As I see it, there’s only one explanation for this book: an intrusive parent decided to make up a story for his kids that started with “You think I’m bad?! Wait till you get a load of this...” That, or it’s Freud-lite for kiddies.

This story of a woman holding and singing to her son every night was first read to me by Joey Tribbiani. Back then, I just thought it’s poorly written and sappy (still true). Now that I’ve seen the illustrations? I’m terrified...



I mean, why is the mother peering over the edge of her nine year-old’s bed so creepily?! But the horror had only just begun... The son grows into a wild teenager, yet this woman still crawls to his room and cradles him ON HER LAP. Attached much?

Then this suffocated son moves out and is finally free from mom’s clutches. So she drives across town with a ladder strapped to her car, waits till the lights are turned off, then climbs through his window and rocks this adult man back and forth... DAFAQ?!

Later, the woman falls ill. So the son—whom I had been pitying all this while for the way he is routinely victimised—visits her, and what does he do? Lifts her up and rocks her in his arms as he croons a rendition of her schmaltzy lullaby!!! He has turned into his mother, which is my personal nightmare.

A tale of unconditional love, they call it... I call bullshit. This book contains and condones an unhealthy (to put it mildly) parent-child relationship that lacks open communication and blurs all boundaries. And the art is pretty crappy, too.