And I Don't Want to Live This Life (1983)

Deborah Spungen's memoir of the 20 years or so that her daughter Nancy walked this planet remains engaging, compulsively readable, fascinating, funny, and wrenching. Nancy, who you will recall was found murdered in New York's Chelsea Hotel in October 1978, likely at the hand of her boyfriend Sid Vicious, existed somewhere along the spectrum between problem child and demon seed, at least according to Deborah, and personally I don't see any cause to doubt the veracity of that. I know others have questioned her motives here, saying she is trying to make the case that it wasn't her fault. But if even a quarter of what she reports is true—and again, I see no reason to doubt it—I don't know how anyone else could have coped with it any better. Sometimes some kids are not manageable. Nancy came out of the womb a troubled child, with health complications after a difficult birth, and all her life was a handful. Did I say "a handful"? That doesn't come close. She threw tantrums of titanic proportions, destroyed her parents' belongings before she was 10, was finished with public school when she was 11. It's a startling and believable fleshing out of the background of the young woman we call came to know briefly in the late '70s, and it really rings true to me. It's a harrowing story, but Deborah skillfully makes it entertaining, gripping, and moving. There's a great chapter that details a visit when Nancy brought home Sid to meet her parents. Deborah, who believes Sid murdered her daughter, and is clearly revolted by him, nonetheless outlines the complexity of her feelings for him, acknowledging the connection they shared in both loving Nancy, helplessly. The title of the book comes from a poem Sid wrote after Nancy's death and shared in a letter to Deborah. There are also endless fascinating details about Nancy, such as the origins of her interest in music, the original cast recording of the score for Hair, which she played so much they needed to buy her a second copy. It's a sad story, and a long one too, even given how young she died. Deborah Spungen's memoir is a great story well told.

In case it's not at the library.