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 Eli…