Short notice. Just go with it.
According to the blurb this was supposed to be an “engrossing, highly captivating narrative of the author’s life as a diagnosed sociopath” . . .
What it was instead was . . . .
First of all, the author lived as a “self-diagnosed” sociopath for years before ever seeing an actual doctor about it. It is during those years she found fame and glory running a blog for other supposed sociopaths.
Secondly, you would think a sociopath would be a teensie bit interesting. Instead, she has presented a memoir that was about as exciting as reading stereo instructions wherein absolutely NOTHING about her own life is even discussed until around the 25% mark. Annnnnnnnnnnd, it takes all the way to the 70% point for her to delve into her fave sociopathic hobby – “ruining people” . . . . which she immediately glosses over by saying:
“I wish I could tell stories of ruining people, but they’re the stories most likely to get me sued – situations that involved the police and restraining orders and professional lives derailed.”
Uhhhhhh, the promise of those types of stories is the only thing that kept me reading to this point! I’m fairly certain nearly everyone who picks up this book would do it thinking they would get a little stabby-stabby action. This lousy book didn’t even provide this much action . . .
And finally, I have no clue whether or not the author is actually a sociopath, but the parts of the book that weren’t boring the absolute hell out of me reeked of total B.S. The one thing I am confident of? Whoever wrote this is a total narcissist who finds themselves to be “kooky, charismatic, and charming.” I recommend she go ahead and take another one of those internet tests, though, ‘cause she’s NONE of those things.
Recommended to? Your worst enemy or your most hated in-law.