The past isn’t past, of course, and Auder does good work of describing the world from a child’s point of view ... In addition to the moving portrayal of a sisterly bond, Don’t Call Me Home is also a portrait of New York City in the ′70s and ′80s ... Part of the book’s appeal is Auder’s ability to simultaneously worship Viva while she fantasizes about wringing her neck, making this book relatable to anyone, even for those without Warhol superstars for parents ... Not to say this is a sad book. Don’t Call Me Home is very funny. Auder has the sense of humor of a person who became an adult as soon as they were born.
It takes guts and a sense of humor to kick off your debut memoir with an insult from Andy Warhol ... Captivating ... In the acknowledgments, Auder, an actor and yoga instructor, says she has been writing versions of this story for over 25 years. You can tell. Her childhood memories sparkle.
Auder’s frustration comes through loud and clear, but so does a deep and abiding love, and she manages to reflect on her chaotic and unconventional upbringing with a refreshing lack of prejudice and judgment. In many ways, it seems, her mother raised her right.
Vibrant ... Auder's vivid writing illuminates a deep and sparkling trove of storytelling riches ... Auder makes the most of her magnificent mess of material, celebrating her bohemian upbringing and her crazy mother in style.
Enthralling ... Funny, bracing, and compulsively readable, Auder’s memoir resists juicy gossip in favor of hard-won truths. This story of fraught but unbreakable bonds between mothers and daughters is a gem.
