Finished reading Kristina Olsson’s quietly devastating memoir “Boy, Lost”. Found it deeply moving (i.e. cried like a baby at the end and not only). I am usually weary of writers imagining their way into the inner lives of their parents and inhabiting these imagined interior worlds with gusto, all under the rubric of non-fiction, but Olsson gets it right.
Another recent example of a daughter doing something special with the story of her parents is Sarah Pollen’s film“Stories We Tell”.