a careful yet harrowing account of an offbeat childhood, and of a father-and-son relationship that grew very dark before it began to admit hints of light.
Though frequently engaging, in the end, Stories I Tell Myself feels faintly underpowered. It’s neither accomplished enough to ascend into the ranks of memorable literary memoirs nor irreverent enough to qualify as a delicious celebrity tell-all.
Remove the last names and telling details from this book and it’s an addition to an already saturated genre; focus on the celebrity at the heart of it and it’s a recitation of what we already knew.
