Lit: A Memoir by Mary Karr
My rating: 2 of 5 stars
Note to self: stop reading memoirs about people who simply survived something (horrible parents, poverty, being "different").
I know this is heresy, because Lit is appearing on so many Best Lists, but "meh". Yes, Karr's childhood was difficult - her parents were not what we would consider to be good parents, and she had things to overcome on her way to being an adult, a writer, a whole person. But beyond that? "meh"
Here's one of my problems with the book. I love writing that sounds good, words that just feel good to read. A.S. Byatt... Julian Barnes... Robertson Davies... P.D. James... they all have that ability. Karr? She's enamored with words, to be sure. But I, the reader, shouldn't notice that. I should be so engrossed in the story that the technique and the love of words doesn't hit me over the head, I should just feel wrapped up in them. And unfortunately, after reading this, my head hurts.
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