I read Augusten Burroughs’ memoir, Running with Scissors. It tells of Augusten’s childhood, his crazy parents, and growing up with the family of his parents’ psychiatrist (a family that is also crazy). I didn’t think the novel was funny in a dark way, as critics on the backcover raved. I was mostly awestruck by the perversity of Augusten’s situations and frustrated by the adults who failed to raise him. Towards the end, the novel gets a little stale and anticlimactic, and the final “shocker” of the book, the reason why Augusten cuts ties with the psychiatrist’s family, is not surprising at all (it seemed likely based on details revealed at the beginning of the book). What this novel did do was reinforce my aversion to messiness, self-delusion, and people who take Freudian theory seriously.