Playground by Jennifer Saginor
That's how far I got before deciding that this one's going back to the library. Totally not worth the time. (There may be "spoilers" in the review...you have been warned)
Again, as I've said with other memoirs, I feel the need to say that my low rating is not a condemnation against the author or her experiences.
No, this only got one star because the writing style was horrible and it was a creepy book.
The writing was so trite and stilted I almost wondered if there was a ghost-writer involved. But then I realized I didn't care enough to try to find out so that will be a question I will never have answered. And I'm ok with that. Saginor also recounts memories in amazing detail. Other reviews point this out as well - how on earth can she remember not only what designers she was wearing, but also the colors of each garment as she walks into various clubs? How can she remember the exact time she left a club? I know authors have to embellish for the sake of filling out a memoir, but too much and the book just seems like fiction.
And cue the creepy. While I wasn't expecting a memoir version of The Girls Next Door, I also wasn't expecting an abusive, perverted, drug-addled father figure, the denigration of every single female the author meets, and a lesbian tryst (that was also statutory rape of the author). The only major description in the book (up to the point that I read) is the sex scene with a Hef's girlfriend. I'm sorry, but I don't want to read a sex scene that involves a child. It's statutory rape and not something that should be glorified in any way...even if the author is "damaged" and "looking for maternal warmth".
And while her childhood was horrific and abusive in its own way, there comes a time when the constant, "I'm like this because my dad made me like this" or "I'm like this because I was a pawn my parents used in their contentious divorce" just comes across as hollow excuses.
Again, I haven't finished the book. I hope the author has pulled herself out from the horrible childhood she was subjected to and I hope she addresses that in the book...otherwise the book is just a collection of creepy, perverted recollections looking to make a buck off of Hefner's popularity.
At 46%, however, I have to call in the towel.