Why, you might wonder, am I telling you this. Is it not, you might ask, a legal confession. Could it not, you may ponder, get me in trouble. To this I say, Trouble: I’m in it. Like prison, I’m never getting out of trouble. The only thing I can do is make my trouble your joy—because here’s the thing about reading my memoir: it will make you feel good about yourself. You feel morally superior even as you identify with me. You slip into the supple skin of a cannibal for nearly three hundred pages, and enjoy it; then you can slough it off, go about your happy, moral business, and feel like you are
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