Running With Scissors

Everyone has been a victim of too much information at some point in their lives. And if you decide to read Augusten Burroughs’ memoir, “Running With Scissors,” it will most likely happen again.

The victim of a crazy mother and an even crazier psychiatrist/guardian (you will have to read the book to understand), young Augusten has a lot of odds stacked against him from the very beginning. Disposed of by his mother when she decides he is too much to handle during one of her “psychotic breakdowns,” he is sent to live with the zany (understatement) family of her zany (understatement) psychiatrist, Dr. Finch.

Through the unconventional, unreliable home of the Finch’s, Burroughs explains a lot of the developmental gaps he ended up with. There are plenty of examples: He and one of the Finch daughters are bored, so they decide to tear down the ceiling; no one wants to throw away the Christmas tree or discard the turkey carcass, so they remain until May in the living room and bathroom cupboard, respectively; he needs companionship, so he develops a relationship with a man 20 years his senior.

There really isn’t any structure or guidance in his life, so he’s left to figure it all out, either by himself, or through one of the Finch’s unconventional methods, like Bible-dipping and toilet bowl readings (again, you will have to read the book to understand). Through these and many more instances, he tries to give the reader some sense of his wild upbringing.

And it does all make great sense; in fact, the only problem is that it makes too much sense. Burroughs’ spares no coarse language, uncomfortable story, or bathroom-related metaphor to get his point across.

It’s pretty graphic, but the book has enough instances of sincere wit and brilliance that it is clear that Burroughs’ use of explicit and sometimes nauseating descriptions goes far beyond mere shock value. There was a point to everything he wrote; in fact, he’s probably brilliant. It just takes patience to stick in the realm of the novel long enough to figure out why everything is there. Some readers probably won’t mind it; we are in college after all; we’re supposed to be able to handle a little controversial nit and grit. But others probably would want to refrain from reading the book while eating, drinking or even chewing gum.

To be fair, the book is quite funny at times. The humor’s there to keep readers with the story and to keep them from feeling completely sorry for this guy. That’s part of the book’s lesson: to see the absurdity, even in the really hard stuff. That could be one of the only reasons why Burroughs turned out halfway OK. The use of comedy also reminds readers to take the book with a grain of proverbial salt: don’t despair, look for the humor in the rough.

The book’s main undertaking is painting a clear picture of how and why some people turn out like they do, i.e. how we’re all basically a product of how we grew up and how we get over it. It does a good job. He couldn’t have shown things any more clearly. Nor could he have put into a more articulate fashion how messed up his childhood really was or what he had to eventually overcome. Essentially, the bottom line is that some people go through horrible things, and many of these people feel the need to write a memoir; maybe it’s therapeutic. Augusten Burroughs is one of those people.

Whatever his reasons may be, Burroughs wrote a well-written, thought-provoking, stomach-churning book. Hey, who said good writing needs to be pretty? It makes readers think – just more than they may necessarily want.

The book’s epigraph sums it up: “Look for the ridiculous in everything and you will find it.” Keep that in mind while reading; it might help.

Emilie Egger is a history sophomore and Mustang Daily book reviewer.