Mark Twain once said that the difference between the almost right word an the right word was the same as the difference between a lightning bug and lightning. Lewis Turco finds all of the lightning in this remarkable set of memoirs about growing up in Connecticut in the 1950s, such as a bullet "whizzing past my ear, dirling in the air" and "crashing through trees . . . snirtling and giggling", as he shares recollections of his capers and misadventures...