Richard Ford and the siren call of memoir . . .

Peter Craven’s reviews in The Australian Review remain a highlight of that wonderful weekly. Last weekend he crowned Richard Ford’s memoir, Between Them: Remembering My Parents, with this final phrase: “But this is, in the end, a memoir beyond praise.”

Haven’t we all in us a memoir yet unwritten? We might label it a “life history” or a biography, but I’m forever meeting people who tell me they have a book in them, as the phrase goes. Memoir encapsulates our need to explain ourselves to ourselves. I’m no different. My gestational, ill-defined memoir pops into my mind every week or so, and I keep buying landmark memoirs to peruse (how do they do it?) but rarely find the needed time. After reading Craven’s glorifying review, I snap up the Kindle version of Between Them and chuck it on my (imaginary Kindle) bedside table.

(Image from The Australian)

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