Sometimes you write what you know, even if you don’t know you’re writing it.
Let’s start at home. My mother has arrived this week for a visit, the first time she’s made a trip to see Wife and I since my father died.
As a result, there’s been a veritable beehive of activity at the Bookfraud household, most of which has consisted of cleaning the World’s Dirtiest, Nastiest Windows (step up and see ‘em — 25 cents a look!). Suffice it to say that it took a screwdriver to scrape out all the dirt underneath my fingernails.
In addition to the cleaning duties (another great excuse not to blog!) I’ve been wondering how, if somebody put an Uzi to my head, I would write such a homecoming. My father had made it up here only a couple of times, and none since Wife and I moved into our swinging apartment five years ago. As a setup for a story, the situation is rife with possibilities. Mostly bad ones.
Melodrama would be the easiest path to follow; however,instead of recriminations and over-the-top wailing like in a soap opera, I would probably would spin something about a writer complaining to his mother about the sorry state of his writing career, a mother who says how great the writer is, and don’t worry, etc. (Pitiful, in every sense of the word).
We are family
This gets to the Theme for my modest post, which is writers who mine their families’ for fodder. Writers who have taken their family members and based characters on them — or just written about them while they still trod the earth — are as common as rudeness or bedbugs.
Kathyrn Harrison’s “The Kiss” is par exemplar of such writing. It’s about her sexual affair with her father. You heard that right! She banged her father — when she was an adult! — and wrote a best-selling memoir about it.
The more I think about this, the more I want to take a shower in extremely hot water. Though I don’t know if Harrison’s father is still alive, she does have children, and the possibilities for playground taunting are as endless as they are cruel.
Why write such a book? I don’t know, except to say the taboo it addressed was sensational enough to sell enough books to fill two dozen U-Hauls.
The general defense of such exploitation is that honesty is the only manner in which art can be created, and if she slept with her father, she has every right — no, an obligation — to share it in print with the rest of the world.
Well, if you ever wanted an example of “failing the imagination,” that’s it. Or “writing what you know.” Or narcissism on the grandest scale.
You’ve probably gathered that I am loathe to chronicle family experiences as fodder for fiction. Unfortunately, I’m as guilty of it as anyone, though not consciously, and not to talk about my family’s deepest, darkest secrets, which, I promise you, do not include incest.
To wit, my unpublished novel. On the surface, the protagonist’s family has little to do with mine other than geography, religion, and the size of the family. The parents do different jobs, the children have wildly different grandparents, and the siblings are about as true to mine as wire-haired schnauzers are to pit bulls.
But that’s just on the surface. Upon closer reflection, the father resembles mine in some respects, in terms of temperment and speech, and the mother, if she does not look or behave like mine, at least shares some familiar interests and ideas about motherhood.
Major yuk
All this talk about Daddies and sex and such is so grossing me out, in fact, that I would rather clean the apartment than write any more about it, except to wonder: how the hell did I end up writing about this?
I guess I’ll be back to writing more than once a week. Before 2007.
Glad to see you writing here again. No matter the topic (kinda sorta…that daddy thing is gross).
Incest masquerading as art seems to be rampant these days–Mario Puzo’s “The Family” features a pair of incestuous siblings–but I’m not sure if it’s even shocking anymore. Or maybe I’m just really jaded. In any case, it seems like a lot of writers are trying to pass off tastelessness as groundbreaking art. But given the James Frey mess, I’m inclined to think that these kinds of memoirs are pure crap; if it had been marketed as fiction, I don’t think the book would’ve done as well. At best, it’s emotional exploitation, and that, for me, is good enough reason to take a pass on these kinds of books.
But if “The Corrections” or “The Godfather” is any indication, the public has a certain fascination with families, namely, dysfunctional families. Maybe someone would read “The Kiss” as a kind of reassurance that, hey, maybe their family isn’t so dysfunctional after all. I think the best family stories are the ones that actually say something about family, rather than merely recounting incest for cheap thrills. “The Godfather” says a lot about family, as does “The Corrections,” which is probably why they were so successful. “The Kiss” just sounds like a bad episode of “Jerry Springer.”
Sadly, it’s this kind of culture that makes books like “The Kiss” bestsellers.
“. . . the siblings are about as true to mine as wire-haired schnauzers are to pit bulls.”
Artful dodge.
Glad to see you writing here again. No matter the topic (kinda sorta…that daddy thing is gross).
Glad to see you writing here again. No matter the topic (kinda sorta…that daddy thing is gross).
Incest masquerading as art seems to be rampant these days–Mario Puzo’s “The Family” features a pair of incestuous siblings–but I’m not sure if it’s even shocking anymore. Or maybe I’m just really jaded. In any case, it seems like a lot of writers are trying to pass off tastelessness as groundbreaking art. But given the James Frey mess, I’m inclined to think that these kinds of memoirs are pure crap; if it had been marketed as fiction, I don’t think the book would’ve done as well. At best, it’s emotional exploitation, and that, for me, is good enough reason to take a pass on these kinds of books.
But if “The Corrections” or “The Godfather” is any indication, the public has a certain fascination with families, namely, dysfunctional families. Maybe someone would read “The Kiss” as a kind of reassurance that, hey, maybe their family isn’t so dysfunctional after all. I think the best family stories are the ones that actually say something about family, rather than merely recounting incest for cheap thrills. “The Godfather” says a lot about family, as does “The Corrections,” which is probably why they were so successful. “The Kiss” just sounds like a bad episode of “Jerry Springer.”
Sadly, it’s this kind of culture that makes books like “The Kiss” bestsellers.
