To tell the truth, like loose change, there is a story hidden under sofa cushions in every family home. If La La's ole sofa could talk, her story would be a best-seller. It's a story of one women's passion to live despite the adversities of incest, marital abuse, and insanity. Funny, they call her La La. Why? When her name is really Ellen Marie Roosevelt? Number fourteen of fifteen children, who lives in the Roosevelt asylum. La La was around an endless crowd of beautiful black folk who partied all the time, it seemed. She wasn't part of it; she was always alone, scared. She hid, wanting to leave the light on to catch the mean perpetrators who got their kicks from their attacks on her. This scared thing was masked superficially with lots of inappropriate giggles, singing, and unbound hysteria. She buried her true self deep, deep, I tell you, and gave lots of "La La" until she became La La. A marital hell was home for La La and her tormentor, so-called protector, a real-life Frankenstein, whom she met as Franklin Morris. They live and love in a double-bound madness with four distinct personalities occupying two bodies, each vying desperately for the "up" position. The four of them and their children spend over twenty years as fugitives, running from themselves, thinking it is the police, the FBI, and Veterans Administration. They succumbed to their existence as they battled their empty wars of hallucination. The desperation comes when they no longer can identify the abusers from the abused. Everyone gets their share. Everyone gets La La. La La wraps the reader into a mind-stretching web of love and terror that she continues to weave poetically throughout her story blow by literal blow. Her story draws you into empathy for the bad guy as much as compassion for his victim. Read her story. Get La La!