Over the past four years or so I've seen memoirs' become increasingly popular, but surely I can't be one of the only people who thinks that there is something inherently weird and creepy about revelling in these tales of woe? I think it's completely acceptable to read them as a way of supporting yourself if you've been through something similar, but I cannot begin to understand why somebody would otherwise choose to read them. The other day I was in a big Tesco and they had a BOGOF offer on them- allowing some woman to eagerly scoop up 8 (!) with names like, 'Please Daddy No' and 'Our Little Secret' and put them in her trolley.
I was speaking to a friend about this recently and she admitted that she loves them, and said that it helps her to ''appreciate her life''. Worse still, she tried to justify it by saying that many of the ones she'd read were actually fiction, so technically she wasn't really 'experiencing a real person's misery''. Fictional misery memoirs?! Good God, if I were an author writing pretend tales of child abuse I would seriously be re-evaluating my skills! AIBU to think that most people should be perfectly capable of appreciating their life without having to delve into a book detailing the horrendous life of some poor person?