When I was about nine, I found out that, as difficult as it seems, the truth can set you free. I was playing with a crystal dinner bell I was not allowed to touch, and then I broke it. My dad was furious — it was his sainted mother’s most precious possession. I was inches away from a spanking. He had his belt in hand, but Mom interceded and said, “Davey boy, now that you know that was wrong to do, tell us you won’t do anything like that again.” I thought about it, shook my head, and tearfully blurted out, “You know I probably will.” My mom melted, hugged my dad, who, shaking his head, put his belt back on. It turns out the truth is elusive, but by and large, that psyche-burning incident has been my touchstone when confronted with difficult choices. I believe this book tells both painless and painful truths that need to see daylight. For those who don’t agree, read between these seemingly straightforward lines; they underscore our obsessive duplicity that’s tragic in its implications.