‘Perfection” isn’t perfect, but I enjoyed reading it

I love reading memoirs. They are my favorite genre. They prove the axiom that truth is stranger than fiction.

I’ve just finished “Perfection: A Memoir of Betrayal and Renewal” by Julie Metz, and I liked it very much. It’s the story of her husband’s sudden death at 44 and her subsequent discovery of his numerous infidelities. Metz is a different sort of woman — she’s a petite, liberal, cerebral New Yorker — but perhaps I related to her experience.

Besides being caught up in her story, I liked the writing. Her verb choices are descriptive without being cliche: She is unable to “engineer” a gracious recovery of a lost friendship, for example. Her analogies are heavy with meaning: A rock formation is described as a “pink and creviced brain” and a potential date would likely “turn out to be like the bag of peanut M&M’s that I always buy at the movie theater concession stand, rip open, enjoy completely, and regret later, when the sugar rush and nausea kick in.”

Next on the list of possible reading material:

• “Heartburn” by Nora Ephron
• “Learning to Drive: And Other Life Stories” by Katha Pollitt
• “The Night of the Gun: A Reporter Investigates the Darkest Story of His Life: His Own” by David Carr

Are they worth the investment? If you’ve run across these memoirs (or others I should indulge in), please comment.