Mary Karr is a seventh-generation Texan and a New York Times bestselling author of three memoirs and four books of poetry. In 1995, she sparked the memoir revolution with The Liars’ Club, winner of the PEN/Martha Albrand Award for First Nonfiction. Five years later came Cherry, a coming-of-age memoir that Times critic Michiko Kakutani praised for blending “a poet’s lyricism and a Texan’s down-home vernacular.” Lit, the third book in Karr’s dynamic trilogy, portrays her descent into the baffling morass of alcoholism and her unlikely turn toward the Catholic faith.
Karr’s critically acclaimed poetry collections include Abacus (1987), The Devil’s Tour (1993), Viper Rum (1995), and Sinner’s Welcome (2006). She has won The Whiting Award, a Radcliffe-Bunting Fellowship, a Guggenheim Fellowship, and a National Endowment for the Arts Fellowship. The recipient of Pushcart Prizes for both poetry and essays, Karr’s work has appeared in The New Yorker, The Paris Review, The New York Times Magazine, The Atlantic Monthly, and Poetry, among others. She is the Peck Professor of English Literature at Syracuse University.
The Days of Yore visited Karr in her Manhattan apartment, a multiple-story unit tucked so tightly into the Garment District that you might pass her door three times before you spot the buzzer. A recent vegan convert, she served tea laced with soymilk, but confessed that the vegetables she ate for dinner might have been buttered.
I often read your work before I write.
That’s so nice. I used to have so many people like that.
Who?
Frank Conroy, who wrote Stop-Time, Maxine Hong Kingston, who wrote The Woman Warrior. Nabokov’s Speak Memory is probably my favorite memoir of all time.
But that’s so great. When I was posing in the mirror with my beret on my head for my author jacket, at ten years old, that’s what I imagined would happen.
You imagined that people would read your work before they wrote.
Yeah, but I was deranged.
You were a prophet.
I was ten years old.
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