LibraryTechtonics

I *just* finished Truth & Beauty: A Friendship by Ann Patchett (about 30 minutes ago). It’s a deep, meaningful, moving work, and hearing it on CD with Ann Patchett reading was really amazing. Like Hissy Fit, I came by the audio book listening to a sampler CD I picked up at the PLA President’s reception at ALA. There were only 3 books on the sampler that really caught my ear, and only marginally so. I’m very glad I decided to check both books out.

Honestly, I’d never heard of Ann Patchett before I listened to the sampler, or Lucy Grealy before my copy of the book on CD came in and I read the back cover. I started out listening to the book in the car on the way to and from work (Reading is only 20 minutes from my home, but I find that radio bores me to utter irritation these days, so even just 20 minutes of a book is better than mainstream radio, and somehow NPR always has something really uninteresting on when I’m in the car), and then found myself totally enraptured and engaged enough to bring the CD player into the apartment and keep listening when I got home.

The book made me painfully curious of who these people were, but I restrained myself from actually looking them up, allowing Ann to tell me the story. The way that Ann Patchett reads the book is amazing, at the same time unaffected and deeply entrenched emotionally, but always very natural. So I let the story unfold naturally before me. I waited patiently until after the book was over and done, let the end of the story sink in for a few minutes, then did a quick search on Lucy Grealy in a few different places.

I found a web site that has a long, emotional, and interesting discussion of the relationship between Lucy Grealy and Ann Patchett, as well as arguments over how valid Lucy Grealy’s behavior is in the face of her lifelong trauma. It was too much to take in all at once, and truth be told I gave it a healthy skim (as opposed to a quick glance skim; I’ll likely print it out and give a good once over at some point), but it seemed the big focus was on whether or not Lucy really deserved to be spoiled, or should have been able to get her life together, or how the drugs or cancer was an OK excuse for her way of living. Not to mention how much is in there about Ann being an enabler.

It’s all very interesting, I admit. And I totally see all of these arguments and points as valid applications to the memoir; none is right or wrong, they are all valid perceptions. But really, all I could see, and *envy*, throughout the book was their friendship and love for each other. In truth, people do things for each other that don’t make any sense, that aren’t healthy, that are “by any means necessary” shows of and clings to love, and it is simply human nature, as far as I can see. Ann and Lucy shared a love and a friendship that was through thick and thin, sick and sin, and that came through for me more than the surgeries, the cancer, the fame, the addiction. All of those aspects of the story were so secondary to the friendship in my reading (or, rather, listening) of the book.

One thing I never did was cry while listening to the book. That seems to come up a lot with other people who have read anything by Ann Patchett that mentions Lucy Grealy. I’m not much of a cryer, really, when it comes to books or movies. It’s not a matter of whether or not I’m moved; this was a *very* moving book, it spoke to me in many ways, and I deeply felt a great many things. I don’t supress the need to cry, either. Overall, I see myself as an observer of human nature, and I feel what applies to me, and I empathize. Somehow, that rarely translates to crying, but I can see how this book could be a Kleenex-puller.

I s’pose this isn’t so much a book review as a book reflection and writer recommendation. Ann Patchett’s writing is brilliant, which can easily be seen even in the listening, and I’ll definitely look for more of her books. I’ll even track down Autobiography of a Face by Lucy Grealy, and perhaps some of her poetry, because Ann speaks so highly of Lucy’s ability to write.

Also, this book motivates in me the desire to *write*. While blogging is a form of writing and publishing, it’s not the same, necessarily, as writing writing. It’s hard to clarify and explain this without offending some bloggers’ sensibilities, and believe me, I don’t mean to offend. Most blog readers expect short snippets, or longish-but-digestible bits (which is my general style, I think), of writing on a blog. These types of posts are often part of what makes a blog a blog, especially in presentations about what makes a blog. This book makes me think of my life in the narrative even with my inner dialogue, and in doing so, makes me think that I am a good writer, that I have clever and interesting things to say, and that I really should say them more often. Perhaps I can hybridize narrative and snippets a bit better, and serve my storytelling need a bit more while still keeping to blog “standards” of length, then save longer bits for a book of my own someday.

It also makes whether or not I’m being read very blatently the focus, rather than whether or not I’m being linked to or mentioned often. I like that very much. I think it’s part of what I’ve been looking for.

Tags: reading
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