I read cozy and historical mysteries, a bit of Paranormal/UF, and to mix it up, I read science and gardening books on occasion.
I've never read any of Shirley Jackson's fiction, as psychological horror doesn't appeal to me in the least, but after reading this memoir of her life raising her four children in the 50's I have a strong suspicion of her source for inspiration.
The book is very, very dated in that "I don't want my husband to find out I just spend $13 at the dress shop this month." kind of way, but given the vogue of shows like Mad Men this is actually a great time to read it. The writing is terse but hilarious; the scene with the mice and the cats and the dogs had me laughing out loud.
My main complaint about the book is its structure. At 300 pages one might be fooled into thinking it's a light breezy read. It's not, at least it wasn't for me. There are only 4 chapters in the entire book and the typeface was smaller than average making it a deceptively meaty read, even while it was entertaining.