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A review by rbruehlman
I'm Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy
4.0
Damn. I'm glad Jennette McCurdy's mom died too.
I'm Glad My Mom Died details child actor Jennette McCurdy's deeply enmeshed, emotionally abusive relationship with her mother and the ensuing aftereffects--a career in acting she doesn't want, a raging eating disorder that gives her life a semblance of control, a people-pleasing mentality that gives way to seething bitterness, an inability to emotionally connect with other people. Jennette McCurdy's mom does indeed die, freeing McCurdy to finally, finally grow on her own, but her deleterious effect on her daughter while alive leaves McCurdy with a ton of exhaustive work to do to undo all the damage.
I had mixed feelings about this memoir. While acerbic and funny at times, and frequently sad and gutwrenching, something about the book felt lacking and empty. I think it was McCurdy herself. I found McCurdy a deceptively hard person to know; even after reading a deeply personal memoir, I don't feel like I know her or her personality. Who was McCurdy outside of her mom, and, later, her eating disorder? Perhaps it's ironic and fitting--McCurdy expends so much effort being what her mom wanted that that she feels somewhat amorphous. I think this book would have been more powerful if she had written it a decade or two out. I didn't get the sense she had found herself yet. There is a certain je ne sais quois about a really good memoir, one that sticks with you for a long time after, and while this memoir is harrowing and sad, this didn't have whatever it is.
Some thoughts, not related to the quality of the book itself:
1. Perhaps unfair of me since I know no child actors, but I've long been skeptical of parents of child actors, and this book doesn't further improve my impression. I knew kids in elementary school who really, really wanted to pursue acting, and in that case, go for it, support your kid! But a three-year-old going to auditions? That's the parents living vicariously through their kid. It makes me uncomfortable. I suspect many children, like McCurdy, struggle to disambiguate "I like acting because it's fun" vs. "I like acting because it makes my parent(s) happy" ... and even if they do realize, their parents' investment in the endeavor makes it very hard to say, "I don't like acting anymore and want to stop." A child star going off the rails is almost a trope at this point, and people frequently blame fame. While fame corrupts for sure, dysfunctional families like McCurdy's are probably unfortunately common. I'm not sure who would end up normal with a mom like that, acting or no acting.
2. Having McCurdy's mom as a mom would do a number on anyone, but what was so especially tragic about their relationship was how McCurdy's people-pleasing personality fit her mom's personality like a glove. Other kids perhaps would have rebelled or been more able to feel resentment; McCurdy is so desperate to please that she shoves all of her feelings away and rewrites herself in her mom's desired image... thereby making her mom's enmeshment all the more acute. I was almost surprised when McCurdy finally ackowledged she was becoming actively bitter in her teen years--I wasn't sure she would. It makes total sense, though. Her avoidant behavior--the opposite end from codependence--later on made sense to me, too. Why get close to someone, when being close to someone has always meant suffocation and a subjugation of one's self?
3. I actually kind of feel sorry for McCurdy's mom. She was horrible to her daughter and I was glad she died so McCurdy would finally be free of her ... but ... man. What a sad woman. Clearly deeply anorexic and no life outside of her daughter at all. She was a master manipulator and knew what she was doing, so, in a sense, you can't feel too sorry for her ... but what kind of normal person acts that way? She was mentally ill beyond a doubt.
4. Eating disorders are so hard to understand and explain. I thought McCurdy's depiction of an eating disorder was uncomfortably real. I'm sure this book will get a lot of comparisons to Mayra Hornbacher's Wasted because of its extremely vivid depiction of an eating disorder. Wasted is a hauntingly written book, and Hornbacher's writing style is truly a work of art. While better-written than I’m Glad My Mom Died from a pure writing perspective, I always recommend it with a bit of a caveat because it glorifies eating disorders a bit. Thankfully, McCurdy didn't glorify hers at all. It was a source of comfort, but it wasn't something McCurdy was proud of. It sucked, because eating disorders suck. This is a much more honest depiction, and it's a journey that resonates even if you don't have an emotionally abusive, narcissistic mom.
