Chekhov’s Mistess

The Catharsis of Memoir

In today’s NY Times, William Grimes poses the question “We All Have a Life. Must We All Write About It?” by cataloging some recent memoirs, particularly a few of the more provocative titles like “Callgirl: Confessions of an Ivy League Lady of Pleasure” and “One Hundred Strokes of the Brush Before Bed.”

Grimes regards the trend of memoir writing with faint amusement by developing a taxonomy of memoirs (not hard to do) and touching on the extremes of the genre where no one seems to be too young or to ordinary to write about themselves. Aside from the point he seems to be making, Grimes touches on an important part of memoir writing…

“Their efforts may be as fundamental as breathing. John Eakin, an emeritus professor of English at Indiana University, has argued that human beings continuously engage in a process of self-creation and self-discovery by constructing autobiographical narratives. In a sense, we are the stories – multiple, shifting and constantly evolving – that we weave about ourselves, and this storytelling urge may even be hard-wired.


In a recent essay in the journal Narrative, Mr. Eakin cites the case of a patient of Oliver Sacks’s who suffered from severe memory loss. Most of his waking moments were spent reinventing himself, constructing one story after another, as the previous one faded from memory, setting off existential panic. No story, no identity. Everyone is writing a memoir, all the time.”

The idea that we all need to talk or write about ourselves, that by reconstructing and deconstructing our lives we strive toward understanding is a fundamental truth of writing. And that answers his question; yes, we should write about our lives. But shouldn’t it remain at that? Shouldn’t our writing be confined to our notebooks (or a blog, perhaps)?

I think what Grimes was getting at, but didn’t really address is how do these memoirs get published? That’s really the question. I can see that a handful of titillating or topical books might get by, or someone who has already had fame might write something that is pointless to all but a few diehard fans, but how did we get to the point that anyone who has done anything can get a publisher to kill trees for them?

And of course, we all know the answer to that question too. Like SPAM, as long as there are enough suckers out there to click through, there will be spurious or lame attempts to sell them something. That’s obvious, so the real question has to be whether or not the publishing of those books crowds out good writing and serious attempts at literature, even memoir writing?

The oft quoted statistic of 175,000 books being published in the U.S. last year might lead us to believe that there is crowding out, but that number is less than 1/10th of one percent of the literate population, meaning just that even a grossly high number of new books coming to market (assuming a relatively low print run for a majority of those) is still pretty small relative to all the people in this country that can read. The fact is, literati folks will read the good stuff and those just looking for an easy to read book on the train or toilet might dish out $25 bucks to read about a guy’s job hurling fish or a mother’s battle with depression, or a girl’s challenges growing up fat or…

But at the same time, the flood of dullness might be crowding out the other side of the equation, the writing, where aiming low is the finest aspiration one need muster to get published. Writers need not try too hard, they just need to have a salable story, a high profile job or just know someone in the biz. Evidence? Just take a look at the Guardian’s little brouhaha over their honest assessment of the lamely tame submissions they received for “New Writing:”

“Our disappointment wasn’t at domestic subjects, which are so often the basis of brilliance in writing, but with the lack of risk-taking in the writing itself, especially the unsolicited submissions. We found it hard to understand why writers with nothing to lose but time and the cost of postage were so unadventurous.”

That, I think is the real tragedy of which the plethora of memoirs is indicative.

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About this Post

• Posted by: Bud Parr
• Date: March 25, 2005
• Filed Under:
  Wise Men Fish Here: Literature

• Comments:0
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