By Suzanne Baran

Book Review of Blue Suburbia – Almost a Memoir by Laurie Lico Albanese

Truth, naked, unblushing truth, the first virtue of all serious history, must be the sole recommendation of this personal narrative, Edward Gibbon, a British historian wrote in the introduction of his autobiography.

Laurie Lico Albanese's newest book, Blue Suburbia, a chronicle about her childhood in New Jersey, follows the same philosophy.

Lately memoirs have become one of America’s most popular literary niche; so naturally questions about authenticity abound.

Bill Clinton’s memoir, "My Life" has already sold thousands of copies on Amazon.com and it hasn’t been released yet.

Albanese is sensitive to this phenomenon, and found a way to confront it. On the cover of her book is a caveat which reads, "Almost a Memoir."

Her story was written in verse form, each vignette is a tiny square of a larger patchwork quilt--woven expertly until its completion. Her life was a series of traumatizing events, but her writing conveys a smooth flow of the most tumultuous of experiences--coping with a chemically dependent mother; an absent and verbally abusive father; physically abusive boyfriends and the malaise of suburbia.

Descriptive but not overly so, the reader can easily absorb Albanese’s pain in short stanzas--writing little but communicating volumes--about a lifetime of anguish.

The book serves as a testament to her life and determinism--her challenging yet attainable survival tactic.

She begins her book by dispelling fantasy. In stanzas, she exposes the childhood myth every parent wants their kids to believe--Santa Claus. Launching into the story of her life with ease, Albanese conversely uses sharp imagery to immerse the reader in her horror. The sting of her father’s black leather belt and repeated death threats are ramifications of a minor infraction: "stubbornness," in her father’s words.

Ironically, it’s that one virtue which helped her survive her nightmarish life.

She catalogs her pain in neat, poignant phrases and intertwines the wisdom of age with childhood flashbacks, writing about ugly truths--namely apathy after her sister’s birth: "I was too busy/searching for boyfriends/each of them promising/to care for me/more than Mom did."

Alabanese’s brutal honesty easily eliminates any doubt to the "truth" of her story. She holds nothing back and doesn’t victimize herself based on her parents’ neglect, selfishness and abuse--and the result is bittersweet.

As bold as she is, Albanese leaves much hidden--the reader has an enormous amount to absorb and process, pausing ever so slightly between verses to catch his/her breath; not disinclined to exhale until the last page is turned.