Happy Fake Writer Day, indeed

I have to say that even from this side of the publishing world, I was one surprised girl to read about James Frey’s books having a heavy dose of fiction and JT Leroy possibly being a composite person. When I called J to discuss these revelations he asked why James Frey didn’t just the book as a novel if he wanted to embellish so much. Isn’t that a tricky question? Dealing with as much nonfiction as I do, and reading as much fiction as I like to, I’ve found my mind draws very different pictures depending on if what I believe I’m looking at is true or not. I’d like to say it all boils down to whether the writing and story are good (that has a lot to do with it), but there is the whole package to consider. Is James Frey a toughened addict with a bad criminal background who lost people he loved and pulled through it enough to write a memoir? Or is he your standard addict who got creative and wrote a semi-true story starring a fictionalized