Ummm...I'm not really sure what to say about this book. I felt kind of violated the whole time I read it. I mean, these people are REALLY disturbing. Granted, Burroughs is a wonderful writer, witty, engaging. But the subject matter made my skin crawl. And the idea that this was a memoir...how horrible for someone to live through that life. I've been a little too close to crazy, myself. This was an unpleasant reminder of where I have been, and an encouraging reassurance that I was never THAT crazy (never scooped my own poop on a picnic table, thank you very much!) I felt myself reading on despite myself. I really wanted to see how things ended. How did he become a writer? Whatever happened to his mother? Was the doctor ever committed to a loony bin? So, I feel satisfied that I've finished it. Satisfied that he was able to be successful in spite of such a messed up childhood. But, wow. What a way to grow up.