Horrifying Tragic Childhood - My Story, an International Bestseller

[expatinscotland]

Christ on a bike!

I popped into a bookshop looking for a light holiday read.

Stroll over to the Bestseller section to find it chockablock w/tales of horrific childhoods - 'Ugly', 'I Survived', 'Sickened', etc.

All w/gold lettering announcing, 'A No. 1 Bestseller' 'An International Bestseller Translated into 158 Languages'

Who buys these things?

I understand they're very cathartic for the writer, maybe help them on their path, to make peace, move on, etc., but fuck me! Life is already sad enough, don't you think?

I'm actually feeling nostalgic for chick lit!

PMSL at this thread, expat, but you're right - there's something quite creepy and disturbing about this genre. It's kind of misery porn. I find them pretty unbearable to read (ok, only tried Dave Pelzer, but didn't get very far) - not sure whether because of the depth of tragedy or the very, very bad writing.

'Brown Sauce or Salt and Vinegar?'

An expat's struggle with how East Coasters and Lowlanders ruin chips.

Andrew Collins - Where did it all go right?

They tucked him up, his mum and dad.

I thought it was so like my own childhood, uncannily so in some places. I still could never bring myself to read one of the books previously mentioned on this thread. And I know it might sounds a little shallow when I say I cannot understand what people get out of reading these types of books either.

There I've said it, I am shallow and vacuous.

lol at 'Thing is,she wasn't ok.'
People who read that crap rarely are.

Marginally better than my French homestay.

The dad had a huge pile of porn in the room off the bedroom I shred with two nubile German teenagers and used to sneak in at night when the light was off to get it (and no doubt give himself a quick seeing to)

Thought nothing of it at the time.

Now it enrages me.

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"Women who love too much..." or some similar crap - yuck yuck yuck.
The only self help book worth reading is "He's just not that into you" - because for the most part, men just aren't. They're far too into themselves.
And it's funny - the one thing that most self-help gurus glaringly, earnestly, aren't.

lol Turquoise

This camp was hell on Earth. That girl was fucked up. She had to go to bed EVERY night listening to the St. Elmo's Fire soundtrack on her tape player.

So I ran off to spend the night w/some French teens smoking Gauloises and playing cards and she accused me of 'abandoning' her.

My Tornado Hell was a good read, I really felt for that poor woman by the end, tears were rolling down my cheeks...

I think she should turn her blog into an International Bestseller Translated into 158 Languages.

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do you think spewed clementines might lose something in translation?

my mil would buy it.

i liked the andrew collins books too mrsmtoe

It's all total bullshit, too, Pruni. My high school experience was NOTHING like that. I'm sure there are some who had similar experiences, but by and large, the whole genre of films from that area are very White Middle Class.

And over 50% of America is not.

This girl was odd, though.

I mean, 'I can't believe you abandoned me like that!' to your cabinmate after an enjoyable night of poker and fags?!

WTF?! She was 16!

I asked her to join us. She said, 'I don't speak French.'

I said, 'Well, that's what I came here to learn. The language of poker and fags needs no translation. See ya!'

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I have a set of American friends rom working in the States.
Even the best ones seemed preoccupied with fraternities and sororities.
Too weirdy for words.

My sister was in a sorority.

We independent thinkers liked to call those Friend Buying Schemes.

You had to sit an all-day exam to attend the high school I went to.

I have NO idea how they let me in there - in fact I don't even remember the exam, or sitting it, or being nervous about it. I must have revised for it, but by that age - 14 - I was a pretty seasoned studier.

It also offered an IB diploma, so it was full of foreigners.

It was in a mostly Jewish neighbourhood, too, so the school ended up being a lot like Houston itself - ethnically very diverse.

I'm sure there were plenty of people who had that John Hughes type of high school, but I haven't known many, even as an adult.

Totally agree with you, Expat, about the books. We flew into Heathrow from our latest sojourn in Nigeria last week and I eagerly hurtled into WHS to look at books only to find all these peddlers of misery on the shelves. I thought maybe it was an airport speciality, to induce a feeling of such utmost gloom that it would almost be a blessing if your plane fell out of the sky.

Btw, have just had my own moment of horror, which may provide gritty material for a book. I've got a cold and grabbed a bit of folded kitchen roll lying by the computer to wipe my snout. I opened it up to have a good honk into it and there was a big black hairy thing lying in it - errrrkk!!! After reeling back in shock I remembered what it was - a large clump of hair from a black bear which we'd collected on our holidays in NY state this summer.

I think you should sue that bear for pain & suffering.

The trauma must have been life-altering.

I think you demonstrate a real triumph of the human spirit in recovering from that entire kitchen roll episode.

I shall never look at kitchen roll in the same light again, that is sure. Nor bears. Or colds and runny noses (sniff). But worry not, I will soldier on, in my Churchillian way and master my fears.

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My high school was fairly John Hughes in bits. And I went to a uni that had fraternities etc, but never really knew anyone involved. Oh, I lie, I went through a brief phase of hanging out with girls who always ended up sitting on fraternity boys' laps when out.

And once a bunch of us had to rescue a drunk friend who was stuck upstairs in a fraternity. Not yet in real trouble, but not far off.

Saw another one today.

'Childhood Interrupted'.

Can't even come up w/an original title! FGS!