I have never been a fan of memoirs. Personal accounts often feel overly edited in the way an Instagram photo has an embellished reality to it—reading what the author wants us to know of their life. Even when it feels raw, difficult or painful it rarely comes through as intimate.
Lisa manages to bring us into her world with a feeling that even she is not all the way sure that the stories are told as they were, rather as she experienced them at the time, occasionally reflecting back with the wisdom gained through living.
Small Fry manages to escape the other dark side of memoirs, the reprinting of a diary. The book feels present always and omnipresent at times—a heartful and reflective travel through woman’s and a daughter’s life that frequently caught me reflecting on my own fatherhood.
I have spent time this year narrowing the content I am taking in, instead, finding ways to go deeper on the things I am reading, watching and listening to. Small Fry found me in this way thanks to Craig Mod’s On Margins podcast (where you should join me as a member), the episode felt incredibly personal to both Craig and Lisa and they dug deep into the design of the book (you should really buy the hardcover) and how she approached writing a memoir she knew would be viewed as some sort of statement on her father. I am totally in love with Small Fry and believe I will revisit it often, particularly as my teenage daughters move on and begin their own lives outside our home.