Monday, June 19, 2006

back page: cherry

cherry by mary karr

"yet another 'messed up girl grows up' memoir. i think it left me feeling sentimental and that 'cherry'-- [i think that's the main character]-- is really missing the point (of life). i guess i [just] find it hard to relate to her. it may have been well written [it seems that i was afraid to say one way or another] and includes some objectionable content."

i rarely mark on the front or back covers of books. it's unsightly and somehow discourteous. however, after concluding cherry i apparently felt free to scribble messages to past reviewers:

frank mccourt: "she's a poet and there are passages in her writing that glitter."
andrew david: "i probably agree."
sunday times: "...she writes with wonderful exactness and candour about sexual experiment and girlish desire."
andrew david: "...and this is probably why i don't relate."
caroline gascoigne: "this frank account of a wild texas girlhood is the most unbeatable read of the year...."
andrew david: "this frank account of a messed up texas girl is...."

if you read my blog as closely as i do, you'll notice that my book reviews tend to appear in alphabetical order by author's last name. today marks the end of that tradition. after unknowingly bumping into karr last week, i felt it was only fitting to conclude her time on this blog with a back page review. as my editorial marks attempt to highlight [i.e., these boxy brackets, the pesky pets of overly attentive editors], i didn't have much to say about this book. i'd just finished janet fitch's white oleander, so i was on troubled-girl-overload. still, i wonder if my response would change had i known that karr was a recent (?) convert to catholicism. would i have embarked on a wild goose chase, searching for a subtle message of redempton whereby i could exclaim, "ah hah! i told you she was a christian"? would i at least find some nugget to dissuade me of karr's pointless vision of life? maybe one of you will read it and tell me...

andrew david. 'wimps die 1 & 2' yelapa, mexico.
the guidebooks claim that there are no roads in or out of yelapa. however, any andrewesque wanderer who journies beyond the cemetary, up a dusty trail, and past the occasional clothes line may find a most marvelous sight: a nonexistent road. and maybe, if this window is particularly portentious, one may find this same vehicle, still waiting the return of its daring dead owner.