THE GLASS CASTLE

I just finished Jeannette Wall's memoir "The Glass Castle" and am so underwhelmed! It's comparable, not in writing style but in shock value, to "Running with Scissors." I don't even really remember what happened anymore, except one bad thing after another; it's like a story where you feel a lot of sympathy but not empathy because you can't relate and because Walls never knows who the protagonists are (it's also okay to have antagonists, too! Also, it's okay to blur the lines! Really!). Is it her sugar (not a euphemism)/excitement/artist addicted mom? The brilliant/alcoholic/scheming/gambling father? Is it Jeannette herself? (No.) There's little sister Maureen, hardly mentioned and who hightails it to California. Jeannette admits toward the end of her memoir she has not spoken to her little sister in five years. What? No explanation, no regret, no emotions...

One of my mentors in college and who I took several creative writing courses with, Georgina Kleege, told us on the first day of a memoir writing workshop that this WAS NOT THERAPY. So don't even try, was the sentiment. Here, "The Glass Castle" is the opposite of a therapy session-- so detached and so lacking a clear focus that even though I get more than thirty years of this woman's life, I hardly know her or her family. What a shame.

currently listening to:
All Over the World
The Pixies

-t

postscript: craving pizza!!!!