I generally like Tabitha King's work, more so than her husband's, in fact, but I'm afraid this book is simply dreadful. It's hard to say which of the characters in the Russell family is the most repugnant -- the overbearing, self-absorbed, absentee father, the cynical four-year-old son who talks and acts like no four year old I've ever met (and I have one), or the foul-mouthed mom, Liv, who plays games of shooting "Commie dogs" with her son and otherwise encourages him in violent role-playing. The stereotyped teenage daughter seems the best of the lot just because there's nothing really offensive about her. According to the jacket copy, we're supposed to admire Liv's courage and ingenuity in outsmarting the thugs who torment and abuse her, but horrified by her atrocious parenting and lack of positive relationships in her life, I found Liv's moral character to be as rotten as her teeth and could not care what happened to her. Try King's other works, especially One on One, but give this one a miss unless you enjoy graphic violence. King also shares her husband's carelessness in researching the medications involved in her story: she misspells Darvocet and further calls it a "heavy-duty painkiller" when it is in fact only a Schedule III, thus a minor analgesic. I also question whether anyone could survive after ingesting the quantity of cocaine, alcohol, Percodan, and other analgesics that Liv takes during her night of abuse and the following day. Finally, I'm not sure what the point is of the interpolated descriptions of husband Pat's Viet Nam movie other than to provide even more violence and to shock me that Liv allows her four year old to watch it.