(Reprinted from the Chicago Center for Literature and Photography [cclapcenter.com]. I am the original author of this essay, as well as the owner of CCLaP; it is not being reprinted illegally.)

Like many in the indie-lit world, I was dismayed at the demise last year of revered small press Soft Skull, although glad to see it live on at least in imprint name only, over at the larger publisher Counterpoint; and now that its first books are coming out under its new ownership, I'm glad as well to see that they've maintained their editorial spirit too, with this lightly fictionalized memoir about growing up Mormon from punk stalwart Tony DuShane perhaps overly familiar in overall subject matter, but definitely original when it comes to tone and quality. And that's because, just like the best memoirists, DuShane has pulled out a whole series of incredibly specific memories about those years, ones that most of us tend to forget as we get older and older, which is what makes it such a delight when author like this reminds us of them -- for example, the endless erotic possibilities that come to a virgin merely from spying a bit of ass cheek poking over the jeans of a girl sitting in front of them -- and then peppers the otherwise fairly rote tale with details so specific and odd, they simply must be true; for example, the big teen Mormon convention he and his friends would attend each year, where the horny religious high-schoolers would participate in these elaborate Austenesque chaste flirting rituals while endlessly promenading around the convention center's main rotunda, and where the author and his buddies made a big splash one year by dressing in retro Mod outfits, exciting to the ska-listening girls but deemed safely traditional by their clueless parents. Funny and sad at the same time, with an ending guaranteed to get you furious at conservative religious organizations if you aren't already, this is a fine early title from the newly Counterpointed Soft Skull, and hopefully bodes well for the future of the imprint.

Out of 10: 9.0 ( )

Gabe was raised Jehovah's Witness. It's the only life he has ever known. So were his friends, because, of course, he's not allowed to socialize with any non-Witnesses. From the time he was in elementary school where he was known as the weirdo who refused to salute the flag, Gabe has been all too aware of the many ways he is different from the "worldly" kids at school. Add to this already difficult childhood the additional trauma of adolescence, and you've got a coming of age novel like none you've ever read.

By turns hilarious and heartbreaking, and filled with angst and newfound sexuality (this is the religion that deems hand-holding as the first step toward fornication) and lots of masturbation, Confessions is an unforgettable look at what happens to children whose families force them to be different.

Gabe's story feels so real, and immediate, that one can't help but wonder is this book is part of the James Frey phenomenon of autobiography. Perhaps the author needed to change names, and couldn't guarantee the veracity of conversations which took place 20 years ago, so decided to call it a novel. It certainly feels like, and reads like, autobiography! ( )