Small Fry

Small Fry, by Lisa Brennan-Jobs, was named one of the New York Times Best Ten Books Of The Year, and after reading it I'm surprised. It's very well written, but it's a memoir of someone who is notable only for being the daughter of Steve Jobs, founder of Apple computers. Her life, frankly, isn't that interesting.

Brennan-Jobs was the product of a youthful relationship between her mother and Jobs, and while she was a small child he denied his parentage. Eventually he accepted paternity, and was a presence in her life (the Aaron Sorkin film about Jobs suggests otherwise). In fact, she lived with him during her high school years. The basic thread of the book is her desperately wanting his love and attention, but he is such an asshole that she finally breaks free from his emotional blackmail.

When she is talking about her father the book is interesting. According to her, he has few redeeming qualities. There is anecdote after anecdote about his casual cruelty, such as when he blurts out things like, "You have no marketable skills," or when she wants to do extracurricular things, like join the debate team, he makes her feel guilty about missing time from the family, and saying, "You're being very selfish," and telling her if she wants to be "part of the family" she will accede his wishes. Brennan-Jobs notes that it is highly ironic that a man who kept himself absent from her younger years would make such a statement, but it still wounds her.

She writes about his house, which is largely devoid of furniture, and where there are rooms that even he hasn't been in. We don't get much of a glimpse into his genius, but we do see the eccentricities. He has a lot of money, but he's very frugal, such as not fixing a dishwasher. At one point he gives her one of his NeXT computers, but when it doesn't work it disappears and is never replaced.

The stuff about her school life and her mother is less interesting, as it is far more familiar. We get a lot of quotidian details about her life and they aren't much different than most kids. When I read memoirs about the lives of people before they are ten years old, and there are sharp details and quoted dialogue, I am suspicious. I can't remember much of anything before then, and unless she kept a diary from about five on, I have trouble believing the accuracy of any of it.

But Brennan-Jobs is a good writer. She has a way with metaphor and makes lovely descriptions, such as how New York City smells: "At first, New York City smelled of yeast. Warm pretzels, exhaust, steam." If she were to write fiction or about anything else, I'd be interested to read it. But one grows tired of her being emotionally abused by Jobs. The entire book can be summed up in this passage: "I see now that we were at cross-purposes. For him, I was a blot on a spectacular ascent, as our story did not fit with the narrative of greatness and virtue he might have wanted for himself. My existence ruined his streak. For me, it was the opposite: the closer I was to him, the less I would feel ashamed; he was part of the world, and he would accelerate me into the light."