I’ve read many of Ann Patchett’s novels, and I’ve enjoyed every one. That’s what led me to this nonfiction book by her, first published in 2004. I wasn’t familiar with Lucy Grealy, the subject of this memoir. Ann and Lucy had been friends for 18 years beginning when they were 21. Actually, they both went to Sarah Lawrence College, and Ann apparently knew of Lucy, as did everyone on that campus because that’s the kind of person Lucy was. However, Lucy really didn’t know Ann until they went to the Iowa Writer’s Workshop, according to Ann, producer of more waiters and waitresses than any single institution in the country. Their friendship grew from that school. The first half of the book is a sort of retelling of a faux struggle they both experienced in their post college days. I say “faux” because it’s about as much an actual struggle as any graduates of a school like Sarah Lawrence College could experience. Add to college Ann’s k-12 experience in white flight academies in Nashville, Tennessee, and the word struggle is a little hard to buy for this reader. The second half of the book focuses on the two women’s successful attempts to become “famous,” something that seemed much more important to Lucy than to Ann. Lucy did become famous until he tragic physical condition combined with her addiction to drugs eventually brought her down and caused her writing career to implode. Ann, of course, became one of our most renowned writers, something that started early in her career and continues today. Her grocery lists could be New York Times best sellers. Lucy’s life in the second half of the book is filled with drama, and if it hadn’t been for her undeserved physical condition, might be hard to stick with throughout the book. My guess is Lucy might have been a drama queen even if she hadn’t had to deal with the constant physical setbacks that she faced throughout her life. I listened to the audio version of “Truth and Beauty: A Friendship,” narrated by Ann Patchett herself. And I’m glad she did narrate the book. She sounded exactly as I imagined she would: kind, sensitive, reasonable, the kind of person anyone would be lucky to have as a friend, especially Lucy. ( )

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.