At a time when memoirists are often told the story that will sell to a publisher is the “noisy” story that can most reliably garner headlines, links and clicks—and therefore, sales—it feels like vindication that Abigail Thomas’ work stands out on the shelf for a different reason: It is real, relatable life, beautifully written. It’s car accidents and cancer and love affairs, how Thomas responds to these difficult (but not entirely uncommon) events, and how they shape her and her relationships. Woven throughout are accounts of the furniture her dogs destroyed, her latest painting, a meal cooked, pulling nettles from the garden, a visit with an old friend, drinking too much.
And thank God. Thank God for the lack of hype and drama, the absence of flash and sentimentality. Thank God for a writer and books that slowly and quietly creep into our hearts, and expand them. When I read Abigail Thomas’ work, I feel like I’ve been gifted with an important life lesson about what’s important. I breathe thanks for her willingness to examine her life, give herself grace for the parts where she behaved as a flawed human, and withhold judgment of the rest, as it gives others permission to do the same. Her honesty gives me courage. Her gratitude opens the spigot for my own. More gifts.
Thomas came through Seattle on April 27, and though I was on the tail-end of a head cold and my neck and chest were lit up with a siren-red heat rash—a special thing I get with any manner of illness—I put on mascara and wore a puffy scarf and attended the event with my friend Melinda, who is also a memoirist. On the way there, we’d driven not a hundred feet from Melinda’s house when she noted (about Thomas), “it’s the things she doesn’t say.”
It is that, too. The space that Thomas creates with “the things she doesn’t say” allows for the things she does to have more impact. Not everything has to be in neon lights, nor do we want everything to be in neon lights.
Thomas’ reading—oh hell, I’m going to call her Abigail from now on, or even Abby. Abby’s reading was just like her writing. She is the kind of person who leaves you wishing she was your next-door neighbor, and that there was a gate in the middle of the fence between your houses, or no fence at all. At 71, she wears bright green booties, revels in old stories of young lovers and drops f-bombs. She is delightful. And, to my surprise, she glowed equally brightly when she talked about teaching others to write memoir.
This energy may be why yesterday, as I lay in congested misery on the sofa with a box of tissue and my pug, some epiphanies about what I next need to do on my own memoir started to emerge. I’d already agreed with my agent back in January that I would undertake revisions, based on thoughtful (rejection) feedback we received from the initial batch of submissions to publishers. And then I went to Africa for a month, and I wrote a bunch of short pieces, and I went to LA—all ways of putting off what wasn’t coming easily to me in the first place. But yesterday, snotty and hot, and without any effort, I remembered something Abby said: “If you end your memoir where you think it’s supposed to end, you probably haven’t ended it in the right place.” Also, the honesty part. I wasn’t dishonest in the ending of my manuscript, but I wrapped it up too neatly, and in doing so, glossed over some of the truth.
I’m finally excited about digging in to these revisions. Rather than attributing this shift to the mini-delirium that comes with a head cold, I’m going to thank Abby Thomas. In her authenticity, I found a new appreciation for the power, and necessity, of my own.
Tell me about a writer or book who moved or inspired you!
Hi Laura! What a lovely piece of writing this is and I’m sure you used some of your newly inspired knowledge to put it out. It made me want to read what Abby writes and your coming memoir as well. I haven’t been a big fan of the genre because I always get distracted with more compelling ideas I find in nonfiction. But maybe I should? Thanks for the nudge. ~Kathy
Hi Kathy, and thank you! If you’re feeling like you want to dip your toe in, Abby’s books are a real joy and a good place to go if it’s not your normal genre. As for mine, at the rate I’m going, it will be another couple of years before it’s out — so maybe just in time for you to want to read another memoir?!
Hi Laura, my but it’s been a while since I was in touch and how nice that it’s about an author whom I also appreciate. I read “A Three Dog Life” some time ago and loved every word. It moved me and reminded me about the deep, yet basic, humanity we all share. Wish I’d know she was coming to town. I’ll have to pick up her new book after I get back from China. And hey, how about coffee and catching up after I’m back–mid to end May?
Hello Jagoda! So glad you stopped by. If you loved A Three Dog Life, you will definitely love the new one. Have a fantastic trip and I would absolutely love to catch up over coffee when you’re back.
I just finished What Comes Next this morning. I agree with all you say about Abby (I might as well do it too!) getting the details just right for the writer she is… She’s lucky with her publisher…or her publisher has learned to trust Abby’s instincts for let’s say, not taking her drinking and telling her to write the next Lit. She talked about that just enough. I was so moved by what she said, but what she didn’t say affected me just as much. Wish I’d seen her because I want to know if her daughter is still in remission and if her friend got the transplant and how the dogs are doing…you are so right about wanting to share a fence!
Yes, Cindy, totally agree, the details are perfect. Even the one-sentence chapters say a ton, and have such sticking power. (You know, it took her seven years to write this book!) As for family updates, she gave a few: her daughter is still in remission; Chuck hasn’t had a transplant yet but at least the hepatitis part of his illness is completely cured, thanks to a new treatment; her dogs are great, and are all different from the ones in A Three Dog Life (I think now it’s Cooper, Daphne and Sophie).
Beautiful. I’m going to get a copy. I wish I attended her event with you. I would have even risked the cold!
I don’t like going out when I’m contagious, and it was Day 4, so I’m thinking/hoping that I wasn’t a risk to anyone! I’m glad you’re going to get a copy of Abby’s book — it’s such a treat, especially when paired with a nice big mug of tea or coffee and a comfy chair.
From how you describe her writing, I know I would enjoy works by Abigail Thomas. The last inspiring read for me was a couple of years ago when I listened to the Audible version of 10% Happier by Dan Harris.
I hadn’t heard of 10% Happier, so I just went to look at it on Goodreads and add it to my TBR list and I saw your book review!
I’d love to know what you think of Abigail Thomas’ latest book, from an editing standpoint, too. I am amazed by what it packs in using minimal (but perfect) language.
Thanks Laura. Great review. I’ll have to take a look at this author’s works, and not only because she has dogs. 😉
I’m glad to hear you are diving back into your memoir. It deserves a readership. xx
Thank you, Belinda! And yes, she has more dogs than we do! Lots of dogs, dogs who eat shoes and bedding. 🙂
Laura, I’ve read all of “Abby’s” books, hey I’ll do that too. Feel the same way as you about her work. It is difficult to write things so slowly so softly and of course gritty too. I’ve written a memoir that I feel proud of and here and there have needed to be more “telling” per culture today. Explain. What’s the point. I love the nuances and what is not said. As a reader I want to breathe inside the empty spaces. You’ve written a beautiful piece here. I will go back to it now and then. And good luck with the writing. Wish me luck on my memoir. Currently looking for a home with small publishers who may have a better ear for unusual voices and stories.
Marlena, I’m sending you all good vibes to help your memoir find a home. We need books like yours and Abby’s in the world. Thank you for stopping by today. xo