Birth of A Self in Adulthood, by Dorothea S. McArthur

I found an old hardcover of the 1988 edition. It's dated (but then again, so am I), yet it's been an interesting read. I have lots and lots of comments on it, and not a few down-right disagreements, but I can't be bothered to blog any of them right now. Any brave soul who decides to read my copy after I'm through with it will have to contend with the multitude of comments I've scrawled in the margins. Although an ample amount of it applies to me, other parts much better describe my (late) narcissistic father. It's a thoroughly uncomfortable combination.