This book is written in Asimov's usual simple, straightforward manner, and will keep the reader entertained throughout. It also succeeds in giving a good insight into his life and character, although Asimov fans may not like what they learn. Asimov's cavalier attitude to friends and family is quite shocking. We learn in one brief section that his son does not work, and has been supported all his life by Isaac. Isaac voices no regret at how he raised his son, and one is left with the impression that he just doesn't care (the same holds true for his relationship with his first wife). After that one passage, his son is never mentioned for more than a sentence or two thoughout the rest of the 500+ page book. Also on display is Isaac's attitude towards his writing, which can only be explained as an obsessive-compulsive disorder. He devotes countless paragraphs describing in detail how many words, books, articles, etc. he has published, and tedious essays on why such-and-such a book should count or not count in his official count of published books. By the evidence of this memoir, this count of published books was Asimov's only way of measuring his success in life. Such a bizarre motivation is unlikely to resonate with most of us, and this memoir shows us what a shallow life it can lead to.