The Whole Truth

Roundtable: Literal versus Invented Truth in Memoir147 Works Cited Barrington, Judith. Writing the Memoir: From Truth to Art. Portland, Oregon: Eighth Mountain Press, 1997. Dillard, Annie. "To Fashion a Text" from Inventing the Truth: The Art and Craft of Memoir. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1987. Dunn, Stephen. Craft Lecture given at the Stonecoast Writer's Conference, Freeport, Mame, July 27, 1996. Gerard, Philip. Creative Nonfiction: Researching and Crafting Stories of Real Life. Cincinnati: Story Press, 1997. Gormck,Vivian."Why Memoir Now?" from Women's Review ofBooks 8, no. 10 QuIy 1996): 22. Hampl, Patricia, with Laura Wexler. An Interview with Patricia Hampl from The Associated Writing Programs Chronicle 30, no. 3 (March/April 1998): 1-7. Houston, Pam, with Jan Goggins. "All Narrators are Unreliable: An Interview with Pam Houston" from Writing on the Edge 8, no. 1 (fall/winter 1996-97): 83-96. Kupfer, Fern. "Everything But The Truth" from a talk given at the Associated Writing Programs Convention, Washington, L). C, April 14, 1996. Steinberg, Michael. "Trading Off: A Memoir" from The Missouri Review XVII, no. 1 (May 1994): 136-57. The Whole Truth Peter M. Ives I About a year ago, I gave my sister, Kitty, a draft of an essay I'd been working on. Up to that point, I had never shared any ofmy autobiographical writing with a family member. Part of the essay dealt with the day of our father's death, and I was sincerely interested to see if she could add any details or observations. I spent an anxiety-filled week, second-guessing my decision, before calling her. I was quite surprised by her reaction. It wasn't that she was offended or angry—I had prepared myselffor that possibility. No, in fact she was quite generous in her comments about the piece. However, what caught me off guard was the degree to which her memories ofthat day—April 5, 1969—conflicted substantially with my own recollections. 148Fourth Genre She remembered the day as being sunny. I remembered a light drizzle with low gray clouds. She remembered being with me in the bedroom when I found my father's body. I remembered only my brother John being there. She remembered the coroner pronouncing my father dead before Father Ramsey came to perform the last rites. I remembered Father Ramsey arriving before the coroner. As we talked, it became clear to me that this event—indisputably the most central instance of my childhood—was subject to conflicting perspectives. There were other details where our memories conflicted, but in the end it didn't matter whether or not it had been sunny or rainy or whether it was the priest or coroner who arrived first, because one thing has always remained certain: our father died that day, and both of us remembered watching the ambulance attendants carry his body out the front door. II Shortly after that revelatory conversation with my sister, I came across an essay written by Anna Quindlen for the New York Times Book Review. In her piece, "How Dark? How Stormy? I Can't Recall," Ms. Quindlen questioned the legitimate employment of specific details in memoir. It seems that because the author couldn't remember the name of her kindergarten teacher, she felt compelled to question how Frank McCourt—the author of Angela's Ashes—could remember "the raw, itching sore that erupted between his eyes when he was a boy, or the sight of himself in a mirror on his fourteenth birthday." In support of her incredulity, Ms. Quindlen continued: "I can't remember the spread on my parents' bed. If it was quilted satin, I can't remember running my hand over its smooth surface when I was seven or eight years old. If it was chenille, I can't recall feeling the bobbles beneath my palm as I sat and watched in the mirror as my mother braided my long hair." To be fair, Ms. Quindlen reminds readers that she spent most of her life as a reporter, and that the "strictures of her trade run deep." In this regard, it is completely understandable that Ms. Quindlen is, by nature, suspicious of anything as unverifiable as memoir. As...