. You are sprinkled instead of dunked. Presbyterian is hard to spell. Maybe Presbyterians are smart. Our cross looks funny. It doesn't look like a cross. We are not Catholics. We are not Baptists.' Then I ran out of lines" (p. 16).
"I whiled away many hours...learning how to become not only a pariah but a bigot as well" (p. 39).
"In the confusing waltz of religious courtship, frigidity can masquerade as chastity" (p. 70)
"Deep down I wouldn't have been able to explain what I meant by saved. Using such a phrase made me feel rude and embarrassed. How dare I tell someone who is doing their best, that their best isn't good enough? I witnessed out of pure obligation. It had nothing to do with my love for Jesus" (p. 82-83).
"Hoping to return to my progressive religious roots, I tried Evangelical Presbyterian, but Presbyterian doesn't mean the same thing with Evangelical in front of it" (p. 114).
"My awakened sexuality sealed in a cardboard box I would quickly misplace, I drove from town like I had finished everything...But instead of actually leaving things, I drug them all behind, awkwardly bundled together. Every night, they all appeared in my dreams, haunting me in their disarray. Every morning, I had to put them all back. Everything had a proper place 1,000 miles away except the authentic person I had just started to become. Waking or sleeping, I could find no place to put the unreconciled pieces of myself" (p. 122).
"We would learn to need no dwelling place but God...which inevitably happens to my kind of Baptist. Given enough time, we can talk ourselves out of anything, even being Baptist. That's the risk and the gift" (p. 208).
"Like a stroke victim does the alphabet, I had to relearn how to be happy" (p. 167).
March 24, 2014
On paper, I was one of the teenage girls contributing to Barth's alienation growing up: a smiling cheerleader dating the quarterback, dabbling in the FCA. But despite outward differences, inside I so identified with Barth's experience. I grew up in a fundamentalist household in the Midwest and with parents that struggled with poverty and an unhappy marriage. I never felt like I fit in and was often depressed and lonely and couldn't wait to get out of my narrow-minded hometown and find my own way.
Reading this, it struck me that someone like Barth would look at someone like me and think I had it easy, and vice-versa.
Which, I think, is the reason I read stories like hers. This book gently but honestly lets the reader into someone else's journey. It's funny and poignant and introspective, like any of the best non-fiction.
I'm incessantly self-conscious and have been through years of therapy myself, so the times when Barth's writing heads in this direction, I'm cool with it, though can see how the style might not be for everyone.
I've taken a different path as an adult by losing my religion altogether, but her continued faith is just another way I learned about someone different than me. Whether you're gay or straight, religious or not, if you have ever felt like a misfit or questioned your place on the planet or simply want to live with intention, you will find this to be an excellent read.
Reading this, it struck me that someone like Barth would look at someone like me and think I had it easy, and vice-versa.
Which, I think, is the reason I read stories like hers. This book gently but honestly lets the reader into someone else's journey. It's funny and poignant and introspective, like any of the best non-fiction.
I'm incessantly self-conscious and have been through years of therapy myself, so the times when Barth's writing heads in this direction, I'm cool with it, though can see how the style might not be for everyone.
I've taken a different path as an adult by losing my religion altogether, but her continued faith is just another way I learned about someone different than me. Whether you're gay or straight, religious or not, if you have ever felt like a misfit or questioned your place on the planet or simply want to live with intention, you will find this to be an excellent read.
June 11, 2014
This was an interesting look into a woman who was raised in a religious household and despite knowing she was gay, trying to deny it even going so far as to enrolling in a "reparative therapy" program and becoming more of a fundamentalist. It drug a bit in places and you wanted to shake some sense into her younger self in others but overall a good book.
September 28, 2014
The author is a friend of mine and I've heard her read from this book twice.
January 8, 2015
Wonderful read
October 9, 2015
I felt like it really dragged on. Solid MEH rating.
January 1, 2019
Barth's wise wit is awe-inspiring, yet this memoir is also emotionally-vulnerable, raw and deeply resonate for me.
Displaying 1 - 29 of 29 reviews