i love memoirs. perhaps too much. but i have to agree with this NYT writer, commenting about the influx of poorly-written memoirs on the market today that offer bland approaches to mundane life events.

But it’s the reader who will need a hug after choking down this orgy of self-congratulation and self-pity. That’s what happens when immature writers write memoirs: they don’t realize that an ordeal, served up without perspective or perceptiveness, is merely an ordeal.