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richardwells 's review for:
Chapter 1's leap into Sarajevo had me. Chapter 2's first expressions of adolescent depression put me off, and I thought I was going to hate this book (and its author) as another self-centered, whine-fest, but there was a drama there that kept me reading. By chapter 3 I had surrendered to Mr. Falk's story, and I eventually succumbed to Mr. Falk's charms as an author. At least until I started writing this review.
"Hello to All That..." is harrowing, humorous, and compelling, but it also seems a bit glib in a made for TV sense. There's a need to entertain that subtly subverts the power of the story. "Hello to All That..." is a crisis memoir that addresses the search for self in the midst of profound depression, and the redemption of "cure" through drug therapy, and release from self. It's a privileged child's coming-of-age memoir that reminded me that privilege is not necessarily protection, and hardship is only romantic to the detached observer. It's also a war story in which the scenes played out in ways that added to a dramatic made for TV feel.
My other problems with the book were in its alternating chapter strategy which caused a wrench in flow, and I wonder that Mr. Falk or his editors weren't able to develop smoother transitions; and the author's admission that the chronology was altered for dramatic impact. The chronological tinkering is the larger problem. I don't know if that's fair in a memoir, and given the recent controvery with James Frey's, "A Million Little Pieces," it's tricky ground to be walking on. Mr Falk's desire to create drama may also have something to do with the "let me entertain you," feel I got from the book. The admission is admirable, but I find it troubling nonetheless.
"Hello to All That..." was a good read, in the moment, but quite problematic on reflection.
"Hello to All That..." is harrowing, humorous, and compelling, but it also seems a bit glib in a made for TV sense. There's a need to entertain that subtly subverts the power of the story. "Hello to All That..." is a crisis memoir that addresses the search for self in the midst of profound depression, and the redemption of "cure" through drug therapy, and release from self. It's a privileged child's coming-of-age memoir that reminded me that privilege is not necessarily protection, and hardship is only romantic to the detached observer. It's also a war story in which the scenes played out in ways that added to a dramatic made for TV feel.
My other problems with the book were in its alternating chapter strategy which caused a wrench in flow, and I wonder that Mr. Falk or his editors weren't able to develop smoother transitions; and the author's admission that the chronology was altered for dramatic impact. The chronological tinkering is the larger problem. I don't know if that's fair in a memoir, and given the recent controvery with James Frey's, "A Million Little Pieces," it's tricky ground to be walking on. Mr Falk's desire to create drama may also have something to do with the "let me entertain you," feel I got from the book. The admission is admirable, but I find it troubling nonetheless.
"Hello to All That..." was a good read, in the moment, but quite problematic on reflection.