Almost everyone who admits to being a writer has been approached by someone with a story to tell. This story is inevitably presented as material worthy of a movie that will make both the writer and the teller rich and famous. That’s where the discussion should end. Experienced writers know that having a story to tell is nothing; few writers are short of ideas for stories. Spinning out those ideas into a convincing and engaging narrative is another story entirely.

Robert Boyd acknowledges the contribution of a former roommate "whose stories of life on the road were a rich source of material for this book," and it’s hard to guess where the gritty truth leaves off and the gritty invention begins. His fictional protagonist, Randy Watson, is only 16 at the beginning of the story. His upbringing has been violent and loveless, but he has a few friends and plans to make something of himself. A vicious act finally gives him the incentive to run away. At this point, though the narrative is immature and inconsistent, there is room for development.

Unfortunately, in On the Road to Nowhere, the story doesn’t go anywhere either. Boyd ignores the most basic elements of story telling. He forgets to create a central character the reader can believe in and care about. Whether the events are true or not is irrelevant, the reader must believe they could have happened and believe the central character’s responses to those events. The reader doesn’t have to approve, but he or she should know the character well enough to understand.

Because Boyd hasn’t considered these elementary conditions for good storytelling, the book comes across as false, or as sad and bland as a social worker’s casebook. It’s no more than a naive litany of hardships and inexplicable violent acts without much attempt to organize them for dramatic effect.

Another difficulty with the book is in the graphic detail. There is some value in scraping the underbelly of society every now and then. It’s a kind of reality check for those who haven’t experienced hardship and violence first-hand and often a catalyst for change. This tale of a young man gone wrong is surprisingly matter-of-fact, the horror of it lost in the detail, for instance as the protagonist discloses how while in prison he became a "sex-slave" (his word) for another inmate.

If we believed in the protagonist, we could take in the horror and tragedy of it. We could care. Instead, the reader merely feels manipulated. Like a panhandler on a street corner, this material demands our time and attention though all it has as a sales pitch is a collection of ugly details. Whether they are true or not, the author has not taken the time to make a good story of them.

In truth, what the reader–and I doubt that many will finish it unless they, like me, must review it–will take away from it is a sincere wish that he or she hadn’t bothered.