If you've read and enjoyed Burroughs' 'Running With Scissors' then there's really no excuse for not reading 'A Wolf at the Table' - purely because it provides the other half of the story.

Let me clarify. While Burroughs' earlier memoir revealed what a uniquely torturous childhood he'd had, it also presented it in a very John Irving kind of way - horrible, yet camp and darkly fabulous. There were, amongst the freaky parenting and bizarre psychotherapy (wankroom, anyone?) moments of happiness there, and it served to lighten the edge of the work.

That's not the case in this memoir. It speaks pretty much exclusively of Burroughs' father - a figure who's not really mentioned at all in the earlier work. And from what's contained here, it seems that mentioning him at all is something that's required a lot of time to pass - the man is truly monstrous to his son, who merely wants to be loved.

This is a strong, brave book. Burroughs' style is a little uneven, and I found my attention occasionally wandering - but his prose is much tighter this time around, and some of the horror of the family unit will quickly bring your attention back to the page.

This is a deeply, deeply sad book to read, but it's worthwhile. It's amazing Burroughs survived at all, let alone lived to write something as confronting as this.