Read by Bronson Pinchot

As Carolyn untangled the umbilical cord from around my neck and placed me on Lillian's stomach, I watched my mother look down with an expression that conveyed both reassurance and unconditional joy at my arrival, albeit eight weeks early. I was too new to know about the capriciousness of a red-haired woman's soul, how it was governed by its own laws and remained half empty no matter how many blessings were poured into it. Truth be told, maternal instincts were as far away from Lillian's heart and mind as my father was from Interstate 30. If only I'd known then what I know now. I would have realized I was staring up at ignorance and fear. My life might have been different. I could have been heroic. I could have gotten up every morning with a warm smile, confident in my abilities. I could have made a name for myself, fearlessly rising to every occasion, conquering anything I was afraid of. I could have been gloriously in love, married, and faithful to the same woman all my natural born days. I could have had hundreds of extraordinary moments to look back on instead of lying here, desperately trying to find one that would justify my existence. But that's not how it happened. "It appears that John Irving has, if not a son, at least a close relative named Eric Gethers who has the same instinct for telling a tale, same capacity to surprise, to lose us in fantasy digressions, and to give us joy and emotion. The story of Henry-moving and delightful with extraordinary but so, so plausible characters." "With this amusing yet sober book, Gethers re-invents a 'thrash' style of writing. Comic and desperate, cruel without being unkind, burlesque and poetic." "Gethers marches along side John Irving: brave storyteller with an inborn skill for joyful narrative detours."

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