The heading for NYT’s review of this book in 2005 reads, “outrageous misfortune” and now you don’t even need to read the book because those two words capture the entirety of this memoir. Walls’ childhood is cringeworthy and captivating all at once. It reads like a fairy tale, but just like a fairy tale, you’re thinking “who the fuck is allowing these kids to wander the woods alone?” Walls’ alcoholic father and eclectic-and-wildly-detached mother can be infuriating and heartbreakingly earnest in the same chapter.