Oink: My Life with Mini-Pigs
by Matt Whyman
About ten years ago, there was a rage in inappropriate celebrity pets. Snakes, raccoons, you name it. The fad that caught on was mini-pigs. There were piggy calendars, piggy stuffed animals, piggy pens and notebooks, and an entire generation of little girls who wanted nothing more than a wooden box with a live squealing piglet for their birthday.
I was one of those little girls—complete with calendar, pen, notebook, and several stuffties—and without intending to, my parents helped me get over my years-long wish for a pet pig. They got me this memoir, thinking I could live through the author’s experience and delight in the lovely pets without actually owning one. Little did they know, every experience the author had was a negative one. If ever there was an advertisement to not get a pet pig, this is it.
Anyone with the same longing as me, and a million other girls, will find this a truly heartbreaking read. Pet pigs are not what we thought they were, for so many reasons. I won’t tell you why though; it’s not my intention in my reviews to break hearts. If you’re that curious, you may read the book. There was one other reason I didn’t enjoy reading Matt Whyman’s memoir, a reason that nothing to do with his pets. Simply put, I found him to be extremely unlikable. In the book, he does not confine his writings to the pig experiences. He writes about his marriage, his children, house maintenance, and the other family pets. In every single experience he documents, he seemed drawn to making the wrong decision or making a bad situation worse. I found myself cringing, wondering how many emotional scars he was giving his children, and thanking my lucky stars that I hadn’t lived through such a childhood.
The end of the book is one of the most depressing, upsetting endings to a book—fiction or nonfiction—I’ve ever read. I’m not spoiling anything, but don’t worry, the ending doesn’t have anything to do with the pigs. I will say this: if you do decide to read this book, against my recommendation, please stop when the chapters stop. Please do not read the epilogue or post script; it’s just too awful.
I was one of those little girls—complete with calendar, pen, notebook, and several stuffties—and without intending to, my parents helped me get over my years-long wish for a pet pig. They got me this memoir, thinking I could live through the author’s experience and delight in the lovely pets without actually owning one. Little did they know, every experience the author had was a negative one. If ever there was an advertisement to not get a pet pig, this is it.
Anyone with the same longing as me, and a million other girls, will find this a truly heartbreaking read. Pet pigs are not what we thought they were, for so many reasons. I won’t tell you why though; it’s not my intention in my reviews to break hearts. If you’re that curious, you may read the book. There was one other reason I didn’t enjoy reading Matt Whyman’s memoir, a reason that nothing to do with his pets. Simply put, I found him to be extremely unlikable. In the book, he does not confine his writings to the pig experiences. He writes about his marriage, his children, house maintenance, and the other family pets. In every single experience he documents, he seemed drawn to making the wrong decision or making a bad situation worse. I found myself cringing, wondering how many emotional scars he was giving his children, and thanking my lucky stars that I hadn’t lived through such a childhood.
The end of the book is one of the most depressing, upsetting endings to a book—fiction or nonfiction—I’ve ever read. I’m not spoiling anything, but don’t worry, the ending doesn’t have anything to do with the pigs. I will say this: if you do decide to read this book, against my recommendation, please stop when the chapters stop. Please do not read the epilogue or post script; it’s just too awful.