This is a weird and even unsettling book. For a book critic as erudite and thoughtful as Michael Dirda to be so obsessed with girls' bodies is sad, or worse. That's the big theme that came through for me in this memoir of his childhood through college graduation: basically, from the time of about age 11 he spent all his time staring at girls' breasts or thinking about girls in books and magazines. And when he finally got his hands on them in as a high school senior, he felt he had sort of achieved his Everest, and he went back to his books. Creepy.
I have a feeling he'd write this book differently today after the Me-Too era has come into being.
Maybe he'd stick to his guns about girls with round faces and black hair, full-breasted girls or girls well-developed as 9th graders. Or retailing his friend's adage to never judge a girl seen in the dark, from behind or from a distance. I guess he feels it's important to be honest and that there's empowerment for all in his honesty.
But I have a feeling he'd rethink the book. This isn't to say he was cruel to girls or women, or that he has anything to be ashamed of. But I found his one-sided view of women very off-putting, and I realized about 3/4th of the way through that there didn't seem to be a woman teacher or mentor who had any intellectual influence on him, either. I guess he's a product of his time and place --- men did certain things (work & think), and women did other things (clean, cook, provide physical arousal or comfort).
So about that time and place: 1950s working-class Ohio. Not the other side of the tracks, but not the right side of them either. A lonely existence as an intellectual kid in a tough school. And on top of that, the son of a man who worked in a steel fabrication plant and hated every day of it. Dirda's descriptions of his father and mother are poignant -- difficult and angry father, timid mother -- and his description of NE Ohio in the 1950s rings very true. He says at the end of the book that he doesn't consider his childhood to be happy because he wasn't comfortable with his father nor with his peers, but that looking back he realizes he got a lot of good things out of a tough, outsider life. That's a pretty good summary of how a lot of us feel.
Honestly, I didn't get much out of Dirda's thumbnail descriptions of what he read and what it meant to him, even though that would seemingly be the point of the book. Through his teen years, much of the reading he describes is adventure and sci-fi and other middlebrow junk that I didn't read as a kid and wouldn't read today. Where he found adventure, I found a boring lack of reality.
Then he starts peppering in at about age 12 serious literature and the popular novels of the day (James Michener, etc.), his descriptions are not helpful unless you are well-versed in those books yourself. For many, you'd need to be a really sophisticated reader to have ever engaged with them. For the handful that I know, his references are good enough, but they just make me wish he'd spent more time on them and less on the distractions of his youth.
Was it a good life for Dirda? Yes. Did he accomplish a lot? An amazing amount. Is he honest in this book? Very much so, especially about his girl obsessions, how he could get lost for hours in reading, and how he was a stuffy and pretentious kid for much of his youth. But will this book stick with me in any way? No.