McMurtry’s meandering ‘Memoir’

A MEMOIR

By Larry McMurtry

Simon & Schuster, $24, 272 pages

REVIEWED BY CHRISTIAN TOTO

Author Larry McMurtry warns readers twice during his latest nonfiction book about the perils of writing a memoir about his life as a book man. It’s hardly a sexy topic, we’re told, and unless an author can connect book collecting with universal themes the effort will be fruitless.

So it’s a mystery why the prolific author rarely makes those connections in “Books: A Memoir,” his meandering new release.

It’s hard to fathom how Mr. McMurtry (“Lonesome Dove,” “The Last Picture Show”) could take a potentially boring subject — book collecting and sales — and render it as dull as advertised. But the proof is on the page.

Sure, Mr. McMurtry includes some revealing passages about his book collecting days. He’s too pure a storyteller to ever slump to soporific levels. But the memoir finds him near-desperate to keep our attention for any extended period.

“Books” starts with promise and flair. Mr. McMurtry grew up in a home virtually bereft of books. When a small stack finally fell in his lap, he devoured every last one. Each volume was a small treasure, something to be savored and read over and again.

The books themselves were a far cry from great literature. That didn’t matter. They transported him to another place far from his home near Archer City, Texas. Books also provided his first link to American popular culture.

A lifelong reader was born. But his relationship with books grew more complicated with the passing years.

His book collecting began with a bulk purchase of pre-code comic books, the kind that didn’t have to adhere to the same editorial standards Spidey and company do today. The advent of mass market paperbacks only intensified his desire to read and collect. He was still a teen at this point, but he often had to shop around his small home town to find books worth his while.

His serious book buying didn’t start until he had established himself as a university professor and fledgling author. By then, he was mad about reading and collecting books, and it was a logical progression to become a book man — a buyer and seller of used books as well as a book store owner.

“Books: A Memoir” jumps liberally back and forth through time but with little sense of purpose. The scattershot approach makes the memoir feel like a first draft, as if he were furiously jotting down random memories without regard for their impact on the reader. Many chapters span only a page or two in length.

The chapters’ brevity also helps keep the reader from developing any rhythm with the material. Every time a potentially fascinating character appears, he or she is soon discarded for the next anecdote.

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