The Way We Weren't

by Jill Talbot

After years of futon passion, Hemingway discussions, and three-mile runs, Jill Talbot’s relationship with a man carved in her doubts so deep she wrote to ignore them. And even though he was as unwilling to commit to a place or a job as Talbot was to marrying him, he insisted that she keep the baby when a pregnancy surprised them during their fourth year together. As it turned out, Kenny wasn't able to commit to a child either, so when the court ordered visitation and support for their four-month-old daughter, he vanished. His disappearing act was the catalyst for Talbot’s own, as she moved her daughter through nine states in as many years—running from the memory of their failed relationship and the hope of an impossible reunion, all the while raising a daughter on her own. Then, one day while packing boxes, she found a photograph that changed everything.

In this memoir-in-essays, Talbot attempts to set the record straight, even as she argues that our shared histories are merely competing stories we choose to tell ourselves. A bold look at the challenges of love and the struggles of a single mother in America today, The Way We Weren't tells a complex, unforgettable story of loss and leaving, and of how Talbot learned that writing can't bring anything back, but that because of it, nothing is ever really lost.

Genres: Memoir, Nonfiction, Essays

304 pages, Paperback

First published July 1, 2015

About the author

Jill Talbot is the author of The Last Year: Essays, Winner of the Wandering Aengus Press Editor's Award, The Way We Weren’t: A Memoir (Soft Skull) and a collection of personal essays, Loaded: Women and Addiction (Seal Press). She's the editor of Metawritings: Toward a Theory of Nonfiction (Iowa). Her writing has appeared in journals such as AGNI, Brevity, Colorado Review, Diagram, Gulf Coast, Hotel Amerika, Lit Mag, and The Rumpus. A Distant Town: Stories, winner of the 2020-2021 Jeanne Leiby Award, is available from The Florida Review Press.

Reviews

[Sarah · Rating 5 out of 5]

Jill Talbot is a master of creative nonfiction. This book is, in and of itself, a mini workshop in form and lyricism and no doubt it will be taught as such in many creative writing classrooms (including my own). But it is also an important story about the struggles of the millions of women raising children abandoned by their fathers in this country, and the thousands of academics working in contingent positions that pay a barely--or even not even remotely--living wage. Everyone should read this book, both for its artfulness and for its important explication of the way in which we have so completely devalued both mothers and academics.

[Leesa · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book is practically perfect in every way and I mean even down to how it is structured. I appreciate the different sections and how they *feel* differently...depending on the location/what's happening in her life @ the time. I don't read a lot of memoir/creative nonfiction...rarely does it interest me tbh. I like to read military nonfiction and sports nonfiction and I like reading abt motherhood (sometimes) but that's about it. That being said: JILL TALBOT IS ONE OF MY V. FAVE MEMOIRISTS. The reason is because I never feel like Jill is writing simply just to tell us abt herself....I feel like Jill writes to tell us about OURSELVES...to allow us to dig deeper into/write our own stories. That interests me...the universality of all it. I like spending time there, reading abt her life/her daughter/her anxieties and cravings/fears/addictions/triumphs/failures. Jill does something different w/memoir and creative nonfiction...something that flips a switch in my heart and I'm not easily made to feel that way. There has to be a spark...a bigness made small...that's how Jill's writing makes me feel.

[Melissa Grunow · Rating 4 out of 5]

There was a lot to admire in this memoir. The narrative voice, the description, the questions raised, and the realizations made. Structurally, it is written as a memoir-in-essays, not a traditionally narrative memoir, and it would have been better had it been labeled that way. I can appreciate the memoir-in-essay form, but it shouldn't be under the guise of a memoir. The other issue I had with the book was when she would periodically slip into the third person "she" and talk about herself, rather than from the first person "I." I went back a few times to see if the experiences were any more trying and necessitated a narrative distance, but they weren't and they didn't, so I found the periodic pronoun shift jarring and without purpose.

[C · Rating 4 out of 5]

4.5/4.75 stars...

Oh, I loved this one. The meandering dalliance with melodrama mingled with writing embracing more the mundane moments of living our lives in a constant state of "after."

I identified perhaps too closely with the narrator/author at points - unable to move on yet constantly moving somewhere, the alcoholism and attempts at recovery, the desire to do right by her child while still trying to find herself in all of this...

There's a thread through, though, (as evidenced somewhat by the title) of questioning her own narrative and therefore making us wonder as readers how much our own stories depend on the telling, who tells these stories and when matter. As someone who struggles with memory and how to tell a story, it was fascinating to me how well Talbot weaves that into her narrative and makes the questioning so very important to the quest.

