We All Have a Life. Must We All Write About It?

Read this article the other morning, and found it rather catty. Do a thousand mediocre memoirs diminish the one that’s genuinely great? My old teacher Rey Buono told me once that you had to appreciate bad art, because without it no good art could exist.

But maybe I just feel that way because I have a boundless interest in memoirs, in the catalogues of lives, in the arcs of love affairs and the shadows of childhood. I do prefer it if they’re well-written, of course.

(How this blog fits into all of that is another day’s tapping.)