Some of the books I have read lately have been memoirs. A memoir can be a great way to get a glimpse into someone else's life and walk in their surroundings for awhile. Some memoirs can be profound and powerful as the author/protagonist faces a life threatening illness or overcomes some other huge life challenge. And some can be about a life experience I can only dream about, like "Under the Tuscan Sun."
What I have discovered about myself is, drumroll please, I hate it if the author is a whiner. Now I can tolerate the kind of whining where people recount a miserable experience where they run out of gas, and get splashed by mud and dumped by their boyfriends all in the same day, or something like that. I usually end up relating to them and feeling empathy. What I can't stand are the type of whiners like the authors of "Julie and Julia" and "The Saucier's Apprentice." These are two pathetic people who wrote books that should have been interesting if it weren't for the fact that they squandered all the good will I had for them when I started reading by moaning and complaining and making me very glad that I wasn't stuck in a cross country airplane next to them.
And the sad thing about it is they probably don't even have the insight to realize that they come across that way. Just a word of advice to all prospective memoirists out there: when you're done proofreading, give it one more read-through. And keep an ear out for excessive use of woe-is-me narrative. If Gilda Radner can tell me about her battle with cancer and do it in a way that makes me laugh and want to have her over for dinner, then certainly a guy who got to spend four months in Italy and France taking cooking lessons surely should be able to.
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I totally agree. Whining it unattractive in all its forms — especially face-to-face.
ReplyDeleteTo avoid falling into that group, because God knows I've done my fair share of whining, I'm stating a Happiness Project. Will let know how it goes. :-)