Book Review by Heather Anne McIntosh
“Truth
& Beauty” by Ann Patchett is a memoir about the unique friendship
between the author, Ann Patchett, and Lucy Grealy, the poet and author of the
esteemed memoir “Autobiography of a Face.” Ann and Lucy officially met while
they were in college at Sarah Lawrence, but they became close friends when they
began the Iowa writing program together in 1985. The two women had strikingly
different personalities, but shared an intense and devoted friendship until
Lucy’s death from a heroin overdose in 2002. This memoir effectively
communicates the complex aspects of what was clearly a profound, life-changing
relationship. In her writing, Ann paints an intricate portrait which is slowly
rendered for the reader throughout the course of the book. In doing so, she
writes honestly and without judgment about the many facets of Lucy’s
personality, including the effects of Lucy’s many medical treatments, her
philosophy about money, work, and sex, and in the end, her unsuccessful battle
with drugs and addiction. The
structure of this book is simple and effective. Ann starts the narrative when
she meets Lucy in the summer of 1985, and then continues to tell the story in a
mostly linear fashion until the end. Ann and Lucy had prearranged to be
roommates in Iowa during graduate school, although they really didn’t know each
other until they met in the living room of their apartment shortly before
school began. This initial meeting introduces Lucy perfectly. Ann writes: “When
I turned around to say hello, she shot through the door with a howl. In a
second she was in my arms, leaping up onto me, her arms locked around my neck,
her legs wrapped around my waist, ninety-five pounds that felt no more than
thirty. She was crying into my hair. She squeezed her legs tighter. It was not
a greeting as much as it was a claim: she was staking out this spot on my chest
as her own and I was to hold her for as long as she wanted to stay.” Lucy
enters Ann’s life in that moment and changes it forever. The narrative continues
through graduate school in Iowa, various teaching positions, fellowships, publications,
and periods of little work or money for both Ann and Lucy. Both are aspiring
writers and incur sporadic bursts of success which increase over time. Lucy’s
career peaks first with the publication of her memoir about her experience with
childhood cancer of the jaw and the monstrous effects it has on her face, both
physically and emotionally. Ann’s writing career builds slowly and steadily through
many short story publications, three novels, and then breaks out with the
paperback publication of Bel Canto, her fourth novel, which becomes a
best seller and wins numerous prizes. Ann and Lucy’s writing
habits permeate the narrative of this memoir and are reflective of both of
their personalities. Ann makes steady progress, dedicating time each day for
writing and editing. Lucy is sporadic, impulsive, but can create spectacular work
when she is inspired. Ann writes: “Lucy looked at writing the way other people
thought about diets, except that she was always pulling for her numbers to go
up while everyone else was trying to get their numbers down. Writing was always
something that was owed, always overdue.” This same attitude can be seen in so
many aspects of Lucy’s life and illustrates Lucy’s consistently optimistic,
self-absorbed view of the world around her. Ann was the reliable, but somehow
less colorful, friend and confidant - always there to fix a situation and ready
to help. It
would have been easy for Ann to resent Lucy or judge her harshly, especially
given many of her actions: her preoccupation with illness, her self-doubt and propensity
to wallow in self-pity. Instead, Ann is able to describe Lucy in a clear way
without sugar-coating her faults, and at the same time is able to convey her
deep understanding, respect and love for her friend. When describing Lucy’s frequent episodes of
depression, Ann writes: “For much of her life Lucy was able to use the
historical atrocities of humankind to keep her own despair in perspective and,
therefore, slightly more manageable. She decided to make herself a student of
suffering, but it had to be the right kind of suffering to capture her
imagination. She wasn’t interested in forces of nature. Towns wiped out by
hurricanes and earthquakes were useless for her purposes.” Even to the reader
of this book, Lucy’s frequent tendency to wallow in self-pity and the
consequent need for reinforcement is staggering and sometimes tedious. “Do you
love me?” she asks Ann over and over again. “I’m so lonely. Why doesn’t anybody
love me?” she continues, as if she hasn’t heard any answer. Everybody loves
Lucy, but it’s never enough. Lucy
