Memoirs for Aspiring Memoirists

read until you write

Last night I finished Arundhati Roy’s memoir, Mother Mary Comes to Me. It centers around her fraught relationship with her mother, who, despite her significant rage and cruelty toward her own kids, was able to found a prominent (and beautiful!) school in Kerala. I had been reading all about it, but was surprised at the speed with which I tore through it. Maybe I was expecting a heavier read, because reviews love to linger on her pain and misery, but it was told with a lightness, and such an impish sense of humor. I loved the passages about her days as a near-feral student of architecture, surviving on her wits and cigarettes. I also love to read about a woman who started writing in her 30s, after she had lived some life and had some things to say.

It got me thinking about the other memoirs I love. When I was on tour for my own, I was often asked what my favorite memoirs were, and I should have been better prepared to answer this question. Mary Karr, I often said. The Possessed, by Elif Batuman. Don’t Let’s go to the Dogs Tonight, by Alexandra Fuller. Laurie Colwin’s Home Cooking (does that count as memoir??). Martin Short’s memoir, which is a delight, and I mostly hate celebrity memoirs. Trevor Noah’s was great, and Demi Moore’s was devastating though!

I read piles and piles of memoir and essay—it’s my absolute favorite genre. But of the bajillions I’ve read and loved, there are a handful that I go back to again and again because they play with the form, or surprise me in specific ways. I want to have these titles on the tip of my tongue for the next time I ask:

Sounds Like Titanic by Jessica Chiccehitto Hindman: This book sounds like it must be a novel, but it is not. It’s the story of a young violinist who gets recruited into a chamber orchestra where she learns the conductor has them all fake-play to a recorded soundtrack. On tour. See, your brain is already trying to convince you this couldn’t possibly have happened, but it did. It’s one of the most incredible memoirs I have ever read in my life, and everyone who has read it agrees with me.

Another Word for Love by Carvell Wallace: It is a massive gripe of mine that the publishing industry is so fixated on memoirs of black and brown misery. “Where’s the pain?” asked one publisher during meetings for my own memoir. I was gobsmacked. To counterbalance this, I believe one of the most subversive things we can do is make people laugh, and to burst with love for humanity (see also: True Happiness Company by Veena Dinavahi). I read about Carvell’s boyhood and sought him out, and we are now friends. I can confidently say that reading this book is exactly like going for a long walk with him, which I also recommend.

Little Labors by Rivka Galchen. I’ll be honest, I don’t read many memoirs of motherhood. Maybe because I’m still somewhat in the thick of it, and the descriptions of the thick of it are not that interesting to me. I’d rather read about anything else. But this book is the only exception. If you have a baby, wait until they’re 2+ to read it, or it won’t hit the same.

Arbitrary Stupid Goal by Tamara Shopsin. I have enjoyed Shopsin’s the restuarant, and Tamara’s work, for as long as I’ve known of it. I can’t say I usually have a lot of patience for a New York story, I think they’re vastly over-represented (as is LA—sorry). But this one, about her relationship with her iconic father, charmed me all the way to the end. I burst into tears upon finishing, and I think about it all the time. I won’t ruin it for you.

OK, back to my reading. I have been in an absolute tizzy because all of my library holds came in at once and I’ve been chipping away at a teetering pile, on a ticking clock. The ticking clock is, of course, the due date. I don’t know why I adhere so strictly to deadlines that only I take seriously—the LA Public Library system auto-renews books a generous number of times—but perhaps I will investigate this in a future essay. For now, I’ve just (yesterday!) handed in edits on my second book—How to be Less Useful—which is tentatively scheduled to come your way in November. I can’t wait to share more news when I am able.

More soon. x