Unreliable Memoirs by Clive James

"The star lolly, outstripping even the Violet Crumble Bar and the Fantail in popularity, was undoubtedly the Jaffa."

It has taken me forever to write the review of this book and I think that's due to the fact that its a bit of a time capsule. In many ways it reminds me of stories my Dad often tells (he was born a year before, so rather the same vintage) and they are problematic to me in many ways. They reflect that old fashioned view of women that divides us into attractive or easy or invisible. The gang bang episode was particularly unexpected and deeply saddening. It pretty much tainted the book for me. Perhaps its root cause is young boys in single sex schools, I'm grateful I went to a coed school, because it taught me that men are just as messed up as women, rather than having to learn that later in life.

I used to always love Clive on television, the rich timbre of his voice and his amusing chuckles to himself. The writing is as well realised and vivid as you would expect. It is weird that just one anecdote in a larger story could so wholeheartedly turn me off, but this did. As self deprecatory as James is throughout the memoir, there's this sense that women are even lower in his estimation, an object to conquer with a sad, unsatisfactory thrust.

Clearly this is a beloved classic, but I'm not convinced. Different times I guess.

3 out of 5 - disappointing.