This is an account of life with eight kids, as experienced by their proud papa, and the book is a rather frantically cheerful defense and explanation of Mr. Molloy's views. There are intimate scenes of chaos at breakfast, bathtime, and bedtime; cute anecdotes about toilet training, or how to handle an octet in restaurants, church or on trips; reminiscences about Mr. Molloy's courtship, first jobs and housing problems- along with strong advice to other parents. Mr. Molloy's opinions (that children need discipline; that our commercialized Christmas and TV serials are horrifying; etc.,) will startle few readers of women's magazine or child-care columns. It is to be hoped few parents either. But his sentimentality, his odd mixture of a sense of blessed superiority (toward people who don't have eight children) and defensiveness (there is a long diatribe against people who believe in birth control because of world over-population) may. In spite of all the heartwarming cheerfulness, Mr. Molloy reminds us rather too often how much he enjoys it all.... Nevertheless, there are doubtless readers who will share these intimate glimpses of an harassed paterfamilias and his opinions. His problems are theirs- multiplied. We leave him as he is about to have his ninth child.