Does memory ever reflect reality? Is it instead a mixture of nostalgia, cerebral junk-drawer scrounging, and lies you sell yourself into believing? And if fact and fiction wind up jumbled, are you better off?
The title of this memoir about growing up in East Texas at the dawn of the 1960s begs those questions. I guess it also gives an answer, which is print the legend. No doubt Mary Karr lived the life she writes about. But did she remember every detail of it, like the texture of her mother’s bedquilt, or the brand of coffee can her father spit tobacco juice in?
Color me skeptical, but so what. Karr’s ability to enrich this recounting of her childhood in such fulsome detail enhances a reading experience that becomes very soon not at all like paper and paste but rather a piece of living soul quivering in your hands.
