In the meantime I've picked up Ann Patchett's Truth and Beauty: A Friendship, a memoir about her friendship with fellow poet and writer Lucy Grealy. We read Grealy's memoir Autobiography of a Face in our Writing the Body course so I feel like I already know Ann and Lucy, like I'm on a first-name basis with them. We also watched an interview with Lucy on the Charlie Rose Show in class (rather strange, actually...we were all pretty appalled at the way he dominated the conversation and asked irrelevant questions) and I've since watched Ann on The Colbert Report (thanks to a friend sharing it on Facebook). I've also started following her blog, which details the progress of her independent bookstore in Nashville, Tennessee, Parnassus Books and gives her very own book recommendations. It's funny how after you've seen or heard an author you feel like you know them personally, and even more so when you read their memoirs, although Lucy was known for recreating the truths in her autobiography, taking hold of the 'real' events and making them her own.
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| Here's a priceless picture I found of Lucy and Ann - courtesy of Books on the Brain |
Another way our marriage relates to their relationship is in their differences of comfort in 'squalor:' "Unlike Lucy, I could never give myself so completely over to my art that I would not notice the half-eaten plate of spaghetti in the middle of the living room floor. After a few early discussions it was agreed that my standard of acceptable cleanliness was something she would never be able to comprehend and I was unable to live at the level of squalor in which she seemed comfortable...The compromise was that I would do all the cleaning and cooking and that neither of us would complain about it..." (23-4). Now I will say that I don't do all the cleaning and cooking (quite the contrary since my husband actually cooks most of the time due to my weird schedule) but we can definitely relate to their differences in 'levels of squalor.' The level of trash might have reached my comfortability days before my husband, so I laughed out loud at Ann's commentary of this aspect of their relationship. I'm sure many couples, roommates, and friends can relate to this!
Finally, I was able to relate on a personal level to Ann's assertion that "The process of putting the thing you value most in the world [writing] out for the assessment of strangers is a confidence-shaking business even in the best of times" (63). I feel this every time I turn in a paper, read poetry or essays aloud in class, or even post on my blog. Even though I know I have a limited number of readers, there's a drop in my stomach every time I click the "Publish Post" button, sending my thoughts out to be judged and critiqued by others. Fellow bloggers and writers might either agree or find this silly, but I think it's the 'curse' of sharing the private and personal with the public. But then again, I'm grateful that Ann and Lucy shared their valued personal work with total strangers, like myself.
This is such a beautiful post! These stories made me think of my old roommate and good friend Nichelle. We didn't toss around paper ideas as much, but we always shared with each other what we were learning expounding on both sides on the ideas.
ReplyDeleteAlso, I was always so much more cluttery than her. She said there were little piles of Lindsey all around the apartment (including the phantom bra, as she called it, that I'd leave in the living room after taking it off late in the night working on a paper on my couch and forgetting to retrieve it when I finally crawled into bed). Though both of us were pretty much the same when it came to dishes. We found a dishwasher necessary because we were both SO busy we couldn't ever get around to washing dishes during the week without it.
I, too, feel that "drop in my stomach" at the click of the mouse or handing over an essay or short that has become like a small infant. This was a fun read. I always feel as if I am connecting with you each time I read a post or essay by you!
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