My low review is only really because I read this when I was younger (10ish) and don't remember much of the things I like to judge my books on- effectiveness of prose, etcetera etcetera.
However, this isn't a children's book. I'm not even sure if it's an older children's book. It needs an understanding to understand. That sounds very redundant, actually. I consider myself as having an understanding of books now- of the way irony works, to name one prominent factor. Little 10-year-old me did not. As such, several ideas that are kind of crucial to knowing what's going on flew over my innocent little head- ideas such as the book being set in the 50s, marital affairs, and the whole thing that Nancy doesn't actually know a lot of what she talks about. Actually, I took everything Nancy said as sage words from a fictional child much wiser than I- and assumed, among some other things, that people really do make love to each other in hotel cupboards. I suppose in hindsight I could give this book a higher rating; if it can spawn such weird confusion in my youth that I genuinely believed in, it probably holds some weight as influential text, and Nancy is probably pretty believable as a narrator if she could get a reader of the same age to consider buying 'the facts of life' from her despite the significant metaphysical divide. It also taught me at a tender age the meaning of the word 'slut'. Such was the newfound linguistic power vested in my infant self. All because I was good at reading, so my mum got some hand-me-down books from my teenage cousins to satiate my skill. Often when I look in the mirror and self-reflect, I contemplate on whether this was a wise move or not. I mean, on one hand, I knew lots of crazy words my peers didn't. On the other hand, I had the potential to commence devastating vituperation upon any single one of my fellow young girls, and it wasn't as if my understanding of its framing and context in the book would stop me, because, uh, I didn't have it. Ticking time-bomb misogyny, oh my!
In conclusion: my whole personhood is evidence that this book isn't really for impressionable kids. I don't think it's a bad book, though. I'm tempted to get another copy and revisit it now. Also, the cover is very pretty, and it'd look nice on my shelf.