I will say the one thing that I felt was missing was Kenny. For someone who is potentially the third most important "character" in this story, we kn0w so little by the end. Though Talbot misses him so intently, feels so broken without him, we aren't really shown any *reasons* for that lingering love. He comes across in this narrative as a nobody, notable only through his cruelty at leaving. I feel like we need to see more of the good relationship before it all fell apart - otherwise we are left wondering why she cares so much for him... (Then again, who of us hasn't had a love in our lives that has lingered far too long... Still, I would have liked more to go on.)

Talbot can *write.* Her meandering prose is poetic and intriguing. I definitely suggest this book to anyone who likes good writing.

[Manfred · Rating 2 out of 5]

So far, Good Reads seems to be loving this book so I guess I am going to be the one who farts in the tub on this one. An exhausting travelogue filled with way too many mundane detail for me (do we really care the order in which anyone arranges her toiletries or need a grocery list of which chain motels she stays in which little towns?)

Kenny is a useless man-child and isn't written in a way that illustrates why he would cast a 10 minute shadow, let alone 10 years. The author draws a vague, last minute comparison between her and Kenny and Hemingway and Agnes von Kurowsky. But Talbot is not Hemingway; many of her observations about love and loss and memory seem closer to "love means never having to say you're sorry" cliches.

There are some flashes of strong writing in this one but not enough for me to recommend it to anyone besides the "single mom with deadbeat ex" population. And maybe the adjunct professors out there who have to hustle from position to position and work like a coolie for a minimum wage.

[Matthew Gavin Frank · Rating 5 out of 5]

Jill Talbot’s new memoir-in-essays gloriously and disarmingly proves that the ephemera of one’s life—memories unearthed from top-shelf closet boxes labeled with magic marker, memories wedged into narrative wine lists, memories redacted with erasers, tongues, song, and the morning rose light bursting from so many of last night’s sticky glasses— when carefully organized, is capable of yielding an intimacy that we can hardly bear, but that we would never give up. Yes: This is the sort of disquieting burden that whispers the best of love letters into our ears, and the most sumptuous of apologies. Besides being a bewitching meditation on love, loss, and motherhood, The Way We Weren’t also manages to interrogate the parameters and obligations of its own form. And what a form!—the edges stunningly prose-softened via an interrogation of its contents’ accuracy, their beauty, their aching sepia hearts that slowly, by the book’s end, become complicit with our very own.

[Vincent Scarpa · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is an exceptionally moving, incredibly brave and honest memoir. Talbot utilizes a multitude of forms and spins on the essay—documents, wine lists, essays written in the 3rd person as though Talbot is hovering over her life—to achieve the immensely difficult task of looking, really looking, at one's life—trying to make sense, trying to make meaning, trying to find mercy for herself and for others. The essays are chronicles of transience, Talbot dipping in and out of the past and the present, fucking with chronology, because what is chronology other than an attempt to force order on what never felt that way? As though it were the *order* that mattered! As though we don't always exist in so many times, in so many spaces, inside ourselves. THE WAY WE WEREN'T is a time-traveling testimony of upstream-swimming, the love a mother has for her child, and the ways in which broken things, if they can not be fixed, might still serve some new, unexpected purpose.

[Christina · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book deserves way more attention than it's received on here that's for sure. I had the honor of having Jill as my graduate school professor, and she encouraged and taught me so much about my own writing, so naturally I was excited to read through this memoir. She definitely didn't disappoint! I thoroughly enjoyed her writing and going on this journey with her as she told the story of her life moving from place to place with her daughter, struggling to free herself from an alcohol addiction and the pain of losing someone she really loved. It's relatable and raw, and I was honestly sad when the book ended because I enjoyed it so much.

[Kate · Rating 4 out of 5]

I dog-eared so many pages in this memoir to mark Jill's breath-taking prose because I want to go back and study how she does it. I am compelled to read her other memoir about Kenny to better understand their early relationship--this book focuses less on him and more on how place does or doesn't form identity and memory over time. In an interview, Jill has said that part of this book's project is to give a voice to single mothers and children in a new way--and I she does a solid job of that.

[Robyn · Rating 5 out of 5]

Compelling and beautiful. Full of the kind of sentences you want to underline, write down on a piece of paper and carry around in your pocket. Sad but hopeful. One of my favorite essays is the syllabus, because as a teacher I know, this is really all we ever do--compose syllabi that tell the story of our lives in a thinly disguised list of books and assignments.

