Memoir: Overdone?

Part of the reason I wanted to pursue studies in fiction (besides the fact that I get glowing reviews for my non-fiction and not-so-glowing reviews for my fiction, indicating a need for betterment), is the idea that the memoir, which (in my limited experience) seems to be the thrust of most creative non-fiction classes--wait, where was I? Too many tangents and parentheticals.

Where's my wine? Oh. Right next to me. Okay.

Um. Memoir. Oh--totally overdone. Completely, totally, overwhelmingly overdone. I was browsing at at a bookstore the other day (nothing more fun than swimming through stacks of new books, drenching yourself in the singular smell of ink and paper and ideas) and every other book was "Random Expressive Noun: A Memoir". C'mon, really?

So when I saw Brevity's post about a memoir-within-a-memoir, I had to read the full NY Times review. The author really summed up my feelings about the memoir. Go read it. It's good.

I'm going to return to my (much-needed) wine now. Ahh, time and space to finish reading a book tonight. Can't wait.