This is one of those books that stared off so confusing that I quickly regretted choosing it to read. Someone in the author's family has died, the family has gathered, and there's lots of conversation about people and events the reader knows nothing about. Then, we're off to the past with short stories of individual family members, which weren't that captivating at first. Soon, though, bewilderment and disinterest turned into wonderment and attention, and I realized I was reading a special type of memoir. Now, that I knew the family a bit, I even went back to the beginning of the story for a moment to see who was dead. It was Uncle Ed.
While this book centered on M.A. Lightman, Uncle Ed's father and the author's movie theater bigwig grandfather, it was also about other generations in this Memphis family. Author Alan Lightman grew up in the 1950s and 1960s, and those decades were marvelously described--everything from drive-in theaters to the civil rights movement. Besides the people climate, Mr. Lightman liked to talk about the weather climate, too--the never-ending sweltering summers of the south. He further captured so well the feelings of those still held hostage by their childhood, even though they've broken away. One of his best observations being: " I will always live here, but I cannot live here."
There's a bit of a crash, however, at the end of Screening Room: Family Pictures in the acknowledgments, where the author confessed that some of the memoir's characters were "loosely based" on family members; some were "amalgamations of real people"; and two, Lennie and Nate, were fictitious! What are make-believe people doing in a nonfiction book? My guess is possibly "Lennie" led too much of a "shocking by southern standards" life to identify her by her real name. And "Nate" would be ostracized in the real world for his "phasma" belief. Or maybe "Nate" only existed in this book, in order to bring up the author's "phasma" theory; an idea which may be a bit too metaphysical for some readers, although I personally found it to be highly interesting.
Whatever the author's reasons for the decision to "fictionalize" his memoir a bit, I don't quite believe he's justified in doing so, because the line between reality and fantasy these days is getting too thin. Yet, I was not highly disturbed by his acknowledgment confession. One, because he did confess, and didn't try to hide those facts. Two, possibly because of something he said in an interview with a Memphis paper about this book. He said: "But I think writers only get in trouble when they're not honest with the reader." That made me remember two memoirs I read that I kept thinking about and discussing with others for the longest time, even though I intensely disliked them both. I finally figured out the reason I did so was because I thought both the authors were lying in their books--big, big time lying! And that is exactly what I feel Alan Lightman is not doing in his memoir. He is not lying. He is telling the truth as well as he knows it, and he appears to be an insightful observer of life, including his own life.
(Note: I received a free ARC of this book from Amazon Vine.)