This book earned its second star solely because I found it to be a pleasant read in terms of writing. I wouldn't call the writing good by any means, especially not in comparison to Lucy Grealy's own memoir which I thought was beautifully written, but this book had an ease to it that made it a smooth read. That is pretty much the only positive thing I have to say about this book.

Assuming that everything in this book is true, adding the adjective 'toxic' to the cover would be more accurate. Patchett portrays Grealy in an astoundingly negative light considering the two were supposed best friends and she wrote this book in the year after Grealy's death. She rarely says anything positive about her except for her writing. Everything else is backhanded compliments and straight insults. I got the overwhelming feeling she was just as codependent as she was portraying Grealy, in addition to being bitter and jealous of Grealy's writing.

I wouldn't recommend reading this. Honestly, after this I will probably make it a point to avoid Patchett's other work if I ever come across it. Grealy's memoir Autobiography of a Face is by far the better choice if you're interested in learning more about her life.