I really enjoyed this book. Mary is a good narrator and her story is worth listening to. It was sad at times, but a very good book.
I read "the Liar's club" so many years ago that I only remember that I liked the writing. Again, I can say that I enjoy Mary Karr's use of words and the way she describes her discovery of faith.
I think it was a good choice to have the author as narrator.
The author is so pleased with her book she reads it herself. The title refers to literature, and to the state of drug- induced highs – mostly alcoholic. This may by a new form of literature: the self-degrading confessional – although the genre was begun by Saint Augustine. I only got a quarter of the way through it before giving up. I am certainly no stranger to failure, having failed most of my life – but I don’t like to brag about it.
I should say, however, that it got favorable reviews – which perhaps says something about the state of their minds – as well as Karr’s.
This was one of the worst books J have read in the last years. I should have been smarter, how come a person who is not that old and has not been to the Moon can be in her THIRD autobiography? Anyways, the reviews were great, and I tried.
For starters, the book is horribly written. Mary is a self-absorbed person and she decided that she would be a poet. So she tried to write prose as poetry, and the result is catastrophic, a story with awful metaphors in practically every paragraph (I was bent and thin like a wire hanger). I mean, in EVERY paragraph. She uses these cheap tricks in order to avoid the hard work of properly defining a personality for the characters, of creating a good background for the history. In fact, there is no history. She is a cry baby who is in existential crisis all the time.
Neither does the author have any kind of self-understanding. It is obvious that she got most of what she had in life because she was pretty (look at her pictures). She was an ingenue who attracted guys with a certain witty and charming "lost" feeling. Ouch. When she has to deal with real life, with a relationship, she falls apart and drinks. It must be hard to be an old, wasted coquette. Mary is the kind of girl that, were she ugly, would be nothing.
The mystery for me is how books like this are successful. I guess people nowadays confuse good literature with witty descriptions of absolutely boring and prosaic activities. It is just the pinnacle of presumptions, a person describes her taking out the garbage and mixes some Proust's maxims and that's great art. I blame David Sedaris, Augusteen Burroughs and Chelsea Handler for practically destroying good American literature. Karr just jumped on the gold bandwagon.
The narration is awful (the writer narrates the book). She displays the enthusiasm and the emotion of a DMV clerk.