[Anne M · Rating 5 out of 5]

Partway through this book I learned there was a local connection, as she taught at a local college for a short time. I found that the book held my interest, taught me the downfalls of not being able to “let things go”. Although I just started “Little Fires Everywhere”, I’m seeing some common themes.

I would love to know if they ever reconnected with the father, in this day and age of social media, it seems it might be possible.

[Jane Hammons · Rating 5 out of 5]

A little piece of perfection.
I had a couple of biases going into reading this that had already predisposed me to love it: I share a lot of Talbot's geography (literal and experiential); I had read several of Talbot's essays, and I love her nonlinear, reflective approach to memoir. Can't recommend highly enough.

[Wendy Fontaine · Rating 5 out of 5]

Such a beautiful story of a mother and her daughter trying to find the place where they belong. I found much to relate to, since I spent a number of years as a single mom myself. What I admire most, though, is the writing. So elegant, so lyrical and with such honesty. This one earns a permanent place on my bookshelf.

[Rachel Laverdiere · Rating 4 out of 5]

Tired of memoir written in expected ways? Jill Talbot uses both first and third person to recount the many ways of leaving and being left. She keeps us on our toes with a few hermit crab essays to mix things up. I devoured this memoir in essays in two days--something I haven't done in a long while!

[Klinda · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book is amazing, emotional, insightful, I loved every essay.

[mak · Rating 3 out of 5]

i’m very sorry that happened to you

[KF · Rating 4 out of 5]

I was a student of the author's during one of the time periods covered in this memoir. Therefore, I've read all of these essays individually in their first publications on literary websites and have really, really admired nearly all of them. There were a few essays in here that I haven't read before, but most are familiar even if it has been a while.

That being said, while I really admired the layout of the memoir in terms of organizing by state--it is rather crazy by the end to realize how far you, the reader, have come--sometimes the fragmented nature of the various essays coming together doesn't completely mesh. Basically, the reader has to know coming into this that this isn't a traditional memoir written in one sitting chronologically, it's a handful of essays published over the years organized by the timeframe in which they are based.

I felt that some of the strongest parts of the memoir were when the writer detailed the struggle financially of being a single parent and sole provider. Those essays and sections were the most succinct, I felt the struggle. I also believe it is extremely important to put figures to financial struggle, i.e. the author revealing her monthly salary in various positions, etc. People won't reveal that information willingly most of the time and it really puts quality of life into concrete terms. The underlying thread of trying to find a fulfilling, financially supportive role in academia is also a compelling underlying thread that, thankfully, feels fully resolved by the end of the memoir.

The one glaring issue that rose for me is something rather inherent to the title of the memoir--by nature, The Way We Weren't indicates a start point at what should be an end. The book begins with the ending of the relationship with Kenny, the birth of a daughter and goes from there. Although there are a few glimpses, the reader is left wondering very earnestly, why him? There are very few redeeming qualities written about that character and a whole lot of missing him, which leaves readers wondering what there is to miss. Even after finishing I'm wracking my brain wondering about those positive instances of missing that character and there are about five positive encounters I can think of throughout the text with bountiful warning signs spruced between those positive encounters. Although it is not entirely fair to ask a writer to shine a positive light on a negative figure, it does provide a greater window for the reader to empathize with that longing. I suppose it was just difficult to empathize except on the basis of how unfair the parenting situation became upon his departure.

It is also worth noting that the section in which I encountered the writer as a professor in real life held a lot of surprise for me--one would never know from the outside what was happening on the interior of the writer's life as, for us as students, she gave us everything she had each class.

My favorite part of the book was definitely the final ending in New Mexico, the final note. It felt like a burst of fresh air and new beginnings, which is what releasing a red balloon is all about.

[Leandra Toomoth · Rating 3 out of 5]

I found this book while perusing my local Barnes & Noble in search of a new, compelling memoir. It was only after reading this selection and preparing my own review on Goodreads did I discover that it is technically identified as a 'memoir in essays', despite labeled a memoir on the cover. The reason I bring this up is because it is the format that I struggled with the most during the course of my reading. I love memoirs. I love essay anthologies. But the organization of this memoir/essay anthology seemed unnaturally forced. It felt as if she had been writing these essays along the lanes of these experiences and attempted to piece them together into a coherent collection through their shared theme or subject but, overall it was still left feeling somewhat disjointed.

