Oddballs

Some families are strange, and some families are really strange. In Oddballs (813 SL22o), William Sleator's autobiographical novel, one bizarre tale follows another. He starts with a bang on the first page by describing a game he and his sister played on car trips:

"We pretended we were BMs. We'd wrap ourselves up in an old brown blanket in the back of the station wagon and tell each other our life stories as excrement."

Sleator describes how his sister's stories portrayed the journey of digested food in the Buckingham Palace, while his generally involved the final form of tsimmes, a mean-and-carrot stew. Striped.

Not a bad way to start a book, in my opinion.