For most people, their autobiography is a series of well-worn stories that they've told themselves. I remember reading Peter Mandelson's autobiography and being staggered at how he won every argument he ever had and was proved completely right by history. I'm sure you've read a dozen autobiographies where the subject has gleefully recounted something which sounds true, but with no fact checking.

Tracy King's autobiography is different. There is a story that she has told herself about her father's death. The event is a pivotal point in the life of her and her family. Their world is shattered by the tragedy and the events surround it become mythologised. Rather than just retelling the story, she asks the important question - is this true?

That's what Learning To Think is about.

Do you have the courage to revisit a distressing moment from your past and interrogate it? We all have totemic stories about our history but very few of us go back to check whether our memories are accurate. I hesitate to describe the revelations as a "plot-twist", because this is real life, but it is astounding.

The writing is beautiful and portentous. It also spends a fair amount of time seeking to understand why people (like the author) get drawn to religion, mysticism, and conspiracy theories:

Solving problems you’ve invented is a good facsimile of empowerment when you’ve never had the real thing.

It would be tempting to lump this in with the "misery memoir" genre - but I think it is something else. It isn't about revelling in the pain and inviting the reader to share it, instead it is a hopeful look at how the truth sets us free. It is bleakly hilarious at times with its blunt assessment of some shocking events.

I sometimes worry that science and "new rationalism" is a cult. It can attract people who are desperate for answers and want to surrender to a system which will teach them the secret truths of the world. But, as this book points out, rationality gives us the power to say "but I could be wrong".

Science should teach us to be humble. Not humble in front of a god; humble in front of our own fallibilities and vulnerabilities.

This is a thought-provoking and wonderful book.

In 2016 I adapted William Leith’s book Bits of Me Are Falling Apart into a one-man play. It took six weeks to do the adaptation, four weeks to rehearse it, and it played for a further four weeks at the Soho Theatre, a small London venue, to a total of around 2,500 people. It took up the same amount of my life as The Young Ones. I’m not expecting you to think it’s as noteworthy, but the Numskulls in my head have given it exactly the same amount of space.

Many years ago, I read Rik Mayall's "autobiography" - it was a hilarious and chaotic mess. This is a more subdued affair. No less funny, but a good deal more heartfelt. Amusingly, Rik is introduced almost immediately. He's just "Rik" as it's assumed everyone will know who he is. He actually enters the book exactly halfway though. Rik dominates the book and, when the end of their relationship comes, it is unbearably sad.

This is a book about madness, friendship, and the way our lives twist and turn around each other.

Fabulous.

This book is part autobiography and part an explanation about how people can find purpose in life. It is refreshingly secular on the latter, and curiously impersonal on the former. While Ken's childhood family is recounted in great detail, his wife and children get only a fleeting mention.

A large part is dedicated to his ancestors:

It’s about living up to the expectations of those who came before me, ancestors whose own stories help me understand what makes me who I am today.

I have to say, this is the part that resonated the least with me. I am utterly uninterested in my own family's history. I don't care if I make my forbearers proud - nor do I think their stories matter much to mine.

It is refreshing to read an autobiography which acknowledges that luck and privilege play a significant part in the journey. The book is almost a masterclass in how being in the right place at the right time requires one to be often be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Ken is relentlessly practical. He explains how to examine what works and what doesn't. How to assess whether you're able to solve a problem and what to do in the face of adversity. Whereas an American book might be self-aggrandising and cult-like, Ken's approach is almost ego-less and much more structured around how to build a movement for continual change.

One thing that struck me throughout the book is that I think a lot of the yearning we feel for purpose is driven by the rejection of religion.

Perhaps you already have everything you need to live a happy, fulfilling, purposeful life, and it just requires a little order or structure. Simply having a set of rules to live by might be closer to what you’re looking for, or need.

Once you throw off the shackles of religion, you can feel untethered from society. If all you see is people being fulfilled by an indoctrination of Kinder, Küche, Kirche, then you are going to feel like your life has no (extrinsic) meaning.

This book isn't a powerful wake-up call. It isn't a rallying cry. Nor is it a quick-fix self-help guide. It is a calm and practical observation of one person's (successful) journey through life.