If ever there was a book that epitomised the contrasting contradiction that is America, it is this one. This is not a feel good book with a Hollywood style happy ending. It is more an ode to self delusion, self hatred, self pity and a testimony to the futility of the worship of Mammon. It is a stuttering rollercoaster ride into the bowels of a hell adorned with the false image of celebrity. Prior to reading this ‘book’ my initial sympathies lay firmly with the author. I was aware of the family hardship that she suffered at the hands of her promiscuous and emotionally flawed mother and the stifling, paranoid, and violent behaviour of her husband, Kool G Rap. Upon reading the first few chapters it became clear that the author was still in denial as to who and what she had deliberately become whilst seeking to blame everyone for her self inflicted predicament. This so called book is nothing more than National Enquirer type drivel in hardback. The writing style is Barbara Cartland as a drugged out hoe meets hip hop royalty in a club, then back to the hotel. In an era of utter shamelessness the author proves once again that lack of talent is not a barrier to so called celebrity. The one person that I have the utmost sympathy for in this book is her son, Naiim. For the author to dedicate this mishmash of a book to her son is a cruelty beyond her comprehension. This is the final confirmation that she really has lost contact with reality. This book should be read though. It is a stark warning of the intoxicating nature of pop culture and strips bear the illusion that this genre has any respect for women. It is a warning that there are two Americas and that you should choose carefully which one you wish to participate in. This book has been packaged as that of a triumphant, strong black woman overcoming the odds and emerging victorious at the end. With respect, I beg to differ.