“As is tradition, not going to give a star rating to a memoir about a dead kid, because that just seems unnecessary.
I mean, do I wish sometimes people would view the books I wrote as “my children” and be super nice about them? Absolutely. No, I don’t care about the authenticity of the rating, go ahead and just give me 5 stars because you feel bad.
But TBH, a story about a bikini car wash is NOT my child. At best, it’s a nephew who I can tolerate seeing like once a month, but I get resentful when my brother is like, “Feed this kid pizza.””