On Memoirs


Andrew Wyeth, Christina's World
I've been thinking about memoirs.

May I be honest? I have a lot of problems with many of the memoirs written in the past few years, specifically the ones written by people in their twenties. With very few exceptions, I find them completely repulsive.

Perhaps, the difficulty comes from what I consider to be the purpose of memoirs in general. I don't consider memoirs as simply a regurgitation of stories or a life story. It should not be intended to force others to experience your misery or joy or pain or frustrations or success. It is not to attract pity. It is also not to simply recount your life thus far. Those aren't memoirs; those are memories.

The title memoirs, in my opinion, is reserved for something introspective, focused, and useful. I don't have to agree with it, but I need to know that the author has a conclusion, has some reason for writing beyond just wanting to share. The successful ones, the ones that impress me, are the ones with authors who simultaneously wrote for themselves and wrote for others. They're light on the pictures (we're talking really light), and heavy on the substance. They have a point--a lesson they've learned,  a concept that has been powerful, some message they are trying to get across--and use their experiences as examples. It's not just a list of moments, but rather an expression of how those series of moments were impactful and yielded a specific result. They're careful, willing to judge faults and successes on their own terms, but do not shy away from self-criticism or regret. They're honest. And, most obviously, they're public and intended for all to read.

There is also another issue that I struggle with, and it has to do with the authors themselves. Simply having a childhood, having parents, having a traumatic experience, having a joyous experience does not make a story worth telling. Is that harsh? Yeah, maybe--but I'm standing by it. The presence of these components alone does not make for an effective work, and simply because it happened does not make it worthy of my time and energy (and the irony of the history student saying this would be astounding, except that part of the historical profession is defending why the things we study actually matter). Those parts of an individual are certainly important for that individual, but not necessarily to the public at large.

In my experience as a reader, it has been very difficult to find a memoir written by a twenty something as successful. In the introduction or first chapter, there's almost always a section that talks about how they "don't have it figured out" or they're "still learning" and they're "no experts" and they just hope this will touch someone or can help someone as they try to figure it out, too. This begs the question: why am I reading this if the author doesn't even believe in their abilities? You don't get to be both an authority and inept. Pick one.

I find twenty-something memoirs tend to be either shockingly revealing, and usually tactless, or overwhelmingly vague and therefore they lose their power. It's like they either want to share everything--and I am of the opinion that there actually is such a thing as "too much information"--or nothing, probably because they are still maintaining relationships with the people they are writing about, therefore they fear of overstepping boundaries. A lack of experience, finesse, and time leaves the reader dissatisfied with the author's insight--and isn't that the point in the first place?

I'm not sure what it is about youth, and you could argue that's where my whole point falls apart. After all, people write bad memoirs at every age. Yet it seems that young adults are especially prone to the problem. Perhaps it has something to do with the kinds of people inclined to write them at that age. I'm inclined to think it's the fact that we, as a group, seem to think that every detail of our lives is valuable and valid, which leads to a lot of pointless discussion about everything from Tinder to how often someone washes their hair. It's infuriating, particularly when I just know that people have interesting and insightful stories to tell, and instead they offer a dissatisfying version. I know that young people CAN write successful memoirs; my assertion is that they almost never do.

It's not that I think young people shouldn't write. Please write. I write all the time. Here on my blog, in my journal, all over the place. I've read my ancestors journals and personal histories, and I love reading about their thoughts and experiences. My point is that there is a difference between writing on your own and publishing for others.

That may be a very elitist position. But frankly, my dear . . .

2 comments

  1. I don't know if I've read any memoirs, let alone memoirs by someone in their twenties. I'd like some examples of the types of people who write these memoirs.

    But I kept thinking about my blog and its comparison to what you're saying. What I write has a thesis of sorts: it's (mostly) a collection of moments that seek to make a statement about the human experience and what it is to be a part of it. I try to shy away from being didactic. But the situation that arises from posting your writing on a platform where it can and will be read by others is interesting. Before the internet, you and I may have written these things in our journals, but I don't think we would try to get them published in literary magazines, would we? There's a certain blurring between writing for yourself and writing for others that comes with the internet and social media. I like to think that I'm writing things that I feel, with the intent that other people will relate to them and get something out of them. Is that self-indulgent? Am I fooling myself, and just writing things that other people will like so that I will get some validation from a string of notifications? I don't know. It seems hard to tell the difference, both in my actions, and in my motivations.

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    1. Examples of the good or the bad? The best memoir I've ever read is Julie Andrews (clearly not a 20-something) or Coming Clean by Kimberly Ray Miler (who I think was 29 at the time she wrote hers about growing up in a home where her father was a hoarder). The thing is the bad ones tend to come from people who aren't writers. Celebrities, creatives, survivors, family of those who don't survive, people who do humanitarian work, ordinary people who had an extraordinary thing happen to them. I won't make a list, but I think that might be the problem: they have a story that was meaningful to them and they don't know quite how to make it meaningful to everyone else.

      As far as the comparison to blogging, it's something I've also thought about a lot. You're welcome to disagree with this, but I tend to think of blogging as a consistent work in progress. I contradict myself, I change (and just like a few weeks ago I point out when I may have erred). The format of a blog lends itself to change and correction, and books don't. I don't know how you handle blogging, but other than Facebook, I make no effort to promote my blog, because that's not why I'm writing (and judging from my pageviews, no one else is either) and I'm okay with that. Perhaps you're right, perhaps I am deluding myself. I willing to give more forgiveness for something that you don't make money on, than something that is marketed as an authority and something you're paid to do.

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