A bit of a curates egg this volume of FMF's autobiographical writings; it feels as if the period leading up to WW1 lacked form and identity for him. And as usual he leaves out all his affairs with women too, which I wish he revealed even a little about how he felt; he once mentions his daughter, which leaps out; it's the singular mention of his personal emotional life. You wouldn't know otherwise there were women in his life.
Still, I do enjoy reading his thoughts, which roam through literature, politics, and society; and the emerging vorticists and futurists, and he firmly of the past; or, so it seems.