“Dolores, look!” my mother says. A star appears at the center of the green glass face. It grows outward and becomes two women at a kitchen table, the owner of the voices. I begin to cry. Who shrank these women? Are they alive? Real? It's 1956; I'm four years old. This isn't what I've expected. The two men and my mother smile at my fright, delight in it. Or else, they're sympathetic and consoling. My memory of that day is like television itself, sharp and clear but unreliable. (Lamb 1992, p. 4)
Speaking from the vantage point of a forty year-old woman reminiscing about her life, the issue of unreliable emerges a number of times, but ultimately it is clear that Dolores can be believed to the extent that she herself is aware of the complications of memory, especially in a life as full as trauma as hers. The story takes Dolores from a child living in a small town, to a rape in adolescence, through an attempt at college to find love through deceit, to time spent in a mental institution, to her release and attempts at forging a life of her own. Her parents' divorce comes at a time when she is navigating her way through adolescence and most needs their support. Her body is changing, her feelings are confused, and she needs someone to care for her and guide her through this difficult time in life. Unsure about why her