One of the primary themes of this story is about the importance of 'place' and how our surroundings (or lack thereof) influences us as people, parents, and lovers. But having said that, she bounced around from place to place (literally and figuratively) that it was somewhat difficult to be fully clear about which state, apartment, house, room, job, etc she was discussing. This may not normally be much of a problem; however, as it was mentioned that the specificity of the place was essential in understanding the lesson of that particular essay, I felt (at times) this lesson was sadly limited without this clarity.

I did appreciate the author's honesty and candidness in her writing and it is clear that Talbot both recognizes and exemplifies healing through writing. Although it is difficult to resonate the same feelings the author feels towards her unrequited love (as she consistently presents him as unfavorable and unforgivable), it is possible to empathize through personal experience. And in that, it serves as the perfect memoir.

Lastly, I would like to mention that there were some elements of Talbot's essays that I found particularly creative and inspirational. I especially appreciated one particular essay in which she lists specific descriptions of particular wines but instead of expressing palate and color, she describes the experiences aligned with its possessed taste. In another essay, she outlines her own course curriculum, but interwoven between select stories are phone calls given and received, meals eaten and uneaten, bills paid and unpaid. I thought this was particularly interesting and innovative and established this writer as one who defies the norms of traditional storytelling.

[Mikayla · Rating 5 out of 5]

I love this memoir because it is so unlike a a memoir. Talbot tells he story of her love and addiction in a scattershot of impressions, emotions, and lovely details that are beautiful in their commonality. Her voice is not disorganized so much as organic—Stream of consciousness without the non sequitur and feints in trails of thought. If you are a fan of good prose, this is an excellent find..

My second time reading I hoped to get a better handle on her—figure out what snappy line I'd put in my review here or in a recommendation to a friend. Something that would encapsulate the book without giving away too much. I never figured one out. While I definitely admired the memoir as a whole and picked out beautiful phrases of prose, I don't think I was meant to understand the author's mind or probe her story into a nugget of party-trick turn of phrase. This book is an act of probing, an examination brought about no doubt by many drafts. It's not a book of answers taken from a woman's life, but a book of questions and meditations about addiction, rejection, and the stories we tell ourselves.

[Sonya Huber · Rating 5 out of 5]

Talbot writes, "Fiction and history are neighbors. The stories we tell about our own histories might as well be fiction--for what we tell, what we don't." This book is about being left and then leaving--via a Ford Escape and heartbreak and relocations and glasses of wine. It is about the ways a woman navigates and makes space in her own life for creation, and above all this book is about the varied and shifting stories we tell ourselves. I always find the urgency and specificity of Jill Talbot's writing transfixing, and this book is no exception. Talbot's narration shifts between third and first person, crossing state lines and swirling around the pairing of a mother and a daughter to create a specific and compelling portrait of single motherhood without child support--a huge challenge that Talbot meets gamely. The essays here play with form and point of view, and come as a wine list, a syllabus, a court transcript, and all dazzle with their intensity.

[Literary Mama]

Creative Nonfiction Editor Rae Pagliarulo is similarly engaged by craft: "The strength in Jill Talbot's incredible memoir, The Way We Weren't, lies not in its action or drama, nor in its twists and turns. The narrator's traveling—from job to job, state to state—is as much a map to nowhere as it is a meditation on leaving. We follow Talbot as she starts over and over again after Talbot's partner and the father of her child abandons them. The journey we go on moves backwards and forwards at the same time. How does Talbot interweave blazing a new trail with dissecting the past so effortlessly? I am still trying to discern the answer. What I know for sure is that Talbot's masterful writing and the emotional core of this book ring so true, I let go of my need to know where I'm going, and simply let the narrator lead me where she needs to go." -

See more at:
http://www.literarymama.com/blog/arch...

[Alex Hubbard · Rating 5 out of 5]

Melodrama can be overwhelming; Jill Talbot manages to balance it by weaving enough restraint, insight, and appreciation for the essay as a form that makes The Way We Weren't a lyrical and moving collection.

There were moments reading this that felt like walking through mud. Every sentence and word was so heavy and loaded with history and meaning that I could barely move on to the next sentence. For me, the effect was enjoyable and demonstrated not only Talbot's mastery of language but also her ability to mimic the sense of longing, grief, and time buried in the content of her narrative.

I don't have enough good things to say about this book, except when I finished it I wanted to begin reading it all over again. I highly recommend it.

[Julie · Rating 5 out of 5]

A beautifully written memoir, one destined to stay with the reader for a very long time.

[Natalia Conte · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book rocked me to my very core

[Scott · Rating 4 out of 5]

I found myself arguing with this book a lot. But the prose is lovely.