Everyone that works in a public school setting should read this book. ( )

I haven't ever read a memoir as griping and well-written as this one by Walls. Most novels are not as compelling as her life story.
I was moved by her ability to relate a childhood that would have crippled most people both physically and certainly psychologically. She does this with care and grace and the book is better for that.
Having grown up myself around the Appalachian culture, Walls story is a very accurate portrayal of what one can find occurring every day in the nooks and crannies of the mountains. Walls should be proud that she was able to overcome such a harsh childhood.
I highly recommend this book. ( )

My first reaction to this book….on about Page 16…was “You’ve got to be kidding me. This is no more a memoir than A Million Little Pieces”. Jeannette Walls expects the reader to believe that at age 3 she remembered vividly everything that happened to her, including being burned severely when her dress caught fire while cooking hotdogs by herself, and after being admitted to the hospital her (alcoholic) father abducting her because he thought her bandaged body needed to breathe. Isn’t it convenient that she recalls exact conversations, and complete descriptions of everything, but the two things she can not remember is the name of the hospital she was taken to, or the name of the town they lived in. This episode was followed by Jeannette’s recalling stories of her sister being bit by a scorpion, her brother falling and cracking his head open, being thrown from the car while the family was traveling to Las Vegas, being beat up by a bunch of Mexican kids, several more fires, playing with guns, and playing outside during lightening storms, and ….all before she was 6 years old. Before I go any further I would like to get on my soap box and say that in the past, memoirs, autobiographies, and biographies were always guaranteed to be true. Novels were fiction. For someone to embellish the truth with some fiction and call it a memoir is an absolute blasphemy to the written word. In this day and age, when so much of life is superficial (like reality TV) I would like to believe that at least we could count on authors and the publishing industry to demand the highest standards in determining what is truth and what is just someone’s overactive imagination.
That being said, I continued to read Jeannette’s hard luck story, and as she got older, her tale did appear to gain more credibility. Several times I almost gave up, never being fully pulled into the sensationalized drama, but I did manage to finish the book. Portions of the book were interesting, clever and witty, but the one and two page chapters read like tabloid journalism, and the entire book reeked of a competitive attitude of “my life was worse than your life”, as do so many of the contemporary memoirs on the market today. I’m sure Jeannette had a pretty terrible life, but why, even to the very last page, after a lifetime of dealing with an out of control alcoholic father, a mother who is mentally unstable, two irresponsible parents who purposely put their children through life threatening situations, poverty, malnutrition, and the total chaos of growing up drifting from town to town, and being homeless, is Jeannette telling this horrible story with a smile on her face? I get the feeling Jeannette is not being completely honest with us. ( )

Hard to believe that anyone's parents could be so self-centered to put their children through such misery. A testament to what can be accomplished with determination and hard work. ( )

At a recent dinner party, the host pushed this memoir into my hands after mentioning it at least five times. “You must read this,” she declared. “It’s about a family who is dirt poor and her stories are so crazy…you’ll love it” The only thing she had known about me up until this point is that I passionately enjoyed reading. Though I appreciated her thoughtfulness, I do enjoy selecting my own material, but I tentatively put the book the book in my bag. I didn’t pick it up for another few days, and then I proceeded to furiously read and discover probably the best memoir I’ve ever read. The Glass Castle by Jeanette Walls is amazing.

Although three out of four of the Walls children emerge remarkably unscathed, the extreme neglect and abuse they were subjected to was abominable. Though their parents were obviously mentally sick, I wished in some way that they were held culpable for any of their crimes against their children, and sadly they never are. The family’s story is told by Jeanette and her narrative voice maintains the innocent perspective of youth, and her memories are both harrowing and touching. If you’re a fan of the genre, it’s worth the read. Even if you don’t like memoirs, it’s hard not to be moved by this tale.

I purchased several copies of the book, and now I am the one forcing it onto family, friends and the occasional near stranger. Read it. ( )