In the opening pages of her bracingly funny and poignant memoir, Domenica Ruta plunges readers into the maelstrom of her turbulent family life.

As she recalls the events, which transpired when she was 4 or 5, her mother grabs a poker from the fireplace, orders the child into their decrepit car, drives a few miles, stops, and beats in the windshield of a red car belonging to her brother’s ex-girlfriend. It cracks, but fails to shatter.