After reading [b:Autobiography of a Face|534255|Autobiography of a Face|Lucy Grealy|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1386921470l/534255._SY75_.jpg|95778] last year, and learning about this book, I knew I had to read it. Patchett writes about her friendship with fellow writer Lucy Grealy.

In her autobiography, Grealy gives us an edited look at her life, naturally; she chose not to disclose much that Patchett shares in this book.

There's quite a lot about sex included, unfortunately; there's an abortion and liberal attitudes about it; there are major themes of deep depression and suicide; Grealy abuses drugs and alcohol.

As a Christian, it was painful to see how much emotional pain Grealy, especially, was in, and how she refused to even believe in God - the only One with the power to deliver her from her pain. But also, it was sad to know that others in the book, the author included, are just as lost spiritually, though on the outside they may seem more composed.

I really enjoyed hearing about the writing life, from college to fellowships and book deals.

I definitely recommend that others read [b:Autobiography of a Face|534255|Autobiography of a Face|Lucy Grealy|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1386921470l/534255._SY75_.jpg|95778] first, as it starts with an earlier time period and, I think, gives some critical background information. ( )

I read Ann Patchett's Bel Canto probably a decade ago at this point, and it remains one of my favorite books of all time—so long as I don't think about it too much. On the one hand, it's beautifully written, genuinely touching, etc etc; on the other hand, it's a poorly (and borderline offensively) fictionalized reimagining of true events. It's the kind of book that you can really only enjoy if you're ignorant of what its about (cough cough The Sparrow, anyone?), and I came out of it feeling like Patchett is both very talented and kind of tacky.
And, reader, that feeling persists!
Ostensibly, Truth and Beauty is Patchett's memoir reflecting on her relationship with fellow author Lucy Grealy, who died not long before this book's publication. But it really isn't so much about their friendship so much as it is about Grealy herself: her constant surgeries, her complicated and slightly embarrassing sex life, her struggles with addiction. Patchett fades, somewhat passive aggressively, into the background. There are brief suggestions that, despite her adulation of Grealy, there was some degree of poorly sublimated anger there, as well—a moment when Patchett cries or nearly cries in frustration, after Grealy dismisses her struggles to get published; another where Grealy is extremely pleased that Patchett's romantic relationship has collapsed. And a third, not detailed in the book itself but in an essay by Grealy's sister, where Grealy discards an advanced copy of Patchett's latest novel, unopened and unread. But despite it all Patchett maintains this sort of soap opera image of Grealy as the sickest, specialest girl in the world and herself an absolute nobody, valuable only for infinite and noble patience in the midst of genius.
It feels just a little bit pathetic, like watching a kicked puppy roll over to be pet, except its not a kicked puppy but in fact a remarkably talented writer. But I guess dignity doesn't score points in the memoir game. ( )

Longing for such a love, a friendship that grows and endures -- that's what I'm left with on closing this book. Patchett generously reveals her heart and recalls the building of her history with Lucy Grealy. Her observation, honesty, and loyalty left me thoroughly envious. I'm about the same age as these two women, but I have yet to crack the code that creates this kind of friendship, fluency and understanding, such that when I'm with a friend I feel that "I am a native speaker". ( )

Mentioned in “A Month of Sundays” “ … she wrote it very soon after Lucy Grealy died. I preferred Helen Garner’s book on such support.

Ann Patchett’s memoir Truth and Beauty tells the story of her codependent relationship with the charismatic but needy writer Lucy Grealy.

The two women met in college but don’t become close until grad school at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. In Iowa, they became very close—so close that that Lucy thought nothing of throwing herself into Ann’s arms or sitting in her lap. Lucy had lots of friends, and apparently also lots of sex, but a childhood bout with Ewing’s sarcoma and many failed reconstructive surgeries left her feeling unlovable and insecure. Ann was always there for Lucy, shoring up her fragile ego and even scouring New York City shops for apricot nectar very early on a Sunday morning. Ann’s fascination with Lucy is hard to understand, especially since Lucy seemed to give so little in return.

I read this book when it was first published years ago. I found that it did not stand up well to re-reading. There are too many long excerpts from gushy letters Lucy wrote to Ann, and too many poorly-differentiated secondary characters. Still, this book is a intriguing tribute to an uncommon friendship. ( )