Jamie Brickhouse's Blog: Lagniappe - Posts Tagged "mary-karr"

Mary Karr was kind enough to do a Q&A with me for the Dangerous When Wet: A Memoir Amazon page. Here tis, y'all!

A note from Mary Karr on Jamie Brickhouse:

Jamie Brickhouse is a black-belt Texas charmer whose wit, psychological acuity, and self-awareness sizzle on the page. Dangerous When Wet is stunningly Southern, which is a priori gothic, and like any good memoir, it’s never cartoonish. He grew up in the same stretch of Ringworm Belt where I was born. I didn’t know him then, but I’m glad I know him now. Readers of Brickhouse are lucky to relish his wise and wise-assed conversation about booze, fallen priests, memory, and truth. Required reading.

Mary Karr: Can you talk about the glamour of drinking in your household?

Jamie Brickhouse: I glamourized my parents. They always seemed to be coming from a party or throwing a party. They even had household matches and cocktail napkins printed with their names, “Jean and Earl.” I wanted what they had so I was more interested in hanging around them and their adult friends than my own kind – children, yuck! I regarded parties and alcohol as the fast ticket to the grownup-hood. But I also saw Mama Jean’s displeasure with Daddy Earl’s drinking. She was a social drinker – could take or leave it. He was a fun-loving drinker – the more the merrier. When the merry turned to anger and she ranted and screamed about his drinking, I saw her as a spoilsport. I couldn’t connect the dots between the booze and the fights, the dark side of that glamorous wall.

MK: I know your father recently passed away; can you describe his response to the manuscript?

JB: “Hurry up and finish. I want it to come out before I die!” was his constant refrain as I was writing it. I was drenched in fear and dread about how he’d react to the darkest parts of the book and my sexual shenanigans. I seriously considered not letting him read it until right before publication. But I put on my big girl panties and delivered the manuscript to him in person last Easter. My breath held in the other room, I listened as the manuscript pages fell on the floor around his chair. He guffawed, gasped, cried. He told me he loved the book, that I write beautifully, that he was proud of me. Then he said, “Are you happy with it?” After a beat I answered yes. It wasn’t until that moment that I was happy with it. He died eight months later on New Year’s Eve. I’m eternally grateful that I didn’t take the coward’s road and wait to let him read it.

MK: Is there any part that blamed Mama Jean or your father for getting you drunk in the first place?

JB: No. I used to blame her for getting me drunker because I’d drink at her when she made me angry, but I was an alcoholic before I took that first sip of my daddy’s whiskey. If a parent hooks up two kids to a feeding tube of booze, the alcoholic kid is going to make sure that the supply is well stocked; the nonalcoholic kid is going to rip out the tube first chance he gets.

MK: What’s your relationship with the Catholic Church given your run-in with the derelict priest?

JB: I grew up Catholic but rejected the Church when I left home, using my homosexuality as the excuse. I was already far from the flock (or frock) when I had the fling with the priest. After he dropped me when I told him that I’d become HIV-positive (he didn’t give it to me), I felt like he dumped his vow of charity into the same trashcan as his chastity. But three of the people who helped save my ass – my mother, my father, and my rehab counselor (gay) were devout Catholics. The grace of being alive and sober has brought me closer to God. Mama Jean “brings” me to church every year when I attend a memorial Mass on the anniversary of her death. I don’t know if I’ll ever be a full-blown Catholic again, but the Catholic Church is a part of my – admittedly half-assed – spiritual program today.

MK: How did you think about truth and embellishment as you worked?

JB:With a mother like Mama Jean and a drinker like I was, I didn’t need to embellish the truth. I didn’t spend hours at the library with the microfiche scanner, but I did comb through my journals and letters, which were helpful for facts and how I was feeling at the time. My teacher, Phyllis Raphael, introduced me to the “I remember…” writing prompt (you write stream of conscious memories about any subject). I still use it as the front door into any subject because it brings to the surface my most salient memories, the ones that cannot be ignored. I conducted informal interviews with friends and family (sounds like a phone plan), and I circulated the manuscript afterward to them. None of them balked at my version of events, except for my dad who raised the flag on one section. I describe coming out to my parents on a phone call, a pivotal memory for all of us. I remember my mother being on the phone solo and asking if I had homosexual tendencies. My father claimed he was also on the line and was the one who asked the question. I include both versions in the book. Mine shows her as always being ever confrontational. His points to the denial she was in. Whatever the facts, both are true.

This quickie post is a combo book recommendation and book brag.

The rec part first: Gallop, don't saunter, to your bookseller of choice and get Mary Karr's The Art of Memoir. It debuted at #3 on the NYT Bestseller List, is #1 on the NYT Culture List & has been rave-reviewed everywhere. The San Francisco Chronicle says it best: "It could have been called 'The Art of Living.'"

Brag part: Karr includes a "Required Reading" list of "mostly memoirs and some hybrids." I'm proud to say that Dangerous When Wet made the cut. I'm ever so honored.