Ruining My Illusions

My agent asked me to read A Girl Called Zippy as I’m considering a memoir. She said it was a great example of a lighthearted way of looking at an ultimately serious subject.

I’m about halfway through. The writing itself is very smooth, but the stories themselves are only faintly entertaining and ramble with no appreciable progression or concept of the girl’s age. The one part of the book I adore because it is so quirky and admirable is that she and her dad are both atheists and that in her childish convictions she makes all kinds of excuses not to go to her mother’s Quaker church.

Amused by this, I made the mistake of looking up the author and discovered to my horror that she eventually went to seminary.

NO NO NO NO NO NO!

NO NO NO NO NO…

…nononononononononononononononononononono…

Sigh.

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