I hate book reviews that tell you what to think and give you the guts of the book. I’m just going to tell you about how during my little trip to the bookstore, I picked up a copy of “Running With Scissors: A Memoir,” by Augusten Burroughs, and couldn’t put it down. By the time I was at the fourteenth page, I realized that I would have to buy it. I was glued to its pages for a couple of days until I finished it and found that I loved the author’s witty and eccentric humor.
Burroughs’s explanation of his upbringing made me sometimes forget that the pages are filled with fact. Between his disturbed mother leaving him in the hands of Dr. Finch, her unbalanced psychiatrist, and Burroughs’s first sexual experiences as a young boy with a grown man (Dr. Finch’s adopted son, Neil Bookman), the book showcases adult irresponsibility at its finest.
Some of his descriptions of the relationship with Bookman will be hard to digest, but do try to understand what he is trying to communicate. He was a confused young boy who was forced to conduct sexual acts with grown men and then later found that he craved the attention of Bookman due to the fact that Burroughs was not being nurtured or brought up in a healthy way.
If you are even slightly curious about how this could possibly be a humorous tale, then I suggest that you check it out. I have yet to see the film, but my Aunt told me that the book was better and added, “Isn’t that how it always is?” I always agree with her conclusions on films, so I am a bit hesitant to spend the money on renting the newly released DVD.