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About the author and blogger ...

Anne Goodwin’s drive to understand what makes people tick led to a career in clinical psychology. That same curiosity now powers her fiction.
A prize-winning short-story writer, she has published three novels and a short story collection with small independent press, Inspired Quill. Her debut novel, Sugar and Snails, was shortlisted for the 2016 Polari First Book Prize.
Away from her desk, Anne guides book-loving walkers through the Derbyshire landscape that inspired Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre.
Subscribers to her newsletter can download a free e-book of award-winning short stories.

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Restaurant meals: Memoir as social history

10/1/2016

13 Comments

 

I know, I know, who cares but me that, despite my respect for the memoirists with whom I associate in the blogosphere, I remain averse to memoir. Or did, until
Irene Waters’ New Year challenge finally showed me the way. As I admitted during my brief residency on Sherri Matthews’s Summerhouse, I have an interest in putting the personal into fiction. Thanks to the ensuing discussion, I’ve been thinking about fiction as a metaphor for the personal stories that shape us as individuals, but are impossible to tell. (Of which I hope to see more in a later post.) But even a Guardian article towards the end of last year, in which Blake Morrison explores several reasons for writing memoir, didn’t help me understand why writers are drawn to bare their souls.
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But, thanks to Irene, I can see that memoir is the ideal medium to capture our shared stories of a particular culture, or point in time. Of course, fiction can contribute to the historical and anthropological knowledge base, but it can also subvert the facts in major and minor ways. Memoir, I believe, is much more faithful to the contextual truth in which the author’s personal story unfolds.

Of course, not everyone will agree with this demarcation is fiction to the personal significance and memoir for the social, and I look forward to the discussion I hope will ensue. Many memoirists are driven to tell their personal story and sod the context; many people write fiction to look outside, rather than inside, themselves. But in relation to the question I’ve been pondering ever since I took part in
my first bite-sized memoir challenge, regarding why memories provide the launching pad for fiction in some of us and memoir in others, I’m happy with the distinction. For now.

Irene’s invitation to join her in “in a prompt challenge that will give us social insights into the way the world has changed between not only generations but also between geographical location” appeals to me. I’m motivated to share the personal in the service of constructing a social history (a purpose, interestingly, omitted from
Blake Morrison’s list) suddenly makes sense. A do-it-yourself international mass observation project: what’s not to like? So here are the reminiscences of the first (evening) restaurant meal from a representative of the baby boomer generation from working-class Northern England:
We rarely had as much as a cup of coffee in a cafe, and meals at home were never more exotic than meat-and-two-veg, so I was a little surprised when, aged about eight or nine, we began eating regularly at a Chinese restaurant. Note that when I say regularly, I don’t mean frequently, but this is atypical event arose every time we went to visit my maternal grandparents a two-hour stomach-churning, journey away. (I later discovered that my mother thought her parents’ house was too dirty for us to eat there.) We always had the standard “businessmen’s lunch”, and it was many years later that I discovered there was such a thing as à la carte, but the fact of three courses (soup, chop suey or chow mein, ice cream or fried banana in an aluminium bowl) when it wasn’t Christmas made it seem like a banquet.

I don’t think I had dinner in a restaurant until I was eighteen. Before that, there was “chicken in a basket” at the disco we went to on a Saturday night, and a snack at the Wimpy bar across the road from the cinema once after fleeing an X-rated film, but the first proper meal I remember was in a popular
pizzeria which, I’m pleased to say, is still there. It was in my first term at university, and probably the first time I ate pizza, and it came about because of shamelessly gatecrashing another’s date.

When our friend B announced that he was going for a meal that evening with a man he’d met on the train, S and I decided that this fellow must have dodgy intentions and that B (who wasn’t gay) would need us to go along to protect him from the older man’s advances. I don’t know what he thought when the three of us turned up together, but he was very polite and gracious. I don’t remember much about the evening, except that we ate and drank a lot, for which B’s friend footed the bill, and finished off with liqueur flavoured with a roasted coffee bean, the height of sophistication.

