I greatly enjoyed this book. A collection of very short pieces of the author's life arranged into a greater kind of memoir. The memories of Kevin Sampsell are moving, terrifying, humorous, and indescribably fucked-up. I felt at times as if I was eating from a bowl filled with bitter little pieces of candy. The author is able to reach into your heart and grab you, then leave you feeling stunned or sad or moved in some way, all within a couple pages, and sometimes even a couple paragraphs. After that, you have to take a break to emotionally recover before moving on to the next story. This feat is accomplished by use of a very simple, straightforward, and earnest writing style that feels as if you're being told a story personally. And yet, even accounting for such an economic use of words, nothing seems to be left unsaid. ( )

Meh. A slapdash memoir of growing up dysfunctional in the Pacific Northwest from the publisher of Future Tense books. Has a modest twist in that it is composed of brief "snapshot" chapters with intriguing-seeming one-word titles: laziness masquerading as structural innovation. Also, the guy seems like kind of an asshole. ( )

I liked the earlier parts of this memoir best. Before Kevin's libido woke up, there were lots of interesting stories about his dysfunctional family, about his friends, about things he was thinking about. After, it was only girls/sex/girls with a sprinkling of non-horndog anecdotes. Which is probably very true-to-life what it's like to be in a young man's head, but not exactly riveting reading.

I like Sampsell's voice, I like what feels like a certain even-handedness in dealing with his past- a lack of malice that's rare in troubled family memoirs.

( )

I think Montambo was reading this so when I saw it for sale I flipped through, liked, bought.

I just went to the author's reading at Powell's. If the book doesn't have a "voice" written into it, an attempt to capture an accent or regional slurring, I "hear" the words with a soothing, resonant, deep tone. Male and female characters, all the same. Sampsell's real voice was surprisingly (to me) soft, lispy, and soothingly nerdy. I had a major eyestrain headache brewing and almost decided to just go home from work. The author works at Powell's so he had a good supportive crowd. At the reading there was a proposal, it was accepted, everyone clapped. I think it made my headache worse, all those happy people and me just an observer. I'm glad I went.

The blurb already speaks of the format so I'll just say I like it. Not every chapter/story was illuminating or touching or brilliant, but not every episode in a life is like that either. Each little bit was a brick in the construct that was his life. Some were better in hearing it aloud, where the author could insert key pauses; comedic timing loses some nuance in writing.

There was nothing extraordinarily heroic or dastardly. I most appreciated the ordinary parts, or rather, the normal screwed-up family tales that sort of reminded me of mine. Granted his was a bit more screwy, and unfortunately tragic for some of his siblings.

The next stage or phase of his life is starting. I'm sure to him it's more of a smeared continuum, taken day by day, but to an observer that proposal felt like the real ending to this book which began with his family history and ended with his feelings about his father's passing. ( )

At the beginning of the book, the author states that the first cable stayed bridge in the United States is in his hometown of Kennewick, WA and opened for traffic in 1978. I guess no one bothered to fact check, that is actually the second cable stayed bridge. The first is in Sitka, AK and was opened in 1972. Not a big deal, I know, but I'm a stickler for details.
Fact checking aside, I could relate to the author. We had a lot in common. We both had drop ceilings in our bedrooms, we both hid our contraband up there. We both had older siblings that we didn't really know. We were both tucked in at night with warnings of bed bugs. I had to smile when he talked about those plastic bird whistles. I loved those. I also have fond memories of holding my cassette recorder against the radio and television speakers. I loved mixing my own music too.
The book was presented in small sections, some just a paragraph long, some a few pages, most somewhere in between. It didn't read like a memoir though. It felt like I had gotten a hold of Kevin's diary. That made it fun and quick to read. I appreciated that the author didn't spend too much time writing about or glorifying the worst things in his life. He just told his story. ( )