Review of "How I Grew" by Mary McCarthy

I picked this up for something to read at night, when I couldn't face reading "Post-Internet Far Right" as a I fell asleep. The idea was to find something interesting but not emotionally demanding, and it mainly did not disappoint in that respect. I'm not a fan of Mary McCarthy - so far I have not read any of her other books, though I may now. It's written from the perspective of an old person reflecting on childhood and youth, and the most interesting parts are where she engages with the fragmentary and unreliable nature of memories...where she admits that her memories can't possibly be right, because of other things that she knows or remembers. 

Some other aspects of the book are dull...her descriptions of her teachers at Vassar, who all seem old and dessicated (they were probably much younger than I am now), the books she read, how bad she was in the various am-dram things she did. But some depictions are really gripping - her accounts of 1920s sexuality, and her relationship to her own Jewish heritage and that of some friends. She's mildly antisemitic - it's a bit like the song in Cabaret, as she worries as to whether her grandmother really is unmistakeably Jewish in her looks, or is surprised that some of her pretty friends turn out to be Jewish even though they don't look it.

Strange afternote...I saved a picture of the cover design, but every time I touched it my laptop crashed. So this review is posted without a picture.