- Anfal Sheyx
- 2 hours ago
- 2 min read
Jeanette McCurdy, author of I’m Glad My Mom Died, finds a raw voice in Waldo, a high school senior who develops an obsession with her teacher, Mr Korgy.

Jeanette McCurdy hit the New York Times bestseller list for over 80 weeks with the publication of her book I’m Glad My Mom Died in 2022. A sharp homage to both her acting career and her relationship with her mother, who encouraged her fame. Confined by the plot of the story, McCurdy refines her sharp voice in Half His Age’s Waldo, exploring similar themes of generational trauma.
The Crush (1993), American Beauty (1999) Lolita (both the book and the 1997 film adaptation) all sexualise the idea of the American teenage girl, putting a stark spotlight on her without actually giving her a voice. These relationships depicted all throughout Hollywood are exploitative at ‘best’ and predatory at worst, yet they persist. The protagonists of these plots are men who push the story forward and claim to try their best to resist the wiles of the teen. What do these women represent? A lost youth? The American Dream? Most viewers will never know because these women’s voices are too limited to tell us.
Until now. Meet Jeanette McCurdy’s Waldo, a teenage girl who chases her teacher with the same rigour she compulsively buys clothes (‘add to cart. Add to cart. Add to cart’) or reheats the same microwave dinner night after night. McCurdy’s sharp authorship injects subjectivity into the previously paper-doll character of the teen lusted over by older men. Waldo’s compulsiveness is addictive to read: ‘Sephora, Zara, Victoria’s Secret, Shein, Shein, Shein’, starkly aware of the environmental impacts – ‘these polyester jeans’ – yet continuing anyway.
There’s a binge-worthy quality to McCurdy’s writing. Line after line of either witty remarks or mass consumption follows Waldo before she fixates on Mr Korgy. It is through these lines that the reader learns the harsh realities of Waldo’s life, from her absent parents to her resentment of her best friend, to her detachment from her own body. ‘I’ve spent the last two years plucking it, shaving it and managing it,’ Waldo reflects when a boy compliments her in the middle of sex.
Mr Korgy, instead, is written as a failed author, supposedly trapped in a marriage he didn’t want, with a child he wasn’t ready for. If Half His Age was written 30 years ago it would be in Mr Korgy’s point of view, and it would be a hit. Through Waldo’s perspective the reader gains subtle insight into their relationship, Mr Korgy widening Waldo’s worldview with his favourite directors, artists and musicians. ‘I understand it, it’s just not my thing,’ Waldo bites back.
Waldo’s inner monologue throughout the book is abrasive and honest, showing a stark amount of self-awareness about herself and her world. ‘People act like being poor is contagious,’ she thinks, showing Mr Korgy her home for the first time. And this is the joy of McCurdy’s latest book, balancing predictable dynamics overturned by her cynical narrator, finally giving a voice to the sexualised teenage girl and– as it turns out – that voice is bitterly sharp.

