My first reading project for the summer was to finish the memoirs of the Robison family back to back to back.
For those of you who don't know. Chris Robison (AKA Augusten Burroughs) wrote a bestseller called Running With Scissors, which details his chaotic childhood living at his mother's crazed therapist's house after his parents became too unstable to raise Chris themselves.
The second book is the memoir of John Elder Robison (Augusten Burroughs' brother), which details his childhood as a misfit and his eventual diagnosis with Asperger's Syndrome at age 50. This book also became a bestseller.
These two books deserve all the accolade they've been given: Burroughs' book is a delightful, comical survivor's story, and Robison's book is a truly unique account of growing up with Asperger's.
It's the third book, John Elder and Christopher's mother's memoir The Long Journey Home, that really threw me into a fit of rage, and I don't mean the kind inspired by really good, dark literature.
First of all, no one would even bother to pick up the memoir of Margaret Robison, a mediocre, manic-depressive poet, were her sons not so infamous. I decided to read the book hoping to gain some insight into Margaret's horrific parenting, or at least to feel some sympathy for a woman who has been so demonized in literature and the press. Neither of my expectations were fulfilled.
For one thing, the writing in this memoir is atrocious. I understand this woman had a stroke, but I would expect Random House to at least maintain the editorial standard that readers have grown to expect. If I had to read one more scene in which Margaret hangs her head and cries pitifully, I would have thrown the book across the room. It reads like a stream of consciousness with no discernible structure or purpose. I read the book in two weeks because it was so boring. Usually, I finish books within 48 hours.
Second, Margaret doesn't even attempt to apologize for the way she neglected her sons. I understand she was mentally ill and in an abusive marriage, but she seems to use these facts as excuses and a simple ploy to elicit pity from the reader. In fact, she accuses both sons of lying in their memoirs, stating she knows that her side of their stories is the truth, while in the same breath admitting that she has major holes in her memory due to a stroke and bouts of psychosis.
Third, since the only reason anyone picked up the book was to read more about John Elder and Chris' childhoods, it would have made sense for her to actually write about them. The fact that a mother can write nearly 400 pages of memoir while only rarely mentioning her sons, and only then to slander them, is something I find both troubling and narcissistic.
Fourth, Margaret should have been able gain my sympathy easily because she is a)lonely b)elderly c) mentally ill d) partially paralyzed, and e) estranged from her youngest son. On the contrary, I felt nothing but disgust for this woman who seemed to use her sons' fame only to get this lousy book in the hands of an agent. Shame on her. I hope she gets back into therapy and fixes herself while she still has time left.
