Which book would you rather read -- the autobiography of a former first lady, or yet another Vietnam memoir, this one by a moderately well-known literature professor at a Northeastern university?
Perhaps an excerpt from each book would help.
This from "Barbara Bush," her recently published autobiography, being in the same room with George Bush and Mikhail Gorbachev:
"Imagine sitting in a room with the two Presidents of the most powerful countries in the world -- and being married to one of them."
Now this from Tobias Wolff's "In Pharoah's Army," also recently published, in which he acknowledges he was a lousy officer:
"I was completely incompetent to lead a Special Forces team. This was adamant fact, not failure of nerve. . . . I wanted out, but I lacked the courage to confess my incompetence as the price of getting out. I was ready to be killed, even, perhaps, get others killed, to avoid that humiliation."
Each book aspires to give the reader a close-up look at the author, but there are notable differences. Despite indifferent reviews, Barbara Bush's book is high on the best-seller lists. Mr. Wolff's book probably will never make one, though it's gotten mostly superb reviews. But it's likely that in 10 years Mr. Wolff's book will be remembered more than Mrs. Bush's, because it resonates with powerful human emotion.
"In Pharoah's Army" is a prime example of the literary memoir -- vivid, achingly personal. A memoir takes a specific time and puts it into focus -- such as childhood, perhaps, or a time in another country. Much like Mr. Wolff's first memoir, the acclaimed "This Boy's Life," "In Pharoah's Army" is close to the bone. Mr. Wolff does not try to hide his fears, his anxieties. He freely acknowledges that when he served in Vietnam in the late 1960s, he had very simple goals. He wanted to get out, and to get out in one piece.
That intensity is at the heart of a good memoir.
"At its best," says William Zinsser, author of "Inventing the Truth," a study of the memoir form, "a book will select a particular time and amplify it. The greatness of Russell Baker's 'Growing Up' is not just that it's the story of a boy and his mother, but it's also about the severe hardships of the Depression. It's a window of a life."
Don't tell much
"Barbara Bush," though, is the epitome of the current celebrity autobiography -- promising to reveal the intimate side of a very public person, but ultimately giving the reader little. It gushes, it tap-dances around uncomfortable situations (speculation about Mr. Bush's role in the Iran-contra affair is called "the darnest allegations").
Still, "Barbara Bush" is no different from other recent celebrity autobiographies. Read the reviews of books by Marlon Brando, John Denver, Dolly Parton and Burt Reynolds and the same complaint emerges: They're not telling us anything.
But there have been any number of excellent memoirs out -- some from people you've never heard of, or from people you wouldn't think you'd be interested in.
No longer is the memoir considered the province of primarily the man or woman of letters (Henry Adams, Mark Twain) or historical figures (Benjamin Franklin, U.S. Grant). Indeed, given the many examples that have come out in recent years, it can be argued that we're in a golden age of the memoir.
"There's no question that we're in a more fruitful time for memoirs than any I can recall," says Mr. Zinsser. "It's an extremely important form of making sense of our lives, of who we are and who we once were."
Memoirs released this fall indicate just how wide the range can be. Jill Ker Conway, president of Smith College, had her second book of memoirs published ("True North"). Author Max Apple ("The Oranging of America") offers an unusual memoir in "Roommates" -- it's the story of how his grandfather, at the age of 103, became head of the family.
Houghton Mifflin published "Autobiography of a Face," a heart-breaking account of a woman dealing with a disfiguring cancer ("the eyes of these perfectly formed children swiftly and deftly bored into the deepest part of me").
Written by Lucy Grealy, a relatively unknown poet, "Autobiography of a Face" was published with a modest first printing of about 10,000. But through strong reviews and word of mouth, about 50,000 books are now in print, according to Gail Winston, a senior editor at Houghton Mifflin.
What favors a memoir over the celebrity autobiography, Ms. Winston says, is that "it's about writing. Some celebrity bios aren't even written by the celebrity, and most readers know that. In a memoir, you get the intimacy of the voice -- there is no comparison with the celebrity books. Houghton Mifflin does not publish celebrity bios exactly for that reason."
