This book was a touching biography of Scott Cunningham, and I found myself finishing it the same day I got it. Scott Cunningham is, without a doubt, my favorite Wiccan author, and after reading this book, I can't but help feeling sad because I never had the opportunity to meet him. The pictures in the book are beautiful and touching, and you get a better feel for what kind of person he was by them. That having been said, I felt that the book could've been longer than it was. Scott Cunningham was such an incredible person and I'm sure has touched the lives of an endless number of people (myself included), that I don't think any biographical book would've done him justice. It is still a good read, and very touching. It's very obvious that he was well-loved by a lot of people.
Scott Cunningham was a devotee of the neo-pagan religion called Wicca. He wrote many pulp fiction pieces, and loved his mother and father. He never caused any trouble in school. He was loved by everybody except those darn fundamentalist christians. Instead of phallic worship, he chosed the path of vagina worship. He died in worse shape than Aleister Crowley.
Is that it? Did I get it all right?
This book is not a gritty biography of a man. It's a typical gloss-over martyring of a man, who indeed added on to the wiccan religion. I admire Scott Cunningham for the simple fact that he was practical in the approach of the modern-day wicca path. His wicca wasn't the psuedo-historic, dungeons and dragons gothic fare that most wiccans cling to for validity. He was honest and straight-forward about "the craft."
However, for a survey on the mans life, Harrington and Regula could've done much better in bringing out some warts. I bought the book at a time when I was exploring wicca as a definitive religious home for me. Scott Cunningham appealed because he was so... nice, I guess. Now, it's a little too fruity for me. Take for example the picture of the black cat and the Flying Witch boardgame. If this doesn't make you laugh for hours, ya don't have the stones to call yourself a man. This is precisely why I eventually drifted away from the wicca. Too much camp, too many knick-knack collectors, and frankly, why celebrate an ancient earth deity (which one? oh! I get to pick one!) with rip-off Golden Dawn/masonic rituals???
Otherwise, it's a nice, loving biography of a religious man who believed fervently in his chosen deity.