How could I not have made the connection before? Parental memoir Oh the Glory of It All, which I don't want to ever end; and parental memoir "I Bought a Bed," Donald Antrim's shockingly lovely 2003 New Yorker essay about life with and without his manically inventive mother. In fact, Antrim's piece inspired this blog: What do you do when the issue date is long past but the issue is still smoldering? Who do you tell about the review that keeps coming back to you, or the strange melancholy of "Missing a Piece of Your Pattern?"?

But back to the memoirs—both are funny-sad, and both Antrim and Wilsey write with bemusement, clarity, sternly regulated moments of bitterness, and a perfect grasp of the absurd uncontrollability of their circumstances. I think exciting things are happening in nonfiction, and no one would dare call the essay a lost form anymore. Oh the glory of it all!

Categories: Wilsey, NYer, Antrim