Running with Scissors

this past weekend, i read running with scissors. its a memoir. the overwhelming feeling i took away from it is that i'm not a big fan of memoirs. or maybe just this memoir. there's a feeling of self-satisfaction dripping off the author that bothered me. and also his constant reminiscing about the times that his friends told him he should be a writer, and he said that it was a bad a idea. as if he would like us, his audience to understand and marvel at the fact that his genius was bursting forth at an early age, even before he could recognize it in himself.

despite these facts, i will probably read his second book. there are two reasons for this - one, there were brief moments of genius. i'd be willing to say that at the sentence level, burroughs does some wonderful things. maybe even at paragraph level. two, i'd like to believe that i'm wrong in my initial assessment. eternal optimism > haterade.

--jay