Extract from A Fraction Of The Whole by Steve Toltz
This was it. Time for Dad to open up and spill his version of the Dean family chronicles, his version that was contrary to the mythologising gossip of the nation. So he started to talk. He talked and talked nonstop until eight in the morning, and if he was breathing underneath all those words, I couldn't see it or hear it but I sure could smell it. When he'd finished, I felt as though I'd travelled through my father's head and come out somehow diminished, just slightly less sure of my identity than when I went in.