Memoir: Veracity, Art, and the Arias’s
“I saw myself in someone else, and felt less alone in the world”
+++
Recently, I attended a reading, and had the rare opportunity to hear writers Jason Arias, and Laura Arias, brother and sister, each read aloud pieces they’d written about meeting their father whom they hadn’t seen in years.
When I heard the presenter say that Jason and Laura were going to read about the same event, I became immediately curious. With all of the controversy with memoir as a genre, this presented a unique opportunity for me to compare and contrast.
The biggest and most public controversy with memoir is, of course, veracity. To me this is a boring topic. An author may not have remembered every little detail as written, and I don’t want to read an autobiography. Instead of reporting fact, good memoir serves to connect with the reader on a deep, emotional level. It tells some truth. To me, good memoir reads like fiction and all of the elements of fiction should be present; fully developed characterization, plot, and I have to be interested enough to be pulled in.
Jason read first. Right away I sensed his longing - that’s what struck a cord in me. I was a child who longed for her absent father, and as an adult I formed a relationship with my father but longed for him to be what he was not. I so vividly remember seeing my father for the first time in well over a decade, and relived that moment in these stories.
At the beginning of her story Laura considered how her rumpled appearance might appear to their father, and wrote, “Parent’s are supposed to love their kids no matter what, right?” that said so much about her particular longing. She’s a girl, and so not as important to her father in Dominican culture (as in many cultures). It’s a pain she can’t share with Jason, but as her reader my heart broke.
A bit later Jason’s described his father: “He’s a carnival mirror I can’t stop looking for myself in.” That was one of Jason’s filters for the meeting; he looked at his life as a man and wondered how much he was like his father. He didn’t know if he longed to be like his father or not, as he barely knew the man. The complexity was evident and artfully told through story.
Every paragraph revealed some truth about its author, about their father, that day, and some larger truth about parenting, culture, sex, the legacy of domestic violence, and love.
What I compared instead of ‘fact,’ was what the text revealed about them as people. Laura, wrote this about her father, “Don’t give me hope, I think.” She was cautious about the love she felt for her dad. Jason wrote this about him in anger, “…and it’s all I can do to not turn around and beat the last thirty-three years out of this fucking guy.” They are two different people in the same situation with different reactions and feelings; this is the art of revealing character and truth.
In addition to longing, I was struck with how important Jason and Laura were to each other. Jason looked out for Laura, and Laura was sensitivity to Jason’s emotions. I imagined them as children, fierce in their lonely loyalty.
Another debate concerning memoir is that it’s “navel gazing.” I’d argue good memoir does produce narcissism, but in the reader. When I read Jason and Laura’s stories I felt what I always feel with a good story, fiction or non-fiction – connection. I saw myself in someone else, and felt less alone in the world. If it’s narcissistic to look for connection, I’ll take it. That connection is the same wonder I felt when I first learned to read, and still is one of the most beautiful things in my life.
The Arias’s mirrored stories tell us this about memoir – it’s about much more than recording facts. Because experiences are filtered through the individual, the resulting story reveals something deeply personal. It’s art through pain.
Jason and Laura’s stories cross gender, sex, birth order, and culture; they demand something of the reader, compassionate attention and connection. My heart about burst in my chest when I heard their stories.
To read Laura Arias's essay, go here.
To read Jason Arias's essay, go here.
+ + +
Header image courtesy of Matty Byloos.
