This is the first book I've read from this author. "A gritty coming-of-age, coming out memoir", it told me, on the back of the cover. I'd heard of Michelle Tea before, I was aware that she was a lesbian. But this memoir is less of a "coming out" memoir, and more of a "wandering around the ages of 14 to 18 with a dysfunctional family in Chelsea" memoir.
Unlike many stories of abject poverty in America, this story had nothing to do with people of colour, of with racism. Michelle's mother is married to one not particularly nice man, who fathers two girls--Michelle and her sister Madeline--before leaving acrimoniously. Dennis is followed by Will, a middle aged drunk who nonetheless adopts both girls and thereafter sees them as his own daughters.
It was a story that was far, far removed from anything I've come across in my life and, for that reason, I found it really hard to relate to Michelle or any of the main characters. Another problem that I had was, at most times, there were so many names being thrown across the page that I was losing count of who was who, and who was going to stay relevant. Of course, this is just sometimes the way in memoirs, as life doesn't always lend itself well to stories.
At the same time, it is the job of a memoir writer to turn their life into a publishable narrative.
The back of the book promises a secret that will change the course of her life forever, which I suppose it does, really, but it has zero effect on the mother, who sticks her fingers in her ears and starts singing, and there is no further mention of her sister after she forces a confession out of their step-dad.
I was all set to rate the book a three because of all this, but then the story just... ended. I don't mean that the narrative came to a well rounded end. No. I mean that the pages ran out and there was the Acknowledgements, and there I was left with the feeling of a book finished halfway through a sentence.