by Margaret Trudeau
Her mother always wanted her to be happy. "Be happy, Margaret!" everyone said. "All we want is for you to be happy." She became a flower child and married the prime minister of Canada, bore him three sons, smoked a lot of pot, had a breakdown and split on their sixth wedding anniversary—after a much-publicized weekend with the Rolling Stones. Then, she writes, "There were many evenings with the 'upper decadents' (as opposed to Regine's 'top crowd') in our private, cliquey basement underneath Studio 54. Bianca Jagger was the Disco Queen, I was the Sweetheart. Fast and furious, I searched for freedom at a pace that took me only around in circles..." These confessions of a foolish little girl, now 30, who thinks she's supposed to be happy all the time are exploitative and sad. (Paddington, $10.95)
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