Inventory reads like a dam-burst, then, an overwhelming of Derry, of Northern Ireland, with memory, its coursing rivers, undercurrents, treacherous accumulations.

... there were moments when I had to put down his book, so unsettlingly vivid were his descriptions of the casual acts of violence and petty humiliations that defined the time.

... Anderson's personal and generational memoir eschews a straightforward narrative for a freer form of nonfiction.

Inventory recalls not only the violence of the place but also the quotidian details of growing up poor, a dreamy kid whose love of books set him apart.

... [a] bleak coming-of-age saga.