Why a Memoir?

There is a road from the eye to the heart that does not go through the intellect,
G.
K. Chesterton
The Defendant

In recent years, many "ordinary” people—folks of all ages and occupations—have turned to memoir writing. Their motives are as varied as the memoirs themselves.

  • Some find the experience therapeutic—an exercise in soul-searching, self-discovery, emotional bravery, and moral courage.

  • Others wish to create a family heirloom—a story that will be passed on through the generations.
  • Still others wish to more fully reveal themselves—to communicate their true selves and essences.

Many memoirists simply wish to gain clarity and coherence—to acquire perspective on a life experience that has at times seemed random and disjointed. For many, the memoir writing experience helps gather life themes and events into a more comprehensible whole. It helps the writer see life as series of unfolding, linked events—a story that possesses a continuous and coherent line. Virginian Woolf, describing the pleasure of seeing the patterns in one’s experience, put it this way:

Perhaps this is the strongest pleasure known to me. It is the rapture I get when in writing I seem to be discovering what belongs to what; making a scene come right; making a character come together. From this I reach what I might call a philosophy; at any rate it is a constant idea of mine; that behind the cotton wool [of daily life] is hidden a pattern; that we—I mean all human beings—are connected with this; that the whole world is a work of art; that we are parts of the work of art. But there is no Shakespeare, there is no Beethoven; . . . we are the words; we are the music; we are the thing itself.

Many family members feel a strong need (indeed, an obligation) to capture their parents' or grandparents’ stories—or the experiences of children, siblings, or friends. Others feel a need to explore their motivations and significant life experiences. Motives vary, and they’re often mixed—and they needn't be perfectly defined. A well-understood purpose, however, will help shape the memoir's organization and content. A good “purpose statement” will help the writer begin organizing thoughts, memories, and materials.

Many would-be memoirists undervalue their stories. They too quickly conclude that their life story lacks substance. Besides, they say to themselves, I’m not a story teller. I'm not capable of writing my story—or any part of it.

Self-doubters might draw motivation from these words by Martha Graham, addressed to her student Agnes de Mille:

There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all time, the expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium. . .and be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is nor how valuable it is; nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate YOU. Keep the channel open. . . .No artist is pleased....There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction; a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive.

For those who wish to use memoir writing as a self-discovery tool, the personal essay is a good starting point. In this essay form, the writer abandons all claims to objectivity. He or she removes all masks and proceeds with shameless subjectivity. This direct presentation of self gives the personal essay both its charm and its intimacy. In the words of novelist Rosellen Brown:

Mediocre essays, I can swear, are never as boring as mediocre fiction—because, even in the hands of the inept, the lives we actually live or witness are more interesting than the ones most of us can (or dare to) invent from scratch.

So, why the memoir—why bother? We know that the autobiographic process can move the writer toward self-knowledge, and it may even change the myth that has been driving his or her life. It can add to a family’s historical record, and it may help repair relationships or end destructive cycles. It can allow the writer to relive and relish some of life’s best moments. And it may even provide a means for enduring one’s life—by transforming it into a work of art.
 
You needn’t perfectly understand your purpose. The memoir’s value may reveal itself over time, as the story unfolds. It may help you capture and treasure past struggles, delights, and achievements. And it may help you understand the story that is at work in your life—each day, each moment.

Orlo J. Otteson
651-278-4824
otteson@aol.com