Memoirs

I'm not one for memoirs. I've read very few, though I have just cracked open Patti Smith's new one, Just Kids, which, so far, is an exquisitely written book. That said, I enjoyed Mary Karr's interview in the latest issue of the Paris Review. It marks the first installment of the journal's "The Art of Memoir," a complement to their long-running "The Art of Fiction" interviews.

On why she doesn't pray everyday, despite knowing it would make her a happier person:

I think it's because my big smart mind likes the idea that it's running the show, and any conscious contact with God plugs me into my own radical powerlessness.

And on the recent rise in memoir-writing:

In the forties, the memoir was akin to history, which was absolute. One reason for a surge in memoir is the gradual erosion of objective truth, which makes stuff like assembled dialogue seem more acceptable. We mistrust the old forms of authority—the church and politicians, even science. The subjective has power now.