Incest masquerading as art seems to be rampant these days–Mario Puzo’s “The Family” features a pair of incestuous siblings–but I’m not sure if it’s even shocking anymore. Or maybe I’m just really jaded. In any case, it seems like a lot of writers are trying to pass off tastelessness as groundbreaking art. But given the James Frey mess, I’m inclined to think that these kinds of memoirs are pure crap; if it had been marketed as fiction, I don’t think the book would’ve done as well. At best, it’s emotional exploitation, and that, for me, is good enough reason to take a pass on these kinds of books.
But if “The Corrections” or “The Godfather” is any indication, the public has a certain fascination with families, namely, dysfunctional families. Maybe someone would read “The Kiss” as a kind of reassurance that, hey, maybe their family isn’t so dysfunctional after all. I think the best family stories are the ones that actually say something about family, rather than merely recounting incest for cheap thrills. “The Godfather” says a lot about family, as does “The Corrections,” which is probably why they were so successful. “The Kiss” just sounds like a bad episode of “Jerry Springer.”
Sadly, it’s this kind of culture that makes books like “The Kiss” bestsellers.
i’m not a huge fan of memoirs, but i will read them once in a while. some memoirs sell because of the particular subject. some memoirs sell because they’re written well.
besides the “ick” factor, “the kiss” was a decent read. would “the kiss” have sold so many copies if it had been marketed as a novel? probably not.
“. . . the siblings are about as true to mine as wire-haired schnauzers are to pit bulls.”
Artful dodge.
“. . . the siblings are about as true to mine as wire-haired schnauzers are to pit bulls.”
Artful dodge.
I’m constantly complaining to my mother that if she had only beaten me more on a regular basis, I would be a bestselling author by now. Once, she did “wash my mouth out with soap” for saying the “F” word, but that would only make a good novella.
I think books like “The Kiss” are the sort that we read, not only for the guilty titillation of “ew, nasty! Did they REALLY? Ew!”, but also because compared to that, I am downright ordinary and very nearly normal, and then feel no desire to whine about the people in my family.
At least for a moment.
i’m not a huge fan of memoirs, but i will read them once in a while. some memoirs sell because of the particular subject. some memoirs sell because they’re written well.
besides the “ick” factor, “the kiss” was a decent read. would “the kiss” have sold so many copies if it had been marketed as a novel? probably not.
i’m not a huge fan of memoirs, but i will read them once in a while. some memoirs sell because of the particular subject. some memoirs sell because they’re written well.
besides the “ick” factor, “the kiss” was a decent read. would “the kiss” have sold so many copies if it had been marketed as a novel? probably not.
I’m constantly complaining to my mother that if she had only beaten me more on a regular basis, I would be a bestselling author by now. Once, she did “wash my mouth out with soap” for saying the “F” word, but that would only make a good novella.
I’m constantly complaining to my mother that if she had only beaten me more on a regular basis, I would be a bestselling author by now. Once, she did “wash my mouth out with soap” for saying the “F” word, but that would only make a good novella.
I think books like “The Kiss” are the sort that we read, not only for the guilty titillation of “ew, nasty! Did they REALLY? Ew!”, but also because compared to that, I am downright ordinary and very nearly normal, and then feel no desire to whine about the people in my family.
At least for a moment.
I think books like “The Kiss” are the sort that we read, not only for the guilty titillation of “ew, nasty! Did they REALLY? Ew!”, but also because compared to that, I am downright ordinary and very nearly normal, and then feel no desire to whine about the people in my family.
At least for a moment.
You’re not making me think happy thoughts about the memoir I’m writing, bookfraud.
But I’m writing about my pagan alcoholic lesbian ex-girfriend instead of my family.
Maybe I stand a chance if the writing doesn’t suck.
fringes: it is good to be back, even if it’s, like, once a month.
brandon: you are correct; if “the kiss” was a novel, a publisher would have seen it and said, “ew, gross,” but since it was a memoir, it was simply titilating.
br.: i’m always looking for the easy way out.
le: “the kiss” would have sold about 23 copies if it hadn’t been a memoir. word.
neil: i have the fullest faith in you to turn the most mundane moments into art.
madame d.: you hit upon something. nobody wants to read a memoir that is simply insightful and well-written unless it’s got something gnarly in it.
michele: feel good about your own memoir, especially if it’s not about you.
You’re not making me think happy thoughts about the memoir I’m writing, bookfraud.
But I’m writing about my pagan alcoholic lesbian ex-girfriend instead of my family.
Maybe I stand a chance if the writing doesn’t suck.
You’re not making me think happy thoughts about the memoir I’m writing, bookfraud.
But I’m writing about my pagan alcoholic lesbian ex-girfriend instead of my family.
Maybe I stand a chance if the writing doesn’t suck.
fringes: it is good to be back, even if it’s, like, once a month.
brandon: you are correct; if “the kiss” was a novel, a publisher would have seen it and said, “ew, gross,” but since it was a memoir, it was simply titilating.
br.: i’m always looking for the easy way out.
fringes: it is good to be back, even if it’s, like, once a month.
brandon: you are correct; if “the kiss” was a novel, a publisher would have seen it and said, “ew, gross,” but since it was a memoir, it was simply titilating.
br.: i’m always looking for the easy way out.
le: “the kiss” would have sold about 23 copies if it hadn’t been a memoir. word.
neil: i have the fullest faith in you to turn the most mundane moments into art.
madame d.: you hit upon something. nobody wants to read a memoir that is simply insightful and well-written unless it’s got something gnarly in it.
michele: feel good about your own memoir, especially if it’s not about you.
le: “the kiss” would have sold about 23 copies if it hadn’t been a memoir. word.
neil: i have the fullest faith in you to turn the most mundane moments into art.
madame d.: you hit upon something. nobody wants to read a memoir that is simply insightful and well-written unless it’s got something gnarly in it.
michele: feel good about your own memoir, especially if it’s not about you.