Problem Child

I’ll admit, I hit play on *Problem Child* expecting another ‘rags-to-somewhat-less-rags’ celebrity tale, but Terrell Carter’s memoir bulldozed those expectations in the first 20 minutes. His narration is the star here: a masterclass in tonal whiplash, where he’ll have you snorting at his deadpan delivery of his mother’s latest scheme (‘*Of course* she tried to sell the family dog for rent money’) before gut-punching you with a quiet confession about loneliness. The production is stripped-down—no frills, just Carter’s voice and the occasional ambient hum of a memory—but it works because the writing is *that* vivid. You can *smell* the stale beer in his uncle’s apartment, *hear* the crackle of the radio during his first rap gig. That said, the pacing isn’t perfect. Carter’s nonlinear jumps between eras can feel jarring, especially when he lingers too long on anecdotes that, while hilarious, don’t always deepen the narrative (I didn’t need *three* stories about his cousin’s failed get-rich-quick schemes). And while his humor is a strength, there are moments where the audiobook could’ve benefited from a heavier editorial hand—some sections meander when they should cut to the bone. But these are quibbles. What lingers is the honesty: Carter doesn’t polish his past into a moral lesson or a tidy arc. He leaves the edges rough, the jokes dark, and the questions about family and forgiveness unanswered. It’s messy, magnetic, and—like the best problem children—impossible to ignore.