Writing as exorcism

Why are people interested in their past? One possible reason is that you can interact with it, recruiting it as an agent of the present and the future. Siri Hustvedt’s novel, masked as a memoir, suggests you should rely not so much on your recollection of particular events as on your ability to interpret them, which can produce something truer than bare facts. ‘Yes, it is a memoir,’ the narrator says, ‘but memory is not fixed… memory and imagination are a single faculty.’  The outcome of Hustvedt’s attempts to commit the past to the page depends on memory acting as her editor.

The book is centred on one year in the heroine’s life, beginning in 1978, when the 23-year-old S.H. travels to New York from her native Minnesota to become a writer. She attends poetry readings and witches’ gatherings; she starves and eavesdrops; above all, she reads. Literature’s fingerprints — ‘a cockroach the size of Gregor Samsa’, doodles inspired by Emily Dickinson and much more — are all over ‘the so-called real world’.