This book was wild and strange - I'm not sure I necessarily liked it all the time, but I felt very moved by her unique view of the world and loved the joy she had in utterly disregarding every single basic trope of memoirs (really all books). I still don't have a grasp on the timeline of her life (when were her children born? when exactly did she separate from her husband again? how did she even start painting??), with the exception of her experiences during WW2, but those details weren't really the point - she seemed to want to give you the essence of Mirka more than anything else.
She wanders around wherever she wants to go - she tells you what book she was or is reading (including details of how and when she bought her books), what she thinks about her various dolls (including details about where and how she bought them), the adventures of her cat, and lots and lots about sex (the number of times she described various 'fascinum' was incredible). She gossips about her friends, neighbours and kids, about various famous people, she tells wild anecdotes, and interspersed among it all are strange philosophical insights, sometimes in French, and always unexpected. She even includes naked photos of herself in her own memoir - what a flex!!
While I don't know that I loved the act of reading it, fragmented and stream-of-consciousness as it was, everything was infused with this infectious joy of living and unique perspective on her having lived such a full and exciting life and looking back at it all in her 70s surrounded by her grandkids and running up to a retrospective. It definitely sticks in the brain - what an impressive and wild woman.