Jennette McCurdy makes the transition from screenwriter to memoirist quite well. Her choice of life events does an excellent job of taking something she probably considered mundane at the time that actually epitomized the abuse she was subjected to on a daily basis. She is frank, unapologetic, and nonjudgmental in her account; she isn’t whining or begging for sympathy. Most impressive to me is how her narrative voices ages with herself throughout the book (although, early on it sometimes feels like a child with the insight of a 30 year old), matching the outlook she had on life at that time. For example, her narrative voice is optimistic and eager to please, but in her 20s is jaded and desperate. McCurdy has an insight that allows her as a star to still be relatable. I was impressed by her skill. 

 

Still, this is a memoir of a child actor. I’ve read very few memoirs and could care less about inside Hollywood type stories; neither are really my thing. Still, I enjoyed this book, not just because I was able to relate to Jennette, but her presentation is solid enough to where it wouldn’t matter what the book was about. She’s a good writer.