A Wolf at the Table

I used to love Augusten Burroughs. I'm not sure who has changed, me or him, but I disliked this book. First: so many scenes were familiar. Like, I wasn't sure if I'd read it before or not—turns out there's just a lot of rehashing from Dry and Running With Scissors.

Everything seemed trite and overwrought. I wasn't as compelled, and it felt like this book lost his typical humor as well.

Beyond that, as a nonfiction writer, I was really struck by my lack of trust in him as a narrator. Lots of hypotheticals and imaginings that made the narrative less potent as I questioned what was reality.

I have difficulty believing/accepting that he remembers things from such a young age (such as experiences from when he was one and a half years old). I already have his brother's book on my to-read list, but now have additional reason in that I'm curious as to how much their memories and experiences differ.

My mother and her sister recount their childhoods so differently from each other, as does my father's eldest sister from his own experiences.

I was expecting there to be more overlap with his other memoirs. I was not expecting it to be an enhanced audiobook with sound effects. I'm sorry to say I wasn't appreciative of the songs 😅

The writing was well crafted. I'm glad that there was coping and can conceptualize the authentic love/hate relationship that is only natural when a parent falls far from giving unconditional love, as well as the introspective fear of ‘am I like him?'
There are relatives that I fear being like.

I admire that he connected to animals, and despite the poor example from his father was kind to his pets. And my heart broke when they were lost to him.