“A Fine Old Conflict” is Mitford’s memoir of her time in the U.S. Communist Party, the generally irreverent tone of which can be deduced from the fact that the title comes from a misunderstanding of the lyrics of the Internationale: it actually is “a final conflict”. Not that Mitford is apologetic about having been a member, and it doesn’t really seem that she has any reason to be. From the vantage point of three-quarters of a century, it’s pretty clear that in this time period the CPUSA was dedicated not to the revolutionary overthrow of the American government but to a program of entirely sensible reform. Mitford herself spent most of her time as a party member doing civl rights work as executive secretary of the Bay Area chapter of the Civil Rights Congress. The one time she comes off as somewhat Stalinist is when she visits Hungary in 1954 or so, and thinks that everything is great. In the U.S., though, she has a much better grasp of the political situation, and when the Party doubled down on Stalinism following Kruschev’s revelations, becoming ever more rigid, sectarian, and humorless, she (and her second husband, Robert Treuhaft) quit. The humorlessness was, one imagines, quite important for her, because Mitford has an excellent sense of humor and the book is frequently hilarious. Mitford is just as good of a writer as her novelist sister Nancy, and has a fund of great stories, all well told. Even the trip to Hungary includes the very funny story of how she, her husband, and her kids managed to get passports from the McCarthyite State Department, and then inveigled their way into Hungary — they started the trip by visiting Mitford’s family in England (and in Nancy’s case, Paris) — by claiming that the family friend they were traveling with was Paul Robeson’s niece. (I admit that this last part is somewhat implausible, but it’s funny enough that I didn’t care.) And it’s not a purely political memoir either, though for committed Party members the personal often overlapped with the political. For instance, in an early chapter she writes about meeting her second husband via their war work. After describing her recollection of their meeting, she quotes from his description of it, written for his 25th Harvard reunion, and then sets the tone for the rest of the book by immediately dismissing his characterization of her as the most beautiful woman he had ever seen as an obvious exaggeration. There is, it must be admitted, nothing that quite matches the early chapters of “Hons and Rebels”: the childhood of the Mitford sisters (and brother), with its unusual mixture of intense strictness and total laxity leading to the development of a number of very strong personalities, is difficult to top for sheer entertainment value. But anyone who read “Hons and Rebels” will be very glad to learn that there’s a second volume of Mitford memoirs available, and won’t be disappointed by it.