First, reviewer conflict of interest: I have lived in Alaska for 50 years and have also proved up on a 5-acre homesite under the 1862 Homestead Act. So, my reading attention was split between whether the "place, characters and overall plot" were realistic, and then secondly, the author's style and use of language. The descriptions of Alaska and homesteading were mostly close to home. I could quibble about some things but won't. However, the main characters perplexed me. They are both clearly damaged and have extreme difficulty with relationships. But the male-female workload divisions described by the author seem unrealistic. Homesteading requires a team effort with both partners doing outside and inside chores if they hope to survive, let alone thrive, even in the 1950s.

The author's writing is somewhat stream of consciousness with lots of run on sentences that can sometimes be difficult to follow. But overall, her prose is beautiful, with lyrical descriptions of Alaska wilderness, seasons, and characters from the 1950s, as well as Alaska's transition from territory to statehood. Even after finishing it, the book continues to haunt me. It would be a great choice for a book club because it would stimulate a lot of discussion on multiple fronts.

This memoir – told in chapters going back and forth between the author's early years in Alaska in an abusive household and later years as a nomadic, train-hopping punk anarchist in Oregon and elsewhere – is well-written and compelling. But readers be forewarned – it's dark and sad. There's not much light here except for the clear, bright Alaska snow and cold and the warmth of a desert wind, and the brief and usually transient friendships. The Alaska descriptions (though there are some inaccuracies) ring mostly true. The family dysfunction and homelessness – largely driven by mental illness and poverty – also ring true. I would have liked more emphasis on what has enabled the author to transcend her background and ultimately set her free.