This is the first memoir I've read where I've, ashamedly, distinctly disliked the author. I experienced her as privileged, entitled, self-absorbed, and arrogant. Even her expansive vocabulary, whilst impressive, only served to cement her haughty demeanor. She grew up with challenge, but not enough to grow her sense of compassion, leaving me to wonder if her high-class privilege overrode that growth capacity. (She oddly references her life as middle-class yet it is clearly upper-middle at least.)
Her air of snobbish superiority dissipates somewhat towards the end of the book, when she states,
“I always thought that social workers were for other people. People who were poor, uneducated, lost in a system whose codes they did not understand. I never expected, as a middle-class educated professional woman, that the fate of my father would hinge on an assessment made by a badly paid public servant. I though social workers for single mothers, heroin addicts, the unemployed, the mentally ill and the disenfranchised. In other words, I was pig-ignorant and a snob to boot. We were used to paying our way and paying for the best, thankyou very much” (Baum, 2017, p.267).
Baum focuses on being an only child, yet it is in fact merely one factor of many that shapes her--the murder-suicide of her maternal grandparents is sidelined yet clearly comes down transgenerationally in the form of abandonment and enmeshed relationships, as does the Holocaust's impact on her Jewish father who, after being so horrifically disempowered, now exerts insane amounts of control. The privilege she experienced is explicit throughout the book, yet--rather naturally--she takes it for granted, barely acknowledging its significant impact in forming her identity and worldview.
In addition, it is deeply offensive to read of her strategic manipulation of the NHS to ensure her well-off father is placed in an expensive retirement home at the cost of taxpayers.
Whilst the book was interesting enough to finish and Baum does show some self-awareness and increased compassion for her mother (which was no mean feat, as she didn't get her emotional needs met as a child from either parent) towards the end, the book left me cringing and unimpressed. (To be fair, it also made me wonder what nerves it was hitting for me to respond so negatively towards it, and I suspect that I sought to find more compassion, more kindness, more humanity in her life-reflection--which of course makes me wonder about the kindness, humanity and compassion I'm exhibiting in my review! Genuine gentleness to you Caroline, as I know it takes courage to put your life out there for others to view and critique.)