I bought this book out of curiosity: I was 10 when the Sex Pistols were at their height, a little bit too young to be part of "the blank generation", but the whole punk scene fascinated me for years. I am now a mother of two wonderful kids, so reading this book for me has a special poignancy which I think only a parent can relate to. In a way, it reminded me of what I put my own mother through,as I was a rebellious, difficult person for many years, being as shocking as I could be and getting caught up in too many bad scenes. I am now clean and sober and have been for manyy years, and now I can see the grief that a child can cause its parents, and I also now understand the unconditional absolute love a parent has for a child. Deborah Spungen writes in such an incredible way; this is raw emotion, but never once do I feel she is portraying herself as a "poor little me". Quite the opposite, she shows her strengths in this book, bending over backwards to try and help her child, her every waking moment consumed by the search for answers to Nancy's negative and incredibly damaging behaviour. As a parent, I hope I never have to suffer the unbearable grief this lady has suffered, watching her firstborn special child selfdestruct before her eyes, and feeling so helpless and unable to stop the destruction. Heartbreakingly sad, I am not ashamed to admit I wept freely often while reading this excellent book. This is the real deal, the truth about the disturbed, misunderstood, loose cannon who was Nancy. Accept no imitation. My heart goes out to Deborah Spungen and her family.