Scan barcode
debbarney's review against another edition
5.0
Everyone should read Mary Karr. Her story-telling is honest and sometimes heartbreaking without being whiny. I live in the area her books were written about and therefore have a better understanding of where she’s coming from. I’m actually going back and reading them again since it’s been a few years. She just pulls you in.
jcaballero0725's review against another edition
This one was no t a page turner for me, but it was a very interesting glimpse of what someone goes through while battling their demons. I recommend this book to people that want to read something uplifting.
teenagedeathsongs's review against another edition
emotional
funny
hopeful
reflective
medium-paced
3.75
shanhautman's review against another edition
4.0
Excellent. Read Liars' Club, Cherry, and now Lit. She is one of my favorite memoir writers.
brice_mo's review against another edition
4.0
I love Mary Karr and how she uses her deep-fried Didionisms to deromanticize, well, everything.
Lit is not a baffling book as much as Mary Karr is a baffling person. She’s a sailor-mouthed, late-in-life Catholic convert who pursues sacred things with profane delight (or perhaps, vice-versa). This memoir follows her descent into alcoholism and her ascent into cynical saint, and it’s all told with a fleet-footed voice and a humility that’s magnetic.
At one point, Karr notes that a mentor said, “take no care for your dignity” in her writing, and it’s interesting how that plays out. I think memoirs frequently succumb to self-punishment in a way that is ultimately self-serving, but that’s not the case here. Instead, the author pointedly describes what an awful person she was—and sometimes still is—because it needs to be said. With this being an off-kilter redemption arc, Karr seems deeply concerned with avoiding any of the tropes or feel-good narrative beats that would lend themselves to proselytizing or self-promotion. Appropriately for a Catholic, it amounts to something that feels oddly sacrificial, an emptying of the self for the good of her readers.
Personally, I’m really fascinated by people who adopt a religion well into adulthood because it seems like an unnecessary complication to life. It introduces new obligations and often offers little in return. Karr seems to bemusedly write from a similar perspective, poking holes in religious belief even as she finds it impossible to resist. In fact, most of her spiritual journey is characterized by her mocking the possibility of the divine, lobbing expletives into nothingness until they begin to hit something. Forget Jacob wrestling the angel; this is Mary Karr kicking and screaming her way into faith.
It’s a take that’s as refreshing as it is remarkable because this isn’t a book about a redemption narrative; it’s a book about a redemptive interruption. It is about being surprised by one’s shifting beliefs, and while lesser authors would struggle to make it coherent, Mary Karr’s ability to shamelessly share her embarrassment feels singularly her. She recognizes that for many readers, religion will merely be seen as the mental jungle gym she needed to get sober, but for her, it becomes a trellis on which life can truly bloom.
Lit is not a baffling book as much as Mary Karr is a baffling person. She’s a sailor-mouthed, late-in-life Catholic convert who pursues sacred things with profane delight (or perhaps, vice-versa). This memoir follows her descent into alcoholism and her ascent into cynical saint, and it’s all told with a fleet-footed voice and a humility that’s magnetic.
At one point, Karr notes that a mentor said, “take no care for your dignity” in her writing, and it’s interesting how that plays out. I think memoirs frequently succumb to self-punishment in a way that is ultimately self-serving, but that’s not the case here. Instead, the author pointedly describes what an awful person she was—and sometimes still is—because it needs to be said. With this being an off-kilter redemption arc, Karr seems deeply concerned with avoiding any of the tropes or feel-good narrative beats that would lend themselves to proselytizing or self-promotion. Appropriately for a Catholic, it amounts to something that feels oddly sacrificial, an emptying of the self for the good of her readers.
Personally, I’m really fascinated by people who adopt a religion well into adulthood because it seems like an unnecessary complication to life. It introduces new obligations and often offers little in return. Karr seems to bemusedly write from a similar perspective, poking holes in religious belief even as she finds it impossible to resist. In fact, most of her spiritual journey is characterized by her mocking the possibility of the divine, lobbing expletives into nothingness until they begin to hit something. Forget Jacob wrestling the angel; this is Mary Karr kicking and screaming her way into faith.
It’s a take that’s as refreshing as it is remarkable because this isn’t a book about a redemption narrative; it’s a book about a redemptive interruption. It is about being surprised by one’s shifting beliefs, and while lesser authors would struggle to make it coherent, Mary Karr’s ability to shamelessly share her embarrassment feels singularly her. She recognizes that for many readers, religion will merely be seen as the mental jungle gym she needed to get sober, but for her, it becomes a trellis on which life can truly bloom.
lastpaige111's review against another edition
5.0
Amazing writer. Excellent memoir of interest to mothers and anyone interested in recovery.
tophat8855's review against another edition
2.0
Maybe I didn't get into it because I don't know Karr's writing. This was just a story about family alcoholism and confronting that, didn't seem groundbreaking. I listened on Hoopla and maybe Karr is one of those writers who can't narrate their own books? I don't know. Just didn't have a spark.