I'm Glad My Mom Died details child actor Jennette McCurdy's deeply enmeshed, emotionally abusive relationship with her mother and the ensuing aftereffects--a career in acting she doesn't want, a raging eating disorder that gives her life a semblance of control, a people-pleasing mentality that gives way to seething bitterness, an inability to emotionally connect with other people. Jennette McCurdy's mom does indeed die, freeing McCurdy to finally, finally grow on her own, but her deleterious effect on her daughter while alive leaves McCurdy with a ton of exhaustive work to do to undo all the damage.
I had mixed feelings about this memoir. While acerbic and funny at times, and frequently sad and gutwrenching, something about the book felt lacking and empty. I think it was McCurdy herself. I found McCurdy a deceptively hard person to know; even after reading a deeply personal memoir, I don't feel like I know her or her personality. Who was McCurdy outside of her mom, and, later, her eating disorder? Perhaps it's ironic and fitting--McCurdy expends so much effort being what her mom wanted that that she feels somewhat amorphous. I think this book would have been more powerful if she had written it a decade or two out. I didn't get the sense she had found herself yet. There is a certain je ne sais quois about a really good memoir, one that sticks with you for a long time after, and while this memoir is harrowing and sad, this didn't have whatever it is.
Some thoughts, not related to the quality of the book itself:
1. Perhaps unfair of me since I know no child actors, but I've long been skeptical of parents of child actors, and this book doesn't further improve my impression. I knew kids in elementary school who really, really wanted to pursue acting, and in that case, go for it, support your kid! But a three-year-old going to auditions? That's the parents living vicariously through their kid. It makes me uncomfortable. I suspect many children, like McCurdy, struggle to disambiguate "I like acting because it's fun" vs. "I like acting because it makes my parent(s) happy" ... and even if they do realize, their parents' investment in the endeavor makes it very hard to say, "I don't like acting anymore and want to stop." A child star going off the rails is almost a trope at this point, and people frequently blame fame. While fame corrupts for sure, dysfunctional families like McCurdy's are probably unfortunately common. I'm not sure who would end up normal with a mom like that, acting or no acting.
2. Having McCurdy's mom as a mom would do a number on anyone, but what was so especially tragic about their relationship was how McCurdy's people-pleasing personality fit her mom's personality like a glove. Other kids perhaps would have rebelled or been more able to feel resentment; McCurdy is so desperate to please that she shoves all of her feelings away and rewrites herself in her mom's desired image... thereby making her mom's enmeshment all the more acute. I was almost surprised when McCurdy finally ackowledged she was becoming actively bitter in her teen years--I wasn't sure she would. It makes total sense, though. Her avoidant behavior--the opposite end from codependence--later on made sense to me, too. Why get close to someone, when being close to someone has always meant suffocation and a subjugation of one's self?
3. I actually kind of feel sorry for McCurdy's mom. She was horrible to her daughter and I was glad she died so McCurdy would finally be free of her ... but ... man. What a sad woman. Clearly deeply anorexic and no life outside of her daughter at all. She was a master manipulator and knew what she was doing, so, in a sense, you can't feel too sorry for her ... but what kind of normal person acts that way? She was mentally ill beyond a doubt.
4. Eating disorders are so hard to understand and explain. I thought McCurdy's depiction of an eating disorder was uncomfortably real. I'm sure this book will get a lot of comparisons to Mayra Hornbacher's Wasted because of its extremely vivid depiction of an eating disorder. Wasted is a hauntingly written book, and Hornbacher's writing style is truly a work of art. While better-written than I’m Glad My Mom Died from a pure writing perspective, I always recommend it with a bit of a caveat because it glorifies eating disorders a bit. Thankfully, McCurdy didn't glorify hers at all. It was a source of comfort, but it wasn't something McCurdy was proud of. It sucked, because eating disorders suck. This is a much more honest depiction, and it's a journey that resonates even if you don't have an emotionally abusive, narcissistic mom.