I decided that I liked my year-end reading posts so much that I would try to do them at the end of every month, so I could write more deeply about some of the books that I loved.
Here’s the January list:
Cherry by Mary Karr
Autobiography of a Face by Lucy Grealy
Bad Monkey by Carl Hiassen
Truth and Beauty: A Friendship by Ann Patchett
Takedown Twenty by Janet Evanovich
I had to balance the three serious memoirs with some very light fiction. It seems like I didn’t read much this month, but I have several other books in-progress that should be finished within the next week. I’m also terribly addicted to Facebook on my phone during times I would otherwise be reading, such as right before bed. I can see right now that if I want to keep up last year’s reading pace, I’ll need to stop that.
Cherry is the sequel, of sorts, to Karr’s The Liar’s Club. It’s very different–for most of it, she uses the second-person “you” perspective, which I never quite got used to. I think it can be effective in small doses, but I didn’t really like it when it comprised most of the book. Despite the issues I had with the book, there were some great lines:
“The more real the threat of her absence became, the more I felt all the bolts and lug nuts of who I was loosen.” (about her mother’s inconsistent presence during that time in her life)
“I instinctively knew the rules laid down for girls’ comportment, but I wasn’t yet resigned to them, for to place my head into that yoke was to part with too much freedom.”
” . . . he provides escort, his gaze on you certifying your romantic and sexual worth (the only value girls seem to have in that time and place.” (about her first boyfriend)
Despite the great lines, between the second-person perspective and the drugs, it wasn’t my favorite book. I often have a problem with drug scenes in movies and books, and Carr did a lot of drugs during the time she describes in this memoir.
The second and third memoirs I read this month, Autobiography of a Face and Truth and Beauty, are related, although I wasn’t aware of the existence of Truth and Beauty when I started Autobiography, which has been sitting on my to-read stack for probably a year. It’s a classic memoir, on many reading lists, published in 1994. Lucy Grealy had bone cancer in her jaw when she was nine years old, which caused her to have to have several years of chemotherapy and radiation, and left her with part of her jaw missing before she started junior high school.
It is a beautiful memoir. I could so identify with the way she wrote about not fitting in, about the teasing, about the longing for a relationship. “If only I could get someone to have sex with me, it would mean that I was attractive, that someone could love me. . . .The longing for someone and the fear that there would never be anyone intermingled to the point where I couldn’t tell the difference.” I don’t feel that way now, but she described perfectly the way I felt in high school and college.
The end of the memoir is hopeful. She wrote: “There I was with my short skirts and sharp mind and list of lovers, trying so hard to convince myself that maybe all I really needed to do was learn how to treat myself better. I was on the verge of learning this, yet I was still so suspicious, so certain that only another’s love could prove my worth absolutely.”
Unfortunately, when I looked to see what Lucy Grealy was doing now, hoping that she had found love, or at least peace about not having it, I found that she died of an accidental heroin overdose in 2002. And then I found out that her friend, the writer Ann Patchett, had written a memoir about their friendship, which was Truth and Beauty. So I immediately reserved the book at my library and picked it up the next day. Lucy was such a compelling person, and Ann had chronicled their friendship so well that I gulped it down.
Ann Patchett thought that Lucy never got over her need, her obsession to be in a relationship. One of Lucy’s favorite questions, one friends and I have also asked, was “Will I ever have sex again?” Patchett has been criticized for her frank portrayal of how some women talk about sex–but I applaud her. I think she got it just right. Several years ago, the Red Ravine blog posted an in-depth discussion of the two books, so I won’t repeat it here, but I will quote that blog author when she wrote that “I came to the conclusion that writing memoir is the most courageous and risky kind of writing one can undertake.” I’m so glad that both authors had the courage to write these memoirs.
Finally, if you’ve never read Carl Hiassen and need a good laugh, try him! He is gifted in creating outlandish characters and then setting a scheme in motion that will have them all in the same place at the same time, interacting as only they can. I suppose he and Janet Evanovich have that in common, although Evanovich’s characters reappear from book to book, and Hiassen’s usually don’t. Takedown Twenty is one of the better of the higher-numbered Stephanie Plum novels. I think they were great in the beginning, but have been formulaic recently. This one was a day’s read for me, and worth it if you are a fan.