What I was promised: a journalist’s investigation into how her participation in a longitudinal study at a young age affected her future. 

 

What I received: the whining of a woman who spends an entire memoir desperately trying to blame her own failures and shortcomings on any external source she could find. 

My main issue with this memoir is that it failed to deliver on its own premise. In the final chapter, we find out that all of Breslin's data from the study (save for her pre-school intake form) was destroyed. While this cannot be helped (this is nonfiction, after all) it makes for a very uncompelling end to Breslin's personal journey. In the end, I just don't understand why this memoir was written (and I don't think Breslin could come up with a compelling reason either, since she admits that this book was originally intended to be journalism, not a memoir).