The Intimacy of Memoir

Author Lee Kofman says: ‘Memoirists write directly about what matters to them, whereas fiction writers may sublimate their experiences and passions.’ The first half is certainly true: memoirists are concerned with what matters to them.

Whole books are devoted to the second part of Lee’s hypothesis. But let’s look at memoir for a moment.

Lately I’ve been reading accounts by older writers of their childhoods. However, what elevates memoir above the world of the purely memorable is tension. That is, when we establish a particular drama in the narrative, as one does in fiction.

Most people experience conflict in their lives, but not everyone is in the business of revealing that to the world. Memoirists, however, are ‘all in’ with the personal reveal. Their dilemma is how to remove the narcissism or bland even, and establish a certain detachment that serves a universal purpose.

US writer Steve Almond advises, ‘When young writers ask me what they should be writing about I always tell them the same thing. I tell them to write about what they can’t get rid of by other means.’

The story is about the ‘thing’ that won’t go away no matter how much counselling, denial or meditation we engage in. And nor should it. This ‘unsettling’ thing – as one writer calls it – is there for a reason.

A burr in my saddle is the treatment of veterans upon their return home from war – certainly in Australia. This fury was spiked at twenty-six when my father was dying in a repatriation hospital for ex-soldiers. It was my inciting incident, which you can read about here, It was the moment when what I thought was so, was not.

What can’t be rid of’ by other means is a good place to start any writing – especially memoir.