For years, I maintained a delicate balance, dedicating weekends and vacations to a memoir while working days as a journalist and editor. This duality was, in many ways, ideal: the memoir thrived in solitude, demanding quiet introspection and ample tissues, while journalism propelled me into the world, encouraging me to connect with people, absorb their narratives, and construct stories that were not my own. Some readers questioned this unconventional approach, curious about my supposed struggles to write my own story, given my extensive training in documenting others’. However, I found that the trust strangers placed in me, sharing their most intimate stories, repeatedly illuminated how personal narratives can reveal universal truths. For me, journalism was an indispensable foundation for writing memoir.
This symbiotic relationship, however, faced a significant challenge when my marriage—this time, the union of journalism and memoir—began to falter. My intention for my latest book, The Kissing Bug: A True Story of An Insect, a Family and a Nation’s Neglect of a Deadly Disease, was to weave these two distinct forms of writing together. Yet, I had spent years keeping them compartmentalized in my life. I was proficient in writing memoir and crafting traditional journalism, but their fusion felt like uncharted territory.
The realization struck me with the force of a revelation: my writing life had become akin to the famously intertwined existence of artists Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera. Their studios in Mexico City were connected by a bridge, a physical manifestation of their shared yet separate creative spaces. Similarly, I had housed journalism and memoir in their own distinct domains, and now I was attempting to force them into cohabitation, a prospect that seemed to cause considerable friction, at least for me. My frustration with the writing process was mounting.
In search of guidance, I turned to my bookshelf, poring over nonfiction works that successfully blended journalistic inquiry with personal reflection. I discovered several books by journalists and other writers who adeptly combined research or oral histories with memoir, finding particular inspiration in six key titles.
One such work is Deborah Miranda’s Bad Indians: A Tribal Memoir. Miranda, a poet and member of the Ohlone/Costanoan-Esselen Nation, confronted the sanitized historical narrative of California’s missions, which often ignored the brutal exploitation of indigenous peoples. Through meticulous archival research—examining government documents, photographs, and diaries—she constructed a narrative that seamlessly transitions between found poetry, lyrical prose, and micro-essays, creating a complex and genre-defying work of nonfiction.
Luis Alberto Urrea’s Across the Wire: Life and Hard Times on the Mexican Border offered another valuable lesson. Urrea, a prolific author, began his career with a work of immersion journalism based on his experiences with relief workers in Tijuana. His book masterfully shifts between the observer’s perspective and his own family’s border narrative, presenting poignant and often harrowing portraits of individuals living amidst poverty and despair.
Susan Griffin’s A Chorus of Stones: The Private Life of War, a celebrated feminist work, explores the normalization of targeting civilians in warfare. Griffin integrates diaries, historical documents, and survivor testimonies, but boldly redefines memoir by stating, “I do not see my life as separate from history. In my mind my family secrets mingle with the secrets of statesmen and bombers.” She challenges the artificial divisions between memoir and journalism, and between public and private matters.
Stephanie Elizondo Griest’s All the Agents and Saints: Dispatches from the U.S. Borderlands provides a compelling example of a journalist using memoir as a framework. Returning to her hometown of Corpus Christi, Texas, Griest investigates the profound impacts of environmental abuses, drug violence, and border militarization. Her personal journey as both a daughter and a reporter of the borderlands drives this exceptional book, revealing parallels between the experiences of Tejanos and the Mohawks of the Akwesasne Nation.
Sven Lindqvist’s “Exterminate All the Brutes”: One Man’s Odyssey Into The Heart of Darkness and the Origins of European Genocide offered insights into connecting historical inquiry with personal narrative. Lindqvist employs a unique structure of numbered sections to interweave his travels across the Saharan desert, his quest to trace the origins of a phrase from Joseph Conrad’s The Heart of Darkness, and reflections on philosophy, history, and personal experiences. This braided essay structure allows for effortless movement across genres.
Finally, Suki Kim’s Without You, There Is No Us: Undercover Among the Sons of North Korea’s Elite demonstrates how a personal narrative can serve as a powerful entry point for critical journalism. Kim’s experience teaching in North Korea, a journey marked by personal reflection on her own childhood departure from South Korea, provides the emotional grounding for her undercover reporting. Her compelling account underscores the importance of a personal story in illuminating broader societal and political issues.
Daisy Hernandez, *The Kissing Bug*
These authors demonstrate that the fusion of journalism and memoir is not only possible but also incredibly powerful. By studying their approaches, I found the courage and the roadmap to unite these two vital aspects of my own writing life, ultimately bringing The Kissing Bug to fruition.
The Kissing Bug by Daisy Hernández is available now from Tin House Books.