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A review by remlezar
In the Land of Men: A Memoir by Adrienne Miller
4.0
This is an excellent memoir - women who read it, especially those who work in male-dominated fields, will certainly find much to identify with. Reading it as a man made me feel uneasy - I frequently cringed and thought about the past behaviors of both myself and men around me.
Miller's writing reads as clear-eyed and honest, and somehow manages not to feel exploitative, even though half of the book is about her relationship with David Foster Wallace, that tortured genius author.
DFW is certainly the reason why I picked this book up. His writing was formative for me, both personally and professionally. Wallace's work is sometimes frustrating, but almost always leaves me breathless, in complete awe of his ridiculous, almost inhuman talent. One of the things that always struck me about his writing was how he could write like that, so complicated and spiraling, while simultaneously being so humble, down-to-earth, practical, humorously observational, and empathetic. I admired his writing, and because of the content and philosophy of much of that writing, I always admired him as a person as well. When he died, it felt like a punch in the gut.
As the years went by, more and more stories came to the surface about DFW. Some reinforced what I thought about him - the tortured, gentle, empathetic genius. Others were much more disturbing, revealing someone who could be cruel, sexist, narcissistic. A true monster. Hearing these stories was akin to hearing that, say, Mr. Rogers actually hated children and slapped them around as soon as the cameras stopped rolling. (Luckily, this was not the case with Rogers, and he appears to have been nearly as kind and well-intentioned as we all hoped.)
As much as I wished this information about Wallace wasn't true, I knew I wanted to hear more, if nothing else just so I could try to make sense of how someone could write like he could (gentle, empathetic, etc.) while being like he was (terrible).
Here, too, Miller does an excellent job of painting a more full picture of the man. As it turns out, according to her, Wallace was both what I thought and what I feared. He was sweet and charming and timid, but apparently used those attributes to exploit those around him - especially women. He was an addict in the truest sense of the word. A recovering alcoholic, fighting a nicotine addition, and based on my reading of this book, likely indulging a sex addiction. He was emotionally manipulative in some disgusting, passive aggressive, horrifyingly subversive ways.
Miller does not shy away from the many dark sides of Wallace, but at the same time she acknowledges that she fell for it and did love him, even though she was never sure if he was even capable of loving her in the same way. He was addicted to her support and constant reassurances of his genius, while being supremely dismissive of her job, ambition, and writing.
All in all, this book made me feel proud of Miller, for surviving playing a game with the deck stacked so squarely against her. It also broke my heart in the ways I feared it would, by reforming my mental image of Wallace from gentle but broken genius to pathetic narcissist... genius.
Will I be able to enjoy Wallace's writing anymore? I don't know. Probably not in the same way, at least. I suppose I still admire and enjoy Stanley Kubrick's "The Shining," although when I watch it, it is impossible for me to not think about the way in which Kubrick abused Shelley Duvall on set.
Still genius, but forever tainted.
Miller's writing reads as clear-eyed and honest, and somehow manages not to feel exploitative, even though half of the book is about her relationship with David Foster Wallace, that tortured genius author.
DFW is certainly the reason why I picked this book up. His writing was formative for me, both personally and professionally. Wallace's work is sometimes frustrating, but almost always leaves me breathless, in complete awe of his ridiculous, almost inhuman talent. One of the things that always struck me about his writing was how he could write like that, so complicated and spiraling, while simultaneously being so humble, down-to-earth, practical, humorously observational, and empathetic. I admired his writing, and because of the content and philosophy of much of that writing, I always admired him as a person as well. When he died, it felt like a punch in the gut.
As the years went by, more and more stories came to the surface about DFW. Some reinforced what I thought about him - the tortured, gentle, empathetic genius. Others were much more disturbing, revealing someone who could be cruel, sexist, narcissistic. A true monster. Hearing these stories was akin to hearing that, say, Mr. Rogers actually hated children and slapped them around as soon as the cameras stopped rolling. (Luckily, this was not the case with Rogers, and he appears to have been nearly as kind and well-intentioned as we all hoped.)
As much as I wished this information about Wallace wasn't true, I knew I wanted to hear more, if nothing else just so I could try to make sense of how someone could write like he could (gentle, empathetic, etc.) while being like he was (terrible).
Here, too, Miller does an excellent job of painting a more full picture of the man. As it turns out, according to her, Wallace was both what I thought and what I feared. He was sweet and charming and timid, but apparently used those attributes to exploit those around him - especially women. He was an addict in the truest sense of the word. A recovering alcoholic, fighting a nicotine addition, and based on my reading of this book, likely indulging a sex addiction. He was emotionally manipulative in some disgusting, passive aggressive, horrifyingly subversive ways.
Miller does not shy away from the many dark sides of Wallace, but at the same time she acknowledges that she fell for it and did love him, even though she was never sure if he was even capable of loving her in the same way. He was addicted to her support and constant reassurances of his genius, while being supremely dismissive of her job, ambition, and writing.
All in all, this book made me feel proud of Miller, for surviving playing a game with the deck stacked so squarely against her. It also broke my heart in the ways I feared it would, by reforming my mental image of Wallace from gentle but broken genius to pathetic narcissist... genius.
Will I be able to enjoy Wallace's writing anymore? I don't know. Probably not in the same way, at least. I suppose I still admire and enjoy Stanley Kubrick's "The Shining," although when I watch it, it is impossible for me to not think about the way in which Kubrick abused Shelley Duvall on set.
Still genius, but forever tainted.