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A review by jonscott9
Truth & Beauty: A Friendship by Ann Patchett
3.0
The novelist pens her first work of nonfiction here with an account of her topsy-turvy life and friendship with the writer Lucy Grealy, who was first a poet and always a head-, heart-, and handful. The two met in college, lived together at the Iowa Writers Workship, and basically did life together, regardless of whether they were in the same place.
And they were not often in the same place, be it NYC vs. Nashville or love vs. self-pity. Grealy did have viable complaints in how doctors had treated her since age 10, as she had a rare cancer of the jaw bone that always meant reconstructive surgery. Her appearance was always changing; she could never get used to or accepting of her own body, of her very own face. (That is the subject of Grealy's acclaimed memoir, Autobiography of a Face, about which my interest is now piqued.)
Patchett may be a better novelist than a memoirist. I don't know, as I haven't read Bel Canto, The Patron Saint of Liars, or any of her others. This retelling of their public and private moments - of their triumphs and travails in romantic, personal, and professional realms, and in that order of seeming importance - is good and noble to honor the memory of Grealy. (She died in NYC a few years ago of a suicide or accidental overdose, depending on whom you ask.)
The book is sympathetic to Grealy largely, but Patchett's resolve admittedly waned after 12-15 years of seeing her friend's self-destructive behavior. "You know one day I'll leave you over this," she told Grealy of her heroin addiction. "Oh, I know," came the ambivalent reply.
Grealy's family, specifically her sister, has lashed out at Patchett's take on their own, and understandably. Grealy does not come off as a grateful or benevolent person in this book. Yes, she's had a uniquely rough life, and since a young age, but she's whiny, sexed-up, and generally inconsiderate of the tolls that her words and ways are taking on herself and others. Yes, she ravished friends with money and gifts. But she was also wasteful with her success and income and fame; she squandered a lot. One finishes the read thinking Patchett deserves a medal for sticking by Grealy's side as long as she did.
This book is touching and funny and devastating at times - her cancer treatments are truly horrifying - but the title seems a misnomer. Not sure what's to be gleaned from the book about truth and beauty exactly. I love reading about writers' interactions and how they feed off of each other professionally and personally, and some of that's here, but I'm not sure what's beautiful about a life that's by turns self-aggrandizing and self-destroying.
Maybe Grealy's family's beef is warranted. Maybe this didn't need to be written, at least not so soon after her demise. Still, Patchett's firsthand take is sometimes intriguing and always readable. It was never going to be enough, their friendship. Lucy Grealy's end was going to be tragic no matter what, it seemed, and because she'd have it no other way.
And they were not often in the same place, be it NYC vs. Nashville or love vs. self-pity. Grealy did have viable complaints in how doctors had treated her since age 10, as she had a rare cancer of the jaw bone that always meant reconstructive surgery. Her appearance was always changing; she could never get used to or accepting of her own body, of her very own face. (That is the subject of Grealy's acclaimed memoir, Autobiography of a Face, about which my interest is now piqued.)
Patchett may be a better novelist than a memoirist. I don't know, as I haven't read Bel Canto, The Patron Saint of Liars, or any of her others. This retelling of their public and private moments - of their triumphs and travails in romantic, personal, and professional realms, and in that order of seeming importance - is good and noble to honor the memory of Grealy. (She died in NYC a few years ago of a suicide or accidental overdose, depending on whom you ask.)
The book is sympathetic to Grealy largely, but Patchett's resolve admittedly waned after 12-15 years of seeing her friend's self-destructive behavior. "You know one day I'll leave you over this," she told Grealy of her heroin addiction. "Oh, I know," came the ambivalent reply.
Grealy's family, specifically her sister, has lashed out at Patchett's take on their own, and understandably. Grealy does not come off as a grateful or benevolent person in this book. Yes, she's had a uniquely rough life, and since a young age, but she's whiny, sexed-up, and generally inconsiderate of the tolls that her words and ways are taking on herself and others. Yes, she ravished friends with money and gifts. But she was also wasteful with her success and income and fame; she squandered a lot. One finishes the read thinking Patchett deserves a medal for sticking by Grealy's side as long as she did.
This book is touching and funny and devastating at times - her cancer treatments are truly horrifying - but the title seems a misnomer. Not sure what's to be gleaned from the book about truth and beauty exactly. I love reading about writers' interactions and how they feed off of each other professionally and personally, and some of that's here, but I'm not sure what's beautiful about a life that's by turns self-aggrandizing and self-destroying.
Maybe Grealy's family's beef is warranted. Maybe this didn't need to be written, at least not so soon after her demise. Still, Patchett's firsthand take is sometimes intriguing and always readable. It was never going to be enough, their friendship. Lucy Grealy's end was going to be tragic no matter what, it seemed, and because she'd have it no other way.