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Running with Scissors is the true story of a boy whose mother (a poet with delusions of Anne Sexton) gave him away to be raised by her unorthodox psychiatrist who bore a striking resemblance to Santa Claus. So at the age of twelve, Burroughs finds himself amidst Victorian squalor living with the doctor's bizarre family, and befriending a pedophile who resided in the backyard shed. The story of an outlaw childhood where rules were unheard of, and the Christmas tree stayed up all year-round, where Valium was consumed like candy, and if things god dull, an electroshock-therapy machine could provide entertainment. The funny, harrowing, and bestselling account of an ordinary boy's survival under the most extraordinary circumstances.

I was worried. And as the book began, I became more worried. I was not worried that my expectations were too high, because they weren't. I was worried that they were so low that I was doomed.

For so long David Sedaris has been the benchmark for dysfunctional memoir. I was not afraid the new guy on the block would unseat Mr. Sedaris from his position, but rather I was afraid that someone else was just trying to ride Sedaris's coat tails to sell a few books. I was not excited for "My childhood was horrible, but boy am I glad I made it through...and somehow learned to write" to become the next hot genre. That would surely turn into a shouting match about whose story was more horrific and it would get out of hand. And the writing, which would not be done very well to begin with, would suffer. (And yes, I do over-analyze everything. Thank you very much.) In fact, I had heard that the writing in Running with Scissors left much to be desired.

To my surprise, not only did I enjoy Burroughs's writing, but I enjoyed the book as a whole.

Even though I wrote above that I became increasingly worried over the first few chapters, I found myself really enjoying Burroughs's colloquial writing style. It was funny and very easy to read. I do not think that I laughed nearly as much as other people that I know who have read the book, but I am harder to please in that regard.

The only bump I hit came early in the book. There was a brief recounting of a story involving the actions of the 6-year-old boy in the house. I was immediately concerned that the rest of the book would be filled with unnecessary anecdotes about other people. I was afraid that Burroughs had written a book that solely focused on the crazy things that happened around him and the crazier people who were a part of them, rather than actually writing about himself. I was pleasantly surprised to find that I only had that feeling at that one moment.

From what I can gather, Augusten Burroughs did not write this book to get anyone's sympathy. Nor did he write it as a self-deprecating book of jokes to make us laugh at his misfortune. But do not be surprised when you can laugh at some parts and you will easily feel sorry for what he had to go through. Running with Scissors was a touching memoir written with crisp wit. The language was very harsh at times and there were...unconventional sexual situations; if that is a red flag, you would probably do best to stay away from Running with Scissors. Otherwise, I will probably not seek out other works by Burroughs, but I am glad I read Running with Scissors and I believe it lived up to much of the praise it has received.

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