Talking About Memoirs

 I have read four books by Jill Ciment--"Consent," "Heroic Measures," "The Body in Question," and "Half a Life"--and each has been perfect. It's like she is incapable of making an error. And yet her name is sort of obscure.

A memoir tends to have two storylines--one in the present, one in the past. An upsetting event in the present requires the writer to relitigate events from the past. "Half a Life" isn't exactly in this tradition, but it's close enough. A woman has been estranged from her father; she is forced to resume "the conversation" when the father discloses that he is reaching the end of his life. And so various memories bubble up.

There are a few things that make Ciment's opening so effective. First, the setup is bizarre. A woman is preparing to mock an odd TV personality--when she discovers that the TV guy is her own father. Second, Ciment thinks about physical details. Hilary Mantel says, when you're trying to invent a character, you must imagine how he enters a room and sits in a chair. Ciment knows this--by instinct. So--on page one--the narrator is "blinking, perched on the edge of the sofa." Third, Ciment is lyrical without trying too hard. "My father has always looked, to me at least, like a child's drawing of an adult--a gigantic balloon tethered to the world by spindly sticks." Form matches content; spiritually, Dad has "one foot out the door," and so it makes sense that his connection to the Earth is just a little "spindly stick."

Writing like this makes a kind of promise--the middle and end of this story will also be startling. And Ciment keeps her promise. Great memoir.