Nowhere in the book does he wallow in self-pity, nor does he make excuses for his later struggles with alcoholism or his broken marriages. Writing as a man of over fifty, Rhodes has a perspective on his past that allows him to both make sense of it and acknowledge his own sometimes maladaptive responses to his experiences. Nonetheless, I am extremely glad I took the time to read Richard Rhodes's memoir of his childhood. I require no further goading to sustain my outrage. I'm well aware of all the horrors that take place in our world and there are more than enough accounts of them living in my brain as it is. I'm not a fan of books about child abuse.
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