is irresponsible with her finances and as a result Ann is forced over and over
again to dig Lucy out of tough situations, the type of thing which would
usually cause a friendship to end. Surprisingly, Ann is able to take this on without
any lingering resentment. She writes: “Lucy was awful with money in a way that
one imagines the Marx Brothers or Laurel and Hardy might have been awful with
money. There could have been a movie, Laurel and Hardy Go to the Bank, in which
our heroes try to bring their life savings in for safekeeping but at every turn
find themselves distracted: pretty girls, butterflies, squalling children. All
the while money flutters out of their pockets like a careless trail of
breadcrumbs.” This humor is typical of Ann’s writing and brings a lightness to
what would otherwise be a very serious and possibly dreary book. Ann is a master
of the ebb and flow of narrative and structure. This book is flawless in the
way it moves the reader from scene to scene, year after year, as the story
progresses. Ann intersperses Lucy’s own words throughout the book from letters
she has written to Ann. Lucy’s words are in italic, and serve to reinforce and
add texture to the story in a very effective way. Even after reading Lucy’s own
memoir, the words in Lucy’s letters to Ann illuminate her character in more intimate
and memorable way. Dearest anvil, dearest
deposed president of some now defunct but lovingly remembered country, dearest
to me, I can find no suitable words of affection for you, words that will
contain the whole of your wonderfulness to me. You will have to make due with
being my favorite bagel, my favorite blue awning above some great little café
where the coffee is strong but milky and had real texture to it. Lucy
writes in this descriptive way to Ann touching on subjects from art, to sex, to
philosophy with that same imagery and intimacy. Each paragraph
is purposeful and just enough detail is provided to move the story along.
Sometimes the narrative moves quickly through months and years, and at other
times it slows down and provides the reader with a closer look at the important
moments in time. During these times we are treated to snippets of conversations
and dialog, which are sparse, concise and perfectly paced. This technique is
similar to a camera lens which zooms in and out, and Ann has mastered the art
of determining when it makes sense to move in or out without distracting the
reader. An example of this technique can be seen in the following paragraph:
“Everyone had always recognized Lucy, but now there were people who had seen
her, heard her, read her. There were people who were attracted to the
unmistakable light put out by a sudden celebrity. [zooming in] On a crowded and
glorious autumn afternoon, we walked through SoHo laughing, arms around each
other’s waists. We had just bought matching leopard-print miniskirts when a
handsome Jamaican man with long braids started riding circles around us on his
bicycle. ‘Beautiful day for beautiful girls,’ he said.” The reader is now
embedded in a moment on an autumn afternoon in New York and eager to read more.
This book is full of these types of seamless transitions. Not surprisingly,
this story ends in tragedy with the death of Lucy due to a heroin overdose. It’s
never clear whether the overdose was accidental or not, and Ann does not dwell
on this. Nearing the end of Lucy’s life and well into her battle with addition,
it’s clear that Lucy’s death is something that is going to happen, and the
method and details of that death when they happen are not very meaningful. In
the end, Ann reflects on how much Lucy needed and used her many friends. Ann
admits to a kind of addiction she herself had – not to heroin - but to Lucy. She
writes: “That was part of Lucy’s genius in having so many friends. We all lost
our patience with her, but never at the same time. If one of us was tired,
there was always someone else to pick up the lamp and lead her home. It would
have been me again, I know that. There was a time, just a moment that night at
the Park Avenue Café, I had thought I could let her go. But now I know I was
simply not cut out for life without her. I am living that life now and would
not choose it. If Lucy couldn’t give up the heroin, I could not give up Lucy.” This book
reminds us of those relationships we’ve all experienced where the balance
between give and take are frequently tipped towards one side. The result, not
surprisingly, is for one person to foster resentment and ultimately to turn
away completely from the other. Using compassion and humor, Ann shows that with
perseverance and patience, there are rewards for both the giver and the givee,
and sometimes it’s worth hanging in there until the end.
