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A review by emilyinherhead
My Autobiography of Carson McCullers: A Memoir by Jenn Shapland
emotional
informative
reflective
slow-paced
5.0
This book is so many things: a memoir, a literary exploration, a chronicling, a portrait, a process of self-discovery, a queer homecoming. Picking it up right after reading Carson McCullers’ The Heart is a Lonely Hunter for the first time was absolutely the right call.
Jenn Shapland’s voice is clear and welcoming and felt immediately familiar to me. The way she has written and formatted this genre-bending piece of nonfiction reflects what it’s like to investigate, uncover, and make connections—it doesn’t follow a straightforward chronology but instead jumps around in Carson’s life, a collection of moments and discoveries.
As she is temporarily living in Carson’s home in Columbus, Georgia, and digging through various archival collections to learn more about the famous author’s life, Shapland is also making realizations about her own history and identity. In My Autobiography, she is on a quest for proof of McCullers’s queerness specifically, but along the way she also examines more generally the ways in which we have erased lesbian authors and artists in the written records we keep, and why, and how this is extremely harmful. She also ponders what it means to be closeted, lonely, chronically ill, or traumatized, and how all of these conditions can inform and be informed by the process of writing.
It’s hard to explain how quickly and thoroughly I got wrapped up in this book. How immediately I appreciated The Heart is a Lonely Hunter on a whole new level and wanted to seek out more of Carson McCullers’s work. How parts of myself, excavated, went running out to revel in the autumn air. How deeply it felt like home.
Jenn Shapland’s voice is clear and welcoming and felt immediately familiar to me. The way she has written and formatted this genre-bending piece of nonfiction reflects what it’s like to investigate, uncover, and make connections—it doesn’t follow a straightforward chronology but instead jumps around in Carson’s life, a collection of moments and discoveries.
As she is temporarily living in Carson’s home in Columbus, Georgia, and digging through various archival collections to learn more about the famous author’s life, Shapland is also making realizations about her own history and identity. In My Autobiography, she is on a quest for proof of McCullers’s queerness specifically, but along the way she also examines more generally the ways in which we have erased lesbian authors and artists in the written records we keep, and why, and how this is extremely harmful. She also ponders what it means to be closeted, lonely, chronically ill, or traumatized, and how all of these conditions can inform and be informed by the process of writing.
It’s hard to explain how quickly and thoroughly I got wrapped up in this book. How immediately I appreciated The Heart is a Lonely Hunter on a whole new level and wanted to seek out more of Carson McCullers’s work. How parts of myself, excavated, went running out to revel in the autumn air. How deeply it felt like home.