As an earlier reviewer noted, Hawthorne must be rolling over in his grave. But so must Nabokov. The publisher actually has the nerve to compare Moody's pseudo-art with Nabokov's SPEAK, MEMORY! Do yourself a favor: Read a well-written memoir by someone whose story is worth telling. Open Moody's book, and you'll likely be aware of an irritating high pitch. I'll tell you what you're hearing: a grown man whining.