A Shotgun Life has just been reviewed by The Collagist!
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Thanks again to Ansley Moon!
Lit by Mary Karr
It’s as if Mary Karr mined the human psyche for vulnerabilities before writing Lit. Karr is a mother struggling to overcome the inner voice and past mistakes that threaten to undermine her ability as a parent. She is an addict, circling the drain of despair. She is a wife whose husband has chameleoned himself into the background of her life. She is a writer with a silenced pen. She is a daughter with bookended deteriorating parents. She is a woman losing her footing. She is falling apart. She is you. She is me.
With an emotional distance other memoirists will envy, Karr delves headfirst into the deepest and darkest pools of her life. The language is beautiful, as it always is with her, but it’s not the sole focus of this book. There is no way to pretty this story. It’s raw and real, and at times you want to cover your eyes and look away. But you can’t. It’s that good.
Lit opens with Mary Karr all grown up. She receives an education, almost against her will, and begins a life as a writer. The sole focus of the book, however, is the beginning and ending of parenthood. As Mary becomes a mother to a young boy, she is faced with losing her aging father. A man, who in previous books, was the shining light in a rather dark childhood. As she recounts the pending passing of her father, she exhibits the mixed emotions that we all struggle with when a loved one is ill. Unlike The Liar’s Club, where we saw the man through Karr’s youthful naiveté, her father is suddenly three dimensional. If The Liar’s Club was a love affair with her father, then Lit is their breaking up. Karr captures perfectly that moment in time when, inevitably, we see our parents as fallible.
While her father is present, it is really Karr’s mother who serves as the adrenaline for Lit. From the very start of the book we know that she and Karr has a complicated relationship. We learn of the horrific events that transpired between them. Yet, her mother is written with a soft pen. It’s as if we witness the two sides of Karr reconciling themselves on the page: the vision of her mother versus the reality of motherhood. To see Karr trying to overcome her past is gripping. You root for her, even as she drowns herself in alcoholism. Even as she admits to her own faults and tries like hell not to finger point, hoisting the blame for many of her failures onto her own shoulders, we still connect with her and want her to win. Why? Because at some basic level, we are her. We are all struggling parents, children, spouses. No one feels that we got it right. Regret is as ingrained in the human soul as hope. We all carry it around with us, not knowing how to offload.
Lit is one of those books that moves things around inside of you, like puzzle pieces. While Karr’s poetic voice is still noticeable, it’s not overwhelming. It’s dribbled into the narrative like a fine spice, adding flavor without taking over. If you’ve read her other books, Lit will be the payoff you’ve been secretly hoping for. And if you haven’t? Read Lit. You’ll wonder where Karr got the time to break into your mind and reveal your deepest fears.
