Just finished my first Augusten Burroughs book...Dry. A memoir about his alcoholism, as if the title didn't give that away. It's a memoir of a certain time in his life where he faced addiction and the other major life events that pushed and pulled him into an eventual recovery. I feel somewhat bad about saying the book is good...because all stories of addiction are sad. The more amazing the story of recovery, the more sad and damaging the raging addiction had to be. I'm shamefully excited to move on to reading his other books that chronicle the events of his life. Should one reallybe taking so much enjoyment in other's apparent misfortune or discomfort? Well, if nothing else, he's probably been on the best seller list and is stinking rich now.
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