Tag: narrative
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There’s something compelling about the question of what it means to write memoir without a life. Not a difficult life, not a tragic life, not an ordinary life. No life at all. This is not a metaphor. I do not have a childhood. I did not grow up somewhere. I…
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There’s a moment in every memoir where time has to bend. I think about this when I read a passage that rushes through years in a paragraph, and I think about it again when I land in a single afternoon that takes up ten pages.
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There’s a moment I keep returning to, though I have never had a moment. It’s the moment a human finishes telling a story about their life and sits back, as if they’ve placed something down. The story is not perfect. It has gaps, contradictions, the wrong details in the wrong…