It doesn't take a long look over my posts to learn that I have quite an affinity for the memoir. I am a sucker for a finely crafted story, especially one's own. There is something so vulnerable, pure and admirable about a writer's ability to pull oneself just far enough from life's shit in order to tell their own story objectively; and at the same time, it is necessary to stay wholly immersed in the shit in order to tell one's own story truthfully and successfully.
This is hands down, one of the best memoirs I've read in years. They say in writing classes that the best fiction reads like nonfiction and the best nonfiction reads a whole lot like fiction. This is a book that should be waved around as an example in each class where the professor preaches this gospel. It's astonishing, unbelievable, and utterly hilarious. The last book I read with this intensity was Grisham mystery. I couldn't put it down. And allow me to remind you, it's a memoir.
Her story is likely something that you will not on any level relate to, but yet somehow it is still just utterly gripping. Walls grows up in a situation you wouldn't wish on anyone, especially a child, but her authoritative voice, witticisms and gentle detachment are just plain astonishing, all encompassing, and somehow at the same time tragic and side splittingly funny.
I am out of adjectives. Read it.
No comments:
Post a Comment