Child X by Jamie Mustard * * *
This book is Jamie Mustard’s memoir about being born into Scientology and eventually leaving the movement at nineteen. I ended up feeling quite ambivalent about it, because there were parts I genuinely loved, and parts that I found frustrating.
One of the strongest aspects of the book is just how intelligent it feels. Mustard constantly references history, literature, films, music, philosophy, and cultural events. The narration itself is also extremely sharp. His use of language is thoughtful and deliberate, and there is a real sense that this is somebody who thinks deeply about everything around him. Even ordinary moments are layered with associations and historical context. A bridge is never just a bridge. A city is never just a city. Everything connects to something larger.
At the same time, that became one of the book’s biggest weaknesses for me.
The structure is incredibly loose. This is very much a stream of consciousness memoir rather than a traditionally organised one, and especially in audiobook form, it could become genuinely difficult to follow. One moment we are in Jamie’s childhood, then suddenly we are deep in the history of one of his ancestors, then we jump into a cultural reference or a film discussion, then back again into Scientology. It creates a kind of narrative whiplash. Not random exactly, because there is thematic logic underneath it, but often hard to track mentally.
And honestly, I think the family history sections would have worked much better if they had been given their own dedicated section at the beginning of the book. Because those parts are fascinating. His larger point is actually very powerful. He traces how his family rose from slavery through education, perseverance, talent, luck, and the help of others, only for him to feel that Scientology pulled him back into another form of slavery entirely. That thematic connection is strong. It absolutely works conceptually. I just think the execution made the reading experience more confusing than it needed to be.
The same applies to many of the references scattered throughout the memoir. They are often interesting in isolation, but they are introduced so quickly that they rarely have enough weight to truly stay with the reader. He might briefly mention the history of a place they pass through, or reference a piece of music or a film that influenced him, but because the book moves so rapidly between ideas, many of these details end up feeling transient. You hear them, appreciate them for a second, and then they vanish before your brain has really attached meaning to them.
That said, the core of the memoir, Jamie’s own life inside Scientology, is genuinely compelling. I have read several memoirs by former Scientologists, including accounts by people born into the movement, and what stood out to me here was how different individual experiences can be. His story reminded me somewhat of Leah Remini at times, particularly in the atmosphere and instability of certain periods of his life, though their paths through Scientology were obviously not identical.
One thing I found especially interesting was his relationship with language. He deliberately avoids using Scientology terminology whenever possible. Instead of adopting Hubbard’s specialised vocabulary, he strips things down into plain language. And I completely understood why. Scientology language functions almost like coded speech. Words inside the movement often carry meanings that outsiders do not immediately understand, and learning those definitions is itself part of the indoctrination process. By refusing that vocabulary, he creates distance from it. There is something quietly defiant about that choice.
Ironically, though, there were also moments where his own wording became confusing. He repeatedly uses the word “illiterate,” but not always in the way most readers would immediately interpret it. He often means difficulty with written expression rather than an inability to read altogether. At times I had to mentally recalibrate what he meant.
I also listened to this as an audiobook, narrated by the author himself, and I eventually sped it up to 1.3x speed because he reads extraordinarily slowly. I normally listen to audiobooks at standard speed, so that really stood out to me.
Overall, I did enjoy this memoir, despite my frustrations with it. I think readers who enjoy unconventional, reflective memoirs full of cultural references and philosophical tangents will probably get much more out of the structure than I did. Personally, I would have preferred a tighter focus on Jamie’s own experiences and a clearer narrative organisation.
Still, as an account of what it feels like to be born into Scientology and shaped by it from childhood, it is unflinching, intelligent, and often deeply sad. More than anything, it is a book about identity, inheritance, and the terrifying ease with which a system can sever someone from their own history.
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