A memoir by the daughter of the novelist James Jones about her alcoholic mother and all their drinky friends. In the interest of full disclosure: I had to read this book for work. Ok. Hm. There's an alright bit where she takes a class at Columbia taught by a young Richard Price. For some reason, in my head, Richard Price was never young but arose fully formed out of the East River. Also, at one point the author grows out of her conviction that "to be a great writer, one must also be an exceptional person," which is something I always believed without really thinking about. I guess this might be a good book to buy for an older female relative who likes books if it is already her birthday and you forgot about it and now it is too late to think of anything else to get her.
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