I chose a different pizzeria in the same city, smaller and more intimate and sadly no longer there, as the basis of Luigi’s, one of two restaurants providing the setting for some romancing in my debut novel, Sugar and Snails. (As you see, I might have grasped the point of memoir, but I can’t stay away from fiction for very long.) This account of Diana’s first visit with Simon to what becomes their favourite restaurant (p61-62) demonstrates I’m much more suited to writing fiction! (And this is not a metaphor of my personal experience.)
Small and steamy, the restaurant was decked out with red gingham tablecloths and dusty wine bottles in baskets as candleholders that made us both giggle. “As if the millennium had never happened,” said Simon. The service was brisk and cheery and the portions generous. Even on iced water, I felt a little tipsy.

“So what can you tell me about Tutankhamen?” asked Simon.


I swallowed a forkful of lasagne, inwardly smarting that the only man who had shown any interest in me in the last twenty years was most intrigued by the part of my life I wasn’t at liberty to discuss. “You can see his sarcophagus and his funerary goods in the Egyptian Museum near Tahrir Square ...” I mustn’t let the memories derail me as they had at Venus’ party, nor I wouldn’t do myself any favours to give Simon a lecture, and a rather poor one at that. Then I remembered Geraldine. “When I was a kid we used to play at being Egyptian mummies. We’d wrap a few bandages around our arms and legs and lie down in an old tin bath we found in the allotments ...” Fiona’s voice whispered in my head: What were you, Di, a teenage vampire? Yet Simon was grinning. “We’d fill the empty space with toy soldiers and dolls to act as servants and scraps of food filched from our mothers’ pantries ...”

“Everything you’d need for the afterlife.” Simon didn’t look as if my stories would give him nightmares.


“Dolls’ tables and chairs, too, and anything we didn’t have in three dimensions, we’d draw a picture of and shove that in instead.”


“What did you do when you’d got all the stuff in there?”

“You know, I can’t remember. Maybe we just lay amongst it all with our arms crossed until we got bored or our mothers called us in for tea.”


“Sounds like an interesting childhood.”


I thought of the Chinese proverb: May you live in interesting times! I bit my lip. “You don’t think it was morbid?”


“It was just a game, surely? Like little boys running around pointing guns at each other going Bang bang! You're dead!”


I glanced at the water jug, slices of lemon floating on top amongst the eroded chunks of ice, as light as my head felt. Whatever it was that Simon had done to me, I knew I wanted more.

Thanks for reading. If you’re hungry for more fictional restaurants, why not download my short story The Seven Dudley Sibs? And, of course, you can read about others’ restaurant debuts, and contribute your own, on Irene’s blog.
Thanks for reading. I'd love to know what you think. If you've enjoyed this post, you might like to sign up via the sidebar for regular email updates and/or my quarterly Newsletter.
13 Comments
Irene Waters link
10/1/2016 09:02:47 pm

Thank you Anne for your recollections or restaurant dining. It is appearing at this point that, for the silent generation and baby boomers, eating out was a rare occurrence. So far all the responses have come from countries that have an English heritage so I'm looking forward to some from continental Europe to see if their habits were different. The social history side of memoir I find fascinating.
Memoir has somehow got the reputation for being inferior to fiction, believing that fiction is more literary and memoir is written by navel gazers/ narcissists.I don't see that myself although I am very aware of reactions when I say I am studying memoir. Fiction does allow for more experimentation in writing than memoir due to memoir being constrained by the truth and can fiction can therefore go places memoir cannot, however, all of fiction's tools (such as dialogue) are used by the memoir writer.So why write memoir? There was a time when creative writer's first book was an autobiographical novel (Hemmingway for example) and the test for them was to write as their second book a non-autobiographical novel. These days they write a memoir first such as Lucy Grealy's Autobiography of a Face and Mary Karr's Liars' Club. Many novels mimic memoir in their form such as Memoirs of a Geisha.
There are countless reasons people write memoir, some write their experience in the hope that it will then not happen to anyone else, others write trying to make sense of a happening in the past (often the miserable childhood), autoethnographers write to show a culture (ethnic minorities, gay/lesbian etc from the inside,whilst some write for cathartic reasons or simply that they have a good story to tell. I believe that memoir gives us our identity and creates the identity we want going into the future. We all do memoir it is just not many of us write it down. Memoir (or perhaps life writing would be a better term) is seen every where from the obituary, job application and personal ads on romance sites and these all give an identity. Having said that why did I write my first memoir? For numerous reasons. Friends and family begged me to put the tales we were telling over dinner with a glass of good red to paper. They thought the story was good. I also thought the story was worth telling but I was particularly interested in the difference in culture and the interraction we had with it (autoethnography) and recording a way of life that is disappearing rapidly. My sequel, will probably never see the light of day as I don't find it compelling (although perhaps I am seeing it as ordinary after such a different experience.) I could have written it as a novel and the story would still be great however I chose memoir because I want to own the experience. It was and still is a huge influence on my identity.
I would ask is it why we write memoir that is the question we should be asking or why do people read memoir? The misery memoir, I have read but find hard to believe, has overtaken the romance as a woman's preferred read. If true, is it because the love novel can no longer push women readers through the range of emotions but reading of a child surviving a poor abusive childhood gives them the full gammut of emotions? Learning from memoirs I think is invaluable. Doctors learning how it feels to have cancer for example, insights into the anorexic mind can be of value to those treating them which is why case histories/studies/memoir have become more commonly used in medical fields.From a social history perspective reading memoirs can give information that would otherwise be difficult to obtain. Much of our social history I fear has been lost as memoir tellers of old have died taking their stories with them.
Best stop. Could rattle on and on. Fiction or memoir? -- you should write what you enjoy writing.

