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Candor and Grace

 Like a big part of the country, I'm mesmerized by Jennette McCurdy's memoir, which makes me think of "The Patrick Melrose Novels," by Edward St. Aubyn.


McCurdy has a bizarre life to describe, but she also has a writer's gift for throwing light on little things that most people might miss. She is a natural.

For example, she begins the book by asking why death-bed scenes seem to require big "life updates." McCurdy says, "It's almost like we think that an absence of major news is the reason our loved one is, now, in a coma; news might make the coma go away."

The story gets better from here. At twenty, McCurdy thought she had the perfect tidbit to snap her mother out of her near-death stupor. "Mom!" said young McCurdy. "You'll be so proud! I'm now down to 89 pounds!"

I'm not sure how anyone could stop reading. McCurdy goes on to describe how her mother would fetishize her own cancer; the mom would tell gruesome stories about her suffering for anyone who would listen, and little Jennette would memorize the details. One refrain was that Jennette--at two years of age--did not seem adequately empathic. The two-year-old girl would sing Christmas carols in the ICU. The mom's failure to understand how a two-year-old child might experience confusion around Christmas makes me think of schizoid personality disorder, or borderline personality disorder. I'm not sure we'll get a diagnosis in the book.

I also love when little Jennette receives a Rugrats dress from her mom--but it's the worst character, and the dress has ruffles. Jennette has a gift for making fun of herself; she recalls falsely shouting out her "love" for the dress, because she knew anything less than feigned zeal would send her mother into a tailspin. Your heart breaks to see this kind of relationship between a kid and an adult.

Three cheers to McCurdy for having found her calling, and for having taken a risk with her new book.
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