An American Childhood

At which point in your memoir does common decency require you hint that your awesomeness–or at least the opportunity to cultivate it–might be a product of your WASPy, very upperclass childhood? I ask because I stopped reading Annie Dillard’s An American Childhood at page 120 in a stew of class resentment. If there’s a turnaround, I needed to know because I was killed by smug.

April 2011