The Art of Memoir

The Art of Memoir by Mary Karr      2015 Harper Collins

the Choice: somehow I got involved in an online memoir book club for writers. This 'instruction manual' was our first book to read

the reader in me: Mary Karr has written several memoirs and her casual tone in this book is inspiring and interesting. She makes some great points about truth and finding your voice, being ready to bare all, and using description to draw your reader in. I'd never thought to pick up a book on writing memoir before. But have tried a book on writing non-fiction with various exercises throughout. Art of Memoir does not give endless exercises; instead throws out lots of advice and unexpected issues requiring thought. She uses examples from her own memoir as well as drawing from many other memoirs. Reading about all the different memoirs out there certainly piqued my curiosity and I have created a list of ones I hope to read next.

the critic in me: I got a hardcover copy of this book through Chapters for $7 (no shipping fee). This book just came out a couple years ago, yet that price makes me wonder if there are boxes and boxes of excess copies out there. But I think it was pretty useful. Now, the reaction of the others in the book club is undetermined. So far it seems that only myself and the leader of the group have finished the book. I am that kind of keener. I also tried the first part of the book on audiotape and enjoyed Mary's reading voice - so down-to-earth and encouraging.

the writer in me: I love to tell people how they should be doing something... so maybe I will take this opportunity to create a list of steps for writing memoir. Or I could use a suggestion from the book when one has writer's block - write a long-hand letter to one of my complicated characters. Reading Mary Karr's book made me realize I do not have a 'life' worthy of a whole book - I haven't had the ups and downs to create much of a story to tell. No sexual abuse, poverty or international moments of landing on the moon. But I will continue to write the little snippets I call creative non-fiction.

this book inspired me:            
 Dear Nonnie,

         I am trying to remember all the little bits of news I used to include in letters to you back in my teens. I was probably one of the few teenagers who liked writing letters. And it just seemed natural to send a letter once in a while to a grandmother who lived 3 hours away in Trenton, ON. I don’t remember how often we got to visit you. When you lived in that huge house on Dundas I know we usually came for Christmas and Easter, then for a bit in the summer too. Once you moved to the 2-bedroom apartment we came less often. But by then I was older and I came and visited on my own – just because. Remember the time I got a drive to Trenton from my boyfriend who lived a few miles away in Brighton? I married him.

         You were always very stubborn, but in a way, that showed you cared. When I was off to the beach in Presqu'ile with Steve for the day, you insisted that I take a sweater in case I got cold. At first, I complained because it was like 25 degrees that day. But in the end, I smiled and said it was a good idea. The sweater was thrown in the back seat, unneeded, of course.

         You weren’t the type of grandmother that baked cookies, or suggested we play cards together. If I was reading a book or watching a TV show, you never asked me about it in an attempt to show you were interested in what was going on in my life. My mom didn’t try to do that either. We were all pretty private, I guess.

         You loved to watch out the window, sitting in a comfy chair, finding entertainment in the people that passed. You were often judgemental and paranoid. You were sure that Edna was driving past the house and refusing to drop in for a chat. On purpose to annoy you. You were sure that Eileen was planning to someday make a surprise visit, her sole purpose to demand the return of Ma’s vase. We were even told that if we happened to see Eileen at the front door, we had to hide your mother’s green vase (with the gold designs) behind the TV before the door was opened. I think we even practiced. It was the only thing you had that belonged to your mother. It should never belong to the daughter-in-law who had already gotten everything else.

         I will remember the proud look you wore on your face at all times. Your skin, soft and the light from that window highlighting your cheekbones. It cast a sense of comfortable introspection, and just enough of a satisfied glint from your eyeglasses. Did your face show that same calm resolve when your grandson was around?

I often wish I could ask you about that last time Chuck was there. Chuck was so different from us, your normal granddaughters. Cousin Chuck was older but never seemed right. I remember hearing that you often took care of him when he was little, and later he was diagnosed with schizophrenia and couldn’t hold a job so often moved around, staying at shelters. He sometimes showed up at our front door in Ottawa asking for help. Mom offered a meal and then sent him on his way. But, Nonnie, I know he sometimes stayed at your place. You always gave him a bed and often he left the next day with something secreted under his coat he hoped to pawn. At least that was what I imagined. So, I heard Chuck was visiting the day before you were found. You died of a heart attack and it was easy to believe that he….

Did he threaten you? Was he paranoid and fighting with silent daemons? Were you afraid? Was he there when you slumped over in your chair and ceased to breathe? Or was it just a normal visit where you sighed with relief when he put on his borrowed coat and left the apartment to try his luck in some other downtown alleyway. 

Love you as always,

your little Dittie