*Starred Review* Steinberg, a syndicated newspaper columnist whose world-weary observations are laced with acerbic wit, often writes about his money-eating house in a leafy Chicago suburb and the family within it. Therefore, it was shock in 2005 when a drunk Steinberg was arrested for hitting his wife. (When he asked why she called 911, she replied, “Nobody hits me, Buddy.”) Forced by the court into rehab, Steinberg chronicles his journey to sobriety, following a circuitous route that included plenty of stops in local watering holes along the way. Incredibly honest (perhaps too honest for his fellow AA members), Steinberg initially wants no part of rehab or Alcholics Anonymous. For one thing, he doesn’t believe in a higher power, and if he did, he would not be inclined to surrender to it. Nor does he have much affection for his fellow addicts, “characters in a mediocre play.” What he loves is booze, and his tone turns almost jaunty as he describes his lapses. He wants a sophisticated life where he can drink, hoping liquour will turn his nebbish-like persona into Mike Royko. With every page, he realizes he can’t drink and retain the family he loves, but his resistance is contagious; even disapproving readers will understand how easy it is to drink and how hard it is to stop. Frank, funny, and insightful, Steinberg writes the book of his life. --Ilene Cooper
--This text refers to the
-New York Post
"A compelling read, sad and wistful and breathtakingly forthright."
"Steinberg is a lively writer, with a keen gift for observation."
-Washington Post Book World