Is it fact or fiction? Although catalogued as Family life--Fiction, Sleator's latest reads just like autobiography, full of familiarities, little meannesses, and strange, even appalling moments that sound absolutely real. Sleator himself says that there's lots of truth in what he's written: as far as I'm concerned, it's all a pretty accurate picture of what life was like. Billy (Sleator?), the story narrator, an oddball by his own admission, recalls growing up in a most unusual household with caring, easygoing parents who encouraged him and his brothers and sister to become independent. The book is less a novel than it is a series of interconnected stories about Billy's friends and family, enriched by the antics of Billy's rambunctious, nonconformist-by-choice younger sister, Vicky (with whom he often conspired during his childhood and teenage years). These homespun episodes veer from the outright gross (Vicky and I invented a wonderful game to play on our car trips. We pretended we were BMs. We'd wrap ourselves up in an old brown blanket in the back of the station wagon and tell each other our life stories as excrement) and surprising (Dad would sometimes entertain Vicky and me by blindfolding us and driving usÿ20.ÿ20.ÿ20. to some point in the city that he knew was unfamiliar to us . . . leaving us to find our own way home) to the poignant and the uproariously funny. Sleator's comic timing sometimes falls flat, and readers actually learn surprisingly little about Billy, who's seems not much more than Vicky's tagalong. But Sleator's honesty is totally disarming, and he keeps us constantly in awe of his larger-than-life family in a way that makes it impossible not to pause and consider one's own family ties. (Reviewed Aug. 1993)

Reminiscences from Sleator's childhood in a large, lively, and unconventional family form the basis for an appealing and accessible collection of short stories. Fresh, funny, and slightly gross, the quasi-autobiographical glimpses will grab the reader's attention.

The author of such reliably offbeat sf thrillers as Strange Attractors (1990) radically changes pace for ten hilarious, semi- autobiographical stories. <p> The author of such reliably offbeat sf thrillers as Strange Attractors (1990) radically changes pace for ten hilarious, semi- autobiographical stories. With affection and a splendid sense of comic timing, Sleator drags forth incidents from his family closet's darkest recesses--the time young Tycho was hypnotized and then made to drink from the toilet; an indignant skit that laid bare the failings of certain parents, to their vast amusement; rough-and-tumble car games; and deliciously horrifying pranks played on unsuspecting passersby. Vivid characterizations (sister Vicky had always enjoyed making dolls fight with each other; when the dolls wore out, she ripped off their arms and legs. Now she is a nurse'') always balance foibles with saving graces; embarrassment is eased by laughter, while painful circumstances always come right in the end. Sleator shows how, in a loosely run household presided over by indulgent working parents, he and his three siblings developed confident, independent spirits. Though he admits to making up a few things, his dedication is telling--To my family: Please forgive me!'' (Slightly fictionalized autobiography. 11-14)</p> "