Reply
Annecdotist
11/1/2016 12:01:21 pm

Thank you, Irene, your comment is interesting and informative as ever, and I really appreciate your patience with my repeated wrangling with this topic.
I certainly agree with your last point that we should write what we enjoy. And read what we enjoy also. I suppose my question about writing memoir does also come from surprise that it’s so popular with readers. It’s part of the peculiar quirk of being me, but when I contemplate reading memoir, it feels like I don’t have the same freedom to form my own opinion as I do with fiction – it seems as if memoir comes with a message (although, as a recent review of my novel testifies, some readers think fiction has a message also) and the reader is expected to go along with the writer’s intentions, whereas with fiction, it hardly matters what the writer meant to say, it’s all about what the reader makes of it. Of course, other readers might feel very differently. But there’s a reason that I’d consider case studies as separate from memoir with their purpose to teach – though often that’s done best through discussion than a single reading, especially as, to take one of your examples, different people’s experience of cancer, or anorexia nervosa, will vary considerably. Even excellent teaching text might not be read by everyone in the way that the writer intended.
And your point about identity is extremely interesting to me, as the events that have most significantly shaped my own identity are ones I cannot share and any part of my life history I am comfortable in sharing will, in contrast, seem extremely bland and insignificant. So that’s helped explain to myself at least why memoir is not for me. But also interesting as you say that some fiction writers start off with memoir and I remember that Hilary Mantel said that she had to get her memoir out of the way before she could knuckle down to write Beyond Black.
I am taken with the idea of autoethnography, however, and look forward to seeing where this goes.

Reply
Charli Mills
11/1/2016 02:53:10 am

I feel as though we are partaking in a literary anthropological experiment, and I like it. Once we got going with flash fiction, I was surprised at the number of excellent memoirists who showed up to try the challenge. In some ways, I think it is a difference between expression and form, as well as focus and privacy. I'm glad we get to try out different forms and discuss.

So interesting to glimpse at your Chinese food lunches. At 18 I lived with my grandparents for a spell and often my Grandmother would time town errands with, "Let's have Chinese for lunch while we're here." Our three courses were soup, egg rolls and sweet and sour pork. Already, I'm enjoying the comparisons. When you say you learned you mother thought her parents' home "too dirty" was that shame for working class roots? It's a huge thing in my own buckaroo roots, the poverty that ranchers and cowboys live in. They save a special pair of town jeans to not "look dirty" when they went to town. I love how you tied this in to your fiction.

Reply
Annecdotist
11/1/2016 12:11:27 pm

Thanks, Charli, and I agreed that these literary exchanges between memoirists and fictioneers are really interesting, and it’s been a surprise to me how many of the former think they can’t do fiction, yet their 99-word effects are always a pleasure to read of on your blog. Literary anthropology is fascinating, but from reading your response to Irene’s prompt, I think you are miles ahead of me in transporting your fiction skills into memoir.
I think now Indian (really Bangladeshi) restaurants are more common in Chinese over here, but I don’t remember any of them around in my childhood. And sadly, I think my mother was right about her parents’ house being dirty, and I think I’ve inherited my grandmother’s aversion to housework. It’s also very much a part of working class culture over here, or at least it was, to dress smartly outside the home. I also remember my surprise travelling in India that people put on their best clothes for a train journey, even though they would end up dirty. Of course, anyone who could afford a train ticket was well above the breadline, but it was the same on the rickety buses and people like me in my travelling courts would be looked down upon.

Reply
Gargi link
11/1/2016 06:01:47 am

Loved both the excerpts. I can’t seem to remember writing more than a couple of restaurant or coffee shop scenes. These snippets inspire me to try my hand at them!

Reply
Annecdotist
11/1/2016 12:14:59 pm

Thanks, Gargi. I think getting your characters round table is a good (as in both credible and not too difficult to write) setting for a dialogue, I find. In fact, it's just struck me that there's an awful lot of Sugar and Snails that occurs around food & drink. But then aren't eating and drinking pretty fundamental aspects of life?

Reply
Norah Colvin link
11/1/2016 12:22:46 pm

Chinese restaurants and pizzerias in the north of England. No Indian then? I remember the restaurant from Sugar and Snails. It was great to re-read it here. I did so enjoy reading about the college experience. I wonder what became of the two males. Each had their own futures i suspect. It's courageous, and effective, for you to dabble in memoir for all the right sociological and historical reasons. Thanks for sharing your personal experiences. It great to read about the real restaurant that became the fictional.

Reply
Annecdotist
11/1/2016 12:34:43 pm

Thanks, Norah, I think your comment must have overlapped with my reply to Charli, as I was saying that Indian food is most popular nowadays but I don’t remember any restaurants when I was growing up. But I don’t think I’d seen a pizzeria either until I went to university.
I have been in touch with B sporadically over the years, although not recently I’m afraid. I’ve no idea what happened to the older man, but I don’t believe now he had any particular intentions other than being friendly. Perhaps S and I knew that and saw our chance for a free meal!
Oh, but that’s another thing that makes me uncomfortable about memoir – I know those who go into it in a big way will give a lot of thought to how they portray other people, when I’m dabbling as her I haven’t really considered how much writing about myself also means writing about other people. It just seems so much more straightforward to make things up.

Reply
Norah Colvin link
16/1/2016 07:17:04 am

I think making things up can be the safer option at times, and I am definitely not implying that you are choosing the safer option. They are all hard roads for writers.
I apologise at missing your response to Charli about Indian restaurants, I think when I read this post I was pressed for time and skipped the comments. I am making up for that now!

Annecdotist
16/1/2016 02:26:18 pm

No apologies needed, Nara, can be hard enough keeping up with the posts, never mind replies to other people's comments, interesting as they can often be.
In my case I might be choosing the safer option, which I think would be a sensible choice to make (don't need to make life, and especially the writing life, harder than it is), but fiction is also where I can write best.

Norah Colvin link
17/1/2016 07:00:54 am

You do it well! :)

Reply
Mrs Sherri Matthews link
19/1/2016 05:37:11 pm

Hi Anne, I am at last getting a chance to read your wonderful post, which I bookmarked along with so many and having to 'creep' in when I have a moment. I am once more thrilled to see the ongoing literary discussions of fiction and memoir continuing here! I have yet to write my post for Irene's excellent sociological 'experiment' challenge, but I fear that mine will be so very similar to yours that you might think I'm copying! I am convinced that my first proper sit down restaurant meal was Chinese, except that my take is that it was with my dad after my parents split up. But your Wimpy and Pizza experiences are so similar! And I grew up in first Surrey, then Suffolk! I was interested to read yours and Norah's conversation about Indian restaurants. I don't remember ever eating in one growing up. I certainly didn't in America (got used to Mexican though!) and didn't have my first Indian meal until I met Hubby, since by the time I returned to the UK, Indian food was hugely popularity here. I loved your book excerpt, whetting my appetite even more - no pun intended :-) Thank you to for the the link to the memoir article, which I have also bookmarked for a later read. Loved your story of B and S and the 'dodgy' man on the train. Great memoir fodder that Anne :-)

Reply
Annecdotist
21/1/2016 04:44:09 pm

Thank you, Sherri, and indeed our experiences do sound similar. I hope Irene gets more diversity when the results are finally in!
I'd certainly be interested in your thoughts on the article about memoir, and coming from a memoirist it's certainly supportive of the endeavour. But as to memoir fodder, I think that's it for me: the interesting bits are too painful and the painless memories are not so interesting, and need a certain amount of poetic licence to beef (says this vegetarian) them up.

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