| Title | : | Truth Beauty |
| Author | : | |
| Rating | : | |
| ISBN | : | 0060572159 |
| ISBN-10 | : | 9780060572150 |
| Language | : | English |
| Format Type | : | Paperback |
| Number of Pages | : | 257 |
| Publication | : | First published May 1, 2004 |
| Awards | : | ALA Alex Award (2005), Chicago Tribune Heartland Prize Nonfiction (2004) |
Truth Beauty Reviews
-
I didn't care for it, for several reasons. First of all, I didn't think much of the quality of the writing--certainly nothing like Lucy Grealy's in her own memoir. Second, I found both women's behavior in the friendship really strange. Ann seems completely blank in the relationship, never asserting any real personality, and completely enabling Lucy's neediness and selfishness. Lucy just sounded like a black hole, sucking up every bit of attention, affection, needing more and more extravagant declarations of love. She sounded exhausting.
And finally, I think it exploitative of Ann Pratchett to write a book like this about someone she supposedly felt was her best friend when that person could no longer respond, particularly as Ann wasn't truly writing about the relationship at all. She did not write about her own feelings of the friendship, why and how it developed as it did, what kept them together, what she learned about herself, how (or whether!) Lucy brought out the best in her, etc.; in fact, there seems to be very little reflection on or ownership about her own behavior. Mostly it seems to be an expose' about Lucy.
I just came away feeling that both these women sounded really messed up, needy, difficult, self-absorbed, and not at all self-aware, and that both had a habit of using terrible judgment in their personal lives. Yuck. If this is truth--I do mean "if"--it's not beauty, and I wonder why anyone would want either of them as a friend. -
There should be a government warning on this book.
When I pick up a book with a cheesy title, and a cheesy cover with a cheesy butterfly on it, I do not expect to get, to put it simply, my sh*t rocked.
This book is very sad, and very beautiful, and very powerful.
I did not know a thing about it going into it, and that made for both a pleasant surprise and the reading equivalent of a near-death experience.
This is just excellent.
Bottom line: One of the best reads I didn't expect of my life.
---------------
pre-review
i am currently a strong breeze away from crying.
review to come / 4.5 stars maybe 5
---------------
currently-reading updates
oh, no. i think i'm going to be sad
clear ur shit prompt 12: free space
follow my progress
here
---------------
tbr review
i recently heard that this is the best book with the dumbest title and am 200% more excited -
This is a beautiful memoir of a friendship between two writers, Ann Patchett and the poet Lucy Grealy. I read this back in 2006, and it's still one of my favorite books about the nature of friendship and the bonds that we form with others.
Ann met Lucy in college, and later they both attended the Iowa Writer's Workshop. As a child, Lucy had suffered cancer of the jaw and her face was disfigured during numerous reconstruction surgeries. Lucy wrote the memoir "Autobiography of a Face" about her experience. This is how Ann described Lucy:
"Her lower jaw had been a ledge falling off just below her cheekbone when we started college, making her face a sharp triangle, but now the lines were softer. She couldn't close her mouth all the way and her front teeth showed. Her jaw was irregular, as if one side had been collapsed by a brutal punch, and her neck was scarred and slightly twisted. She had a patch of paler skin running from ear to ear that had been grafted from her back and there were other bits of irregular patching and scars. But she also had lovely light eyes with damp dark lashes and a nose whose straightness implied aristocracy. Lucy had white Irish skin and dark blond hair and in the end that's what you saw, the things that didn't change: her eyes, the sweetness of her little ears."
Ann and Lucy became close when they were in grad school together in Iowa. They both had new dating experiences, and the slower pace of life in the Midwest made them feel like they were "impossibly rich in time." They filled their days with reading and teaching and dinner and dancing and, of course, writing.
"We shared our ideas like sweaters, with easy exchange and lack of ownership. We gave over excess words, a single beautiful sentence that had to be cut but perhaps the other would like to have. As two reasonably intelligent and very serious young writers in a reasonably serious writing program, we didn't so much discuss our work as volley ideas back and forth until neither of us was sure who belonged to what."
After grad school the two friends moved away but stayed in touch with visits and heartfelt letters, some of which Ann includes in the book. Sadly, Lucy later got involved in drugs and died too young. Ann would often dream of her, and she would have a conversation with her dear friend. "Night after night after night I find her, always in a public place, a museum, a restaurant, on a train. Every night she's glad to see me and she folds into my arms. But each time there is less of her to hold on to ... In this little way I am allowed to visit my dead."
I was drawn to the book because I had loved Ann Patchett's novel "Bel Canto," so I picked it up just on name recognition. Her writing is lovely and sincere, and it made me adore Patchett even more. I highly recommend the book to writers and to anyone who loves a good story of friendship.
Update November 2013:
There was a lovely interview with Ann Patchett in the New York Times, during which she was asked which writer, dead or alive, would she meet? This was her answer:
"I'd want to see my friend Lucy Grealy again. I'd want to know how the afterlife was treating her, if there was anything or everything about this world she missed. She'd say to me, 'My God, how did you get here?' And I would say, 'The New York Times Book Review told me I could meet any writer, living or dead, and I picked you!' Then I imagine there would be a great deal of hugging and dancing around."
Read the full interview here:
http://www.nytimes.com/2013/11/03/boo... -
Okay, I'm gonna come out and say something earnest here, in a short break from the usual foul-mouthed cynicism. I think books ought to have courage; I think memoirs, out of all books, must have courage. And this one doesn't.
This is supposed to be the story of a twenty-year friendship between two women writers, but in reality this is just a book about Lucy Grealy, the girl who lost most of her face to cancer, the eventual darling of the New York literary scene, the heroin addict. The cowardice starts there, letting this book be about Lucy, who is dead, about how larger than life and brilliant and fucked up she was, because that way Patchett never really has to tell us much more than the executive summary of herself. But it doesn't stop there. This is a book about a really long, complicated friendship, where one party clearly had serious psychological problems (Borderline Personality Disorder, at least based on this narration – seriously, you can go down a freaking checklist). It's hard to explain what I'm pointing at when I say this book lacks courage. It talks about Lucy's neediness, her clinginess, her bursts of demanding infantilism, but it's in this weird, belligerent way that says, see, I'm telling you all this to show you just how much I must have loved her. Not I loved her, so I can tell these stories now that she's gone to grieve and remember and be truthful.
Like, for example, there are a half dozen pieces of evidence scattered throughout the book that Lucy was a . . . let's say fabulist. In parts of her nonfiction, and in parts of her life. And Patchett just tosses this stuff out there and doesn't touch it, not once. I don't want to piece together evidence from a friendship/memoir/fragmented biography – I want the evidence, and I want Patchett's thoughts on it, I wanted honesty about this part of Lucy, too, along with how she submitted herself again and again to abusive surgeries. I don't want diamond clarity – that's a weird thing to want from a memoir – but I do want . . . more real participation. Reflections on Lucy that reflect Patchett, too. Something that wasn't an entire book of an apology. Something braver, because you know the most summary, cursory part of this book? The few flat lines at the end, after Lucy overdoses. This is a book all about Patchett's grief, and yet, at the last, she hides her face.
Courage. Not something easily found in grief, but I have high expectations.
Still. Lucy's excerpted letters were beautiful. -
Oh, my experience rereading this book was so different from my first reading ten years ago. Back then, I don't think I'd read any Ann Patchett yet--I'd read Lucy Grealy's Autobiography of a Face and wanted to know more about her and how she died. Even though Ann was doing the telling, I saw this as Lucy's story.
Fast forward ten years: I've now read and loved three of Ann Patchett's novels and a fair amount of her nonfiction pieces. I'm a fan. Rereading Truth and Beauty, I'm much more interested in Ann's story, and surprised by how much of the book is actually about her. I think the story of Ann's writing life is as fascinating as Lucy's, in its own way--no drama, no self-destructiveness, just someone who gradually made her way from Friday's waitress to wildly successful author via talent, of course, but also sheer force of will and her willingness to engage, day after day, with the page in front of her--something Lucy, it seems, was never able to do. Of course, the book really is about both of them, a true portrait of their friendship, but for me, Ann's part in it assumed its rightful place on this reading.
The parts of the book concerning Lucy's drug addiction really stood out for me this time as well: Lucy's ex-boyfriend Andy, thinking if he can just keep her out of New York (where her dealer lives) she'll stay clean--as if Lucy couldn't find drugs everywhere else in the world. Ann herself desperately wanting Lucy to move to Nashville so she can keep an eye on her--basically be there to stop Lucy if she tries to go off track. Such common behavior among the loved ones of addicts. You think there's something you can do to solve the problem, but the fact is you can't do anything. I felt that aspect of the book much more strongly this time around.
Lucy's bad behavior was less shocking to me this time--probably because it was no longer new to me--but I certainly understand all the reviewers here who wonder why in the world someone like Ann would stay friends with someone like Lucy. To me, the answer is in this passage, one of my favorites in the book:
"Whenever I saw her, I felt like I had been living in another country, doing moderately well in another language, and then she showed up speaking English and suddenly I could speak with all the complexity and nuance that I hadn't even realized was gone. With Lucy I was a native speaker."
Don't we all want to be lucky enough to feel this way? And once we did, wouldn't we do whatever we could to hold onto it? -
"Truth and Beauty" is a memoir about the close friendship Ann Patchett shared with the writer Lucy Grealy. At the age of nine, Grealy was diagnosed with Ewing's sarcoma. She went through years of radiation, chemotherapy, and reconstructive surgeries of her lower jaw. But it was still difficult for her to eat, speak, and kiss. Grealy published the successful "Autobiography of a Face" in 1994 about her experiences.
Patchett and Grealy, both graduates of Sarah Lawrence College, became best friends when sharing an apartment at the Iowa Writers' Workshop. Although Grealy had a great number of friends, she longed for true love with a man. No relationship met her romantic expectations, and her overwhelming need for love. In addition to physical pain, Grealy also suffered the emotional pain of feeling unattractive and had a history of depression.
The book is a combination of Patchett's memories and Grealy's letters. Grealy comes across as creative, intelligent, and charismatic, but also extremely irresponsible with money and emotionally needy. Patchett spent twenty years as her devoted, loving, responsible friend. While the friendship brought many moments of joy to Patchett, it also seemed very demanding and suffocating. In spite of the overwhelming efforts of Patchett and others, no one could save Grealy from her demons. This memoir of a fascinating friendship kept my attention from beginning to end. -
Raw and next to life... this is what fiction should be! I enjoyed reading your work, Ann!
-
A justly acclaimed memoir about the friendship between the novelist Ann Patchett (Bel Canto, State Of Wonder) and the memoirist/poet Lucy Grealy (Autobiography Of A Face).
The two graduated the same year from Sarah Lawrence, but they became close only when they lived together while studying and teaching at the Iowa Writer’s Workshop. That friendship continued through their years struggling to publish, win grants and fellowships, on through successes, setbacks, publication, fame and Grealy’s untimely death, in 2002, at 39.
As Patchett points out early on in achingly beautiful prose, the two had an ant/grasshopper, turtle/hare dynamic. Patchett was the responsible one and Grealy, we soon see, was impulsive and needy, constantly requiring validation and love.
And no wonder. At 9, Grealy was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer called Ewing’s sarcoma. This led to the removal of her jawbone, and over the years she had dozens of reconstructive surgeries. All of this led to childhood and adolescent taunting, chronic pain and constant difficulty eating, and a lifetime of insecurity and self-consciousness about her looks. (She would detail this in Autobiography Of A Face years later.)
What comes across clearly is a strange, mysterious alchemy – a chemistry, a blending of souls – in their friendship. We tend to think that only romantic love depends on chemistry; but friends need it too. And reading Patchett’s lines and reading between the lines, you can see the real love blossom between them.
Patchett recounts the fun, the dancing, the talking, the drinking, the work, the petty squabbles over writing, men and messes both literal and figurative (while they were both writers, they weren’t as competitive since they wrote in different genres). She also includes generous glimpses of their correspondence to add context. (Spoiler alert: these women know how to write!)
There are lots of laughs, like the time Grealy went on a blind date with George Stephanopoulos (even this episode, though, is tinged with sadness). And there are a couple of vivid descriptions of publishing parties, including one awkward one celebrating author Dennis McFarland.
As the book progresses, and Grealy begins taking drugs because of pain caused by surgeries (including one where her tibia was removed to graft onto her face), you begin to see where the narrative is headed. But it’s never predictable. Near the end there are a couple of moments that must have caused Patchett great remorse to remember and write down.
What do I take away from this book, besides wanting to read Grealy’s own memoir?
I think about the role my closest, dearest friends play in my life. How many people would pretend they’re your sibling to stay by your hospital bedside after an operation? Who would you let stay with you so they could recover from addiction? Would you ever collect months and months of a friend’s bills and forge their signature on cheques so they wouldn’t have to deal with it all?
There’s some codependency in these accounts, of which I’m sure Patchett is aware, but there’s also a fierce, unconditional love that is astonishing to behold.
Lots of truth, and so much beauty. -
Addicts are not very likable. At best I found Lucy Grealy tiresome. That was at the beginning of Patchett's memoir about their friendship. By the end my feelings for Lucy had turned into active dislike.
I don't think this was the author's intent. When Lucy dies, she says: "I had thought I could let her go. But now I know I was simply not cut out for life without her. I am living that life now and would not choose it." But she never made me see why this should be. Why was she so devoted to Lucy, why were so many others? The Lucy I got to know in this book did not in any way merit such devotion. Yes, she was sucker-punched by life as a child. And survived. But a spoiled brat who was sucker-punched by life is still a spoiled brat. There are many reasons why people use other people. But they are still users.
I also did not much like the Ann Patchett described in this book. And really, their lives were not that enlightening or interesting.
I did like the writing, though, and will probably look to read some of Patchett's novels. -
Truth and Beauty is an endearing, wonderfully written memoir about the friendship and love between Ann Patchett and her friend, memoirist/poet, Lucy Grealy. Complete opposites, Patchett aptly compares their relationship to Aesop's fable characters: the grasshopper, ant, tortoise and hare.
"What the story didn't tell you is that the ant relented at the eleventh hour and took in the grasshopper when the weather was hard, fed him on his tenderest store of grass all winter. The tortoise, being uninterested in such things, gave over his medal to the hare. Grasshoppers and hares find the ants and tortoises. They need us to survive, but we need them as well. They were the ones who brought the truth and beauty to the party, which Lucy could tell you as she recited Keats over breakfast, was better than food any day."
Gah, I just loved this book so much! This is a book that will make you call in sick to work just so you can finish it. You may just cry, and if not cry, then seriously reflect on the friends and dear loved ones you know. What circumstances bring people into our lives just when we need them? Are they here for a season or a lifetime? So much food for thought.
Grealy endured countless operations on her face due to treatment of cancer when she was young. Despite never being happy with her appearance and being constantly overwhelmed with the fear of never being loved, her larger than life personality and poetic genius is the legacy that she left behind. Patchett's loving tribute to her dear friend was a wonderful reading experience. For two days I got to see behind the "writer's curtain" and all that goes into writing a book.
Also I should add that this is a book that begs to be discussed. My mom isn't much of a reader, but two mornings in a row we found ourselves having coffee at the kitchen table discussing the characters; she even allowed me to read complete passages. I'm not one for highlighting my books or folding pages, but I just couldn't help myself! I devoured this book. One thing we agreed on this morning while I was filling her in on the ending, she said, "You better make sure to buy
Autobiography of a Face. We'll have to discuss it on late night long distance phone calls." Consider it done, ma! -
After listening to “My Precious Days” recently- ‘twice’ already….
and half way into my 3rd round —
I discovered the library had a copy of audiobook “Truth and Beauty”… (one-of-a-few Patchett books I hadn’t read-yet)…
so I switched books.
The Audiobook is 8 hours and 6 minutes long. Ann reads it proficiently and wonderfully as she ‘can do’ and ‘does do’.
I had not been very far into “Truth and Beauty”, when I realized … as in “Omg, of course….Ann was writing about the woman -
Lucy Grealy—who wrote a memoir called “Autobiography of a Face”….
“Of course - how could I ever forget the gripping memoir and the horrific ways society revealed itself in the face of a disfigured face, due to cancer?”
I had forgotten the name, *Lucy Grealy*, but never the story….
… a book I read years ago.
It almost feels sacrilegious to not read each of these books-[buddy-books] to each other. Ann and Lucy’s.
The reader sees many sides of the coins by reading both books.
It doesn’t matter what order…but by reading Lucy Greely’s memoir… and Ann’s non-fiction book (about their life together)
its an -ovation to both books….
…and both for very different reasons.
Adding
“My Precious Days” to the mix has another story to tell —my personal favorite…
encompassing grander to each of Ann’s book: be it fiction or non fiction.
Since I had just read “My Precious Days” -two-and-a-half times so far…
I recognized similar themes with “Truth and Beauty”, but there were also great differences. I won’t say more as to not spoil either books that Ann wrote.
I liked it … heck, I loved it!!
Ann and Lucy’s friendship haunted me … (an unhealthy relationship on many levels)..
I saw a different side of Lucy Grealy from Ann that of Lucy’s memoir.
Ann writes so beautifully…
“Truth and Beauty” — besides the story Ann tells about her Iowa roommate; Lucy Grealy, she gives us a great glimpse into the gifted and motivated writer was years ago in college and the masterful writer she is today. -
I was very interested to read about
Lucy Grealy, a brilliant poet who died at 39.
But from the very beginning Patchett uses a style that greatly annoyed me and which - by want of a more suitable word - I can only describe as 'passive-aggressive-praise'. By that I mean showering constant praise on someone (Lucy) and always affirming that this person is more talented than the one giving the praise (Ann), and more intelligent, more fun, more everything. But the praise is laced with tiny, almost imperceptible razor-sharp needle pricks to make clear that, in fact, Lucy is the looser and Ann the real deal. -
I picked up this book because I read "Bel Canto" and loved it, and loved Ann Patchett's writing style. I also think that, in general, friendship does not get enough respect in our society. There's a lot of attention payed to family and lovers, but not much to friends.
This is the story of a friendship between the author and a woman she went to college with. They both end up at the University of Iowa's Writer's Workshop at the same time, and a beautiful, life-long friendship ensues. I loved the beginning because I went to the University of Iowa. I think I even know the house on Governor Street where they were roomies. I lived on Governor Street, and I worked at Great Midwestern Ice Cream Co., where another scene in the book takes place. So, there's my own nostalgia for Iowa City in there!
The friend, Lucy, suffered from a rare form of cancer affecting her jaw at an early age, and her face was deformed as a result. The book chronicles her exuberance, her depressions, her self-destructive behavior, and the author's many attempts to try to save a friend she dearly loves. It's not Lucy's face so much that is her downfall, but her utter lack of a sense of identity, and her desperate need to be loved and considered beautiful, at whatever cost. In the end, it is a beautifully written testament to friendship, and also to the lives of two writers struggling to remain true to their craft. -
Awful. Both obsequious and patronizing. Touted as a memoir of friendship. But, sweet Mary, I would not want either of the women as my friend.
-
Review on the way...
-
“Truth and Beauty” is the story of authors Ann Patchett and Lucy Grealy’s (“Autobiography of a Face”) friendship, commencing from their college days until Lucy’s death in 2002 at age 39. The title of the book “Truth and Beauty” is taken from a chapter and several references in Lucy’s book.
Lucy Grealy is mercurial, irresponsible, needy, and an immensely talented writer. She is seriously facially disfigured from having half of her jawbone removed due to Ewing’s sarcoma as a child and from numerous subsequent reconstructive surgeries. She tells her own story in “Autobiography of a Face” (which I suggest that you read before “Truth and Beauty”). Ann Patchett is solid, responsible, hard-working and possibly less talented. Their interdependency, and how their friendship ebbs and flows as they move through professional and personal successes and failures in their lives, is the heart and soul of the book.
Some have questioned Patchett’s motives in writing the book (including Lucy’s family members), but I leave that to the reader to judge. It seems to me that any writer in Patchett’s situation would have done the same, perhaps less honestly and less skillfully. Suellen Grealy, Lucy’s sister, outlines her grievances with Ann Patchett in an article in The Guardian from 2004:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2004/...
Overall, I’m glad I read Grealy’s “Autobiography of a Face” first and I thought “Truth and Beauty” was extremely interesting and well written. I highly recommend both. -
My poor review has nothing to do with Patchett's writing ability. I found the story very disturbing, I couldn't understand other than her writing accolades what Patchett got out of this unhealthy friendship. Lucy was such a negative, manipulative person that her 'looks' to me were very much beside the point.
-
It's a little confusing to separate all the various emotions and viewpoints associated with Truth and Beuaty because of the agita caused by the Grealey family's dissatisfaction with the book and Suellen Grealey's letter to the Guardian. The "controversy" stems from ideas of ethics and rights. Who owns the rights to Lucy's story? Is it ethical for Ann Patchett to use Lucy to tell her own story? I see both sides although I fall on Patchett's side. Reading Beauty, I could see how her family didn't like the at times ugly portrayal of Lucy, but I think it's not ugliness, but truth.
An interesting study in contrasts. Lucy Grealey's life has all the markings of a bloated, Hollywood biopic. The outsized personality, illness, disfigurement, depression, addiction, sexual exploration. Her life is epic and her death tragic. Patchett subverts expectations here by going small. She stays resolutely to her own tiny window into Lucy. The prose is minimal and well-considered, providing subtle contrast to Lucy's letters.
I was constantly reminded of F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby, an odd reference point, but a think an applicable one because of their similar perspectives. Both novel's ostensible protagonist, the narrator, become side characters to the bombast of the colorful friend. And of course the stories of both Jay Gatsby and Lucy Grealey don't end well, but this does bring me back to ethics. Gatsby is a work of fiction so the perspective, like everything else, is a fabrication. Beauty is a memoir, but on appearance it is a memoir of Lucy, not of Ann. I say on appearance because I'm not sure the memoir is so much about Lucy as it is about writing and creativity as told through the friendship of Patchett and Grealey. It reminded me of Didion's
Blue Nights, where you think you're reading about the death of her daughter, but you're actually reading about death itself and the struggle of writing and art against it.
The discussions about writing and the descriptions about Lucy's feelings about writing are fascinating. Writing is salvation for both Patchett and Grealey through their lives. Patchett appears to reach the same conclusion as Didion, that writing and art and truth and beauty are not salvation. They are not a lifeline. Nothing can stop death and fear if it wants to come. -
Having recently read "State of Wonder" and "Bel Canto", I became an overnight devoted fan of Ann Patchett. And how was I to know that the memoir of her dear friend and fellow author would be just about unreadable? The book describes this intense (passionate, though platonic) friendship with a female poet she met in college. The friend, Lucy, was a pitiful victim of cancer which left her without the lower half of her face. She underwent over 38 surgeries during her lifetime to try to rebuild her face. She suffered extraordinary pain and disfigurement and eventually addiction to drugs. Ann was a saint who supported her, sometimes financially, always emotionally, and frequently served as a cook, secretary, maid, dresser, and go-between.
Here's the problem: neither Ann nor Lucy are even remotely likable people. Lucy is a whiny narcissistic selfish bitch and Ann is a boring martyr drudge. At one point in the book Ann is giving writerly advice to Lucy who is trying to come up with ideas for a novel. Ann says something to the effect that you can't make all of the characters despicable. Someone has to be at least superficially likable: GOOD ADVICE!
It's clear from the first page that Lucy is going to die, so I am not giving away the ending. That being said, I eventually felt like Elaine on Seinfeld when she was "forced" to watch "The English Patient". She starts yelling in the theater: "Would ya just die already and get it over with!!"
-
We had invented time, and we could not kill it fast enough.
The true story of Ann and Lucy’s friendship was a riveting one, but it was so hard to read towards the end. Lucy went through so much that by the time it got to drugs it was just painful. Anyway, Ann writes in a clear, poignant way about the high and heartbreakingly low points of their relationship, and how hard it can be to love someone. I think this book will stay with me for a while. -
This book is primarily a biography of the author’s friend and fellow writer, Lucy Grealy. Patchett and Grealy were roommates when they attended the Iowa Writers’ Workshop in 1985. Grealy had lost part of her jaw during cancer treatment in her childhood, which greatly impacted her self-image. The book covers their friendship, relationships, and writing careers, spanning almost two decades. It may have helped if I had known of Lucy Grealy beforehand. She comes across as a person with many psychological issues, and there is a lot of depressing content in this book. I think I will stick with Patchett’s fiction in the future.
-
A beautiful book of a beautiful friendship. Ann Patchett and the late Lucy Grealy became friends in 1981 when they were 21, both attending Iowa Writers’ Workshop. Lucy Grealy was disfigured after cancer treatment when she was a young girl and spent the rest of her life remaking her face. The book is about their life together as friends. They were very close and clearly loved each other.
"I do not remember our love unfolding, that we got to know one another and in time became friends. I only remember that she came through the door and it was there, huge and permanent and first. I felt I had been chosen by Lucy and I was thrilled. I was twenty-one years old and very strong. She had a habit of pitching herself into my arms like a softball without any notice. She liked to be carried."
Talented, super sensitive and outgoing, Lucy Grealy had a lot of friends who adored her. Yet, neither her friends nor boyfriends could fill the loneliness inside her. She was damaged in many ways, not just in her face. A woman like her needs a lot of love, care and money to survive. In the end, she didn’t. It is easy to judge someone who died of a cocaine overdose, but I doubt I’d survive as long as she did if I were in her shoes. At least to die alone but loved is better than to die alone. -
3.5🖋🖋🖋
-
So this was Ann Patchett's third strike and this reader declares her banned from the game in perpetuity. Certainly better than State of Wonder and Bel Canto (I don't care how many awards that book won, it's bad!) and I've wasted enough time trying to figure out what people see in her as a writer.
Easy to see what Lucy Grealy saw in her as a friend, though - an eager co-dependent. While the fact that this is not a novel helps Patchett on the plotting front significantly (no more crazy and unbelievable endings as the facts dictated the end of this one), there are still incredible gaps in the narrative that leave the reader frustrated. Where were Lucy Grealy's parents and her relationship to her parents in this whole extraordinary mess of a life? How is it possible two such close friends would never have discussed their parents - or their siblings? How can one write a 257-page book about one of your closest friendships and never mention that one's friend has a non-identical twin?
Here's an article from Lucy Grealy's sister that raises some of these questions - and a whole lot more:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2004/... -
I shelved this book so long before I read it that, when I got around to checking it out from the library, I had forgotten what it was about. I even forgot that it was a memoir-- I thought for the first half that it was fiction! I think that was a really happy accident, ultimately. Reading the first half as fiction, I fell in love with Ann's mind-- a mind I thought could invent the inimitable Lucy Grealy. That's how Ann won me over.
When I finally realized it was truth (and not just beauty!), I found myself becoming increasingly grateful.... Truth is stranger than fiction, and, in some twisted way, Lucy's decline and death are made more beautiful (and true) by being reality, not fiction.
What a lovely friendship, and an even lovelier memoir of a friendship. -
i had never read ann patchett nor had i ever read a book where the muse was a friend. there's something so rich and unmined about friendship, especially-I think-between women. I loved this. Every page.
-
3.5 stars
I read this right after
Autobiography of a Face, because it’s pretty cool to be able to read someone’s memoir—which intellectually we all realize will be slanted in some way, but that can be easy to forget—and then read someone else’s memoir about the person. So this is Patchett’s memoir of her close friend Lucy Grealy, also a writer, written right after Grealy’s premature death. And the books pair very well together, both well-written (though I think Patchett’s somewhat better in its polished writing style and vivid imagery) and compelling reads, both relatively short.
It’s interesting, I’ve noticed a definite trend in fiction focused on a female friendship: the characters always seem to be a rebel and a conformist, with the story told from the point-of-view of the conformist, presumably because readers wouldn’t have time for the more conventional character unless stuck in her head. I assume this dynamic to be a fictional convention not particularly representative of real-world friendships (in the same way that, from somewhat less experience with them, male friendship stories generally seem to feature a nerd and a jock, while in real life people tend to have more in common with their friends than that). And the rebel usually dies at the end. This memoir very much follows the pattern: Grealy is the wild one, the life of the party, the rule-breaker, always flying by the seat of her pants, charismatic and widely loved but so damaged that it’s never enough. And Patchett, in her own portrayal, is the careful, methodical, caretaking friend. It’s fair to say that their friendship comes across as codependent at times (and also that those who for some weird reason only want to read about perfect people should give this book a pass), though it’s hard to say how much of that is because of the book’s focus, because when you read all this stuff together it’s a lot, but that’s not actually how anyone involved experienced it.
I’m of two minds about the book really. On the one hand it’s lovely, well-written, with some striking and insightful passages, and I think it’s great when people write about their adult friendships, in a society that tends to value romance to the exclusion of everything else. Which Patchett even reflects on in the book, when in grad school she chooses a bad boyfriend over Grealy because a relationship with a man is supposed to be more important. On the other hand, there’s a sense in which it holds back and feels frustratingly incomplete. Patchett wrote the book perhaps too soon after Grealy’s death, and there’s an absence of some reflections you’d expect to see—she never addresses the codependence issue for instance, except in the most oblique and roundabout of ways. There’s also not a lot of her, of what this friendship was to her; she’s in it of course, but her writing is focused so exclusively on Grealy (well, and some aspects of the writing life that they shared or that she’s using as contrast), which also might inadvertently make the friendship look codependent. So it does come across a bit as if there’s something missing.
Interesting, Grealy’s sister Suellen published an article attacking the book, but she doesn’t challenge Patchett’s truth, instead complaining that publishing it was trespassing on the family’s grief. Which raises an interesting question—can a person’s memory belong to anyone? Which of a person’s relationships matter most, blood family or found family? Though I don’t think it’s a perfect book I am glad Patchett published this. I enjoyed reading it a lot and appreciated her perspective.