Black memoirs
Memoirs have been remarkably inclusive. Among the ones published in recent months were books by black writers Nathan McCall ("Makes Me Wanna Holler"), Brent Staples ("Parallel Time"), John Edgar Wideman ("Fatheralong"), Henry Louis Gates Colored People") and Ruthie Bolton's "Gal: A True Life," which detailed a life of an unknown South Carolina woman facing great adversity.
"Black memoir writers have pushed that frontier of writing honestly." Mr. Zinsser says. "And with the recent vast waves of immigrants in America, it will become even more important."
Mr. Wolff, who teaches English and literature at Syracuse University, is a big fan of memoirs. "A good one gives a sense of immediacy, of participating in the life of the author," he says. "And you get a sense of someone confronting himself. Most celebrity autobiographies can't do that. The authors usually have something or someone to protect."
Mr. Zinsser points out that some celebrities have succeeded as memoir writers. "Lauren Bacall was able to write about being a girl from Brooklyn [her second volume of memoirs, "Now," was published this fall], and a lot of people could identify with her," he says. "Kirk Douglas was surprisingly open. But most autobiographies of that ilk are self-serving. You almost expect it."
Another key difference between the memoir and the celebrity autobiography is that the former initially is concerned with the unfamiliar, then ultimately focuses on the universal.
That's what Mr. Wolff discovered when he began writing "This Boy's Life" in the mid-1980s. He had attained a reputation as a short-story writer and essayist. But that was the problem: Although it was important for him to write his memoirs, would readers care as much?
"All the time I wrote 'This Boy's Life,' I kept thinking: 'I'm not Winston Churchill. I'm not Graham Greene. Who the hell cares about a guy who grew up in Washington and Utah, and had an abusive stepfather?' " Mr. Wolff, 49, says. "I wrote the book essentially for myself."
But, as often happens with a book written for personal reasons, "This Boy's Life" soon was embraced by many others. Mr. Wolff's account of growing up in a blue-collar, hardscrabble setting in the Northwest was often painful and occasionally harrowing, but readers took to its simplicity and honesty. The book, published in 1987, became a best seller and was the basis of the 1993 movie starring Robert De Niro and Ellen Barkin.
Unexpected reaction
"I never in a thousand years expected such a reaction," he says.
Nor did Howell Raines anticipate the letters he's received since writing "Fly-Fishing Through the Mid-Life Crisis," published last year. He envisioned the book as a collection of pieces about the outdoors. It ended up as a contemplation of the male mid-life crisis, as well as a memoir of his childhood in northern Alabama and reflections on friendship, the dissolution of his marriage and father-son relationships.
Now he gets a steady stream of mail, not only from men who identify with Mr. Raines' writing on fishing and on middle-age male angst, but from women. "I've gotten a tremendous amount of mail from women who bought the book for fathers, husbands, sons or brothers, and then read the book themselves," says Mr. Raines, editorial page editor of the New York Times.
Neither book was considered a likely best seller at the time of publication, yet soon gained large readership. The reason? They tried to be as straight with the reader as possible.
"A memoir has to be absolutely honest," Mr. Zinsser says. "You can make it absolutely well-crafted, but if the readers feel you're not being honest with them, they won't believe you. You have to be available to the reader. You can't hide. You have to make your own emotions available."
Mr. Wolff thought he had learned that lesson with "This Boy's Life," but in writing his current book, he soon found himself dodging several important parts.
"After I finished the first draft, I knew I had left out things I had no business leaving out," he says. "I left out parts about my friend, Hugh Pierce," because I was afraid of using his death just to move along the story. I had left out some meetings with my father [with whom Mr. Wolff had become estranged]. I had to go back and put those parts in."
Though this rigorous self-examination may be painful, it's at the heart of the memoir. As Mr. Raines observes, "You've really got to know how you feel about things." And if he and other memoir-writers end up with something far different from what they had imagined, then the reader ultimately profits.
"Wallace Stevens once said, 'No surprises for the writer, no surprises for the reader.' " Mr. Wolff notes. "A good memoir will do both."