I am pondering who we are and want to be in memoir.
Maybe we have no choice. But writing takes time and revision and so, in fact, we always do.
Reading Joan Didion’s BLUE NIGHTS made me sad: for her daughter, of course, but also for Didion herself, who has not entered old age with resilience or wisdom. She’s frail, she tells us again and again. But she’s also Joan Didion and a killer writer still, though she relies more than may be wise on the repetition of key phrases. All through the book——a book about her daughter’s death——I kept wondering, what happened? What several things (for there seem to have been several things) went wrong? Didion will not go there so you need to look back at THE YEAR OF MAGICAL THINKING to hear more.
I found Francisco Goldman’s SAY HER NAME wonderful and gripping. It sent me on this memoir binge. Roland Barthes’ MOURNING DIARY kept me there since I had recently lost a mother and a brother too.
So I have been doing my own writing, hoping to do it in way that feels true to me and speaks to others. I am processing my new book: THE CLASSICS AT A TIME OF WAR. It’s a sequel to my earlier memoir about growing up in-between Italian and Jewish American cultures in New York. It’s also a meditation on why we read classic books at times of loss and how they speak to us at this time of ongoing wartime.
I’ll say more from time to on mariannatorgovnick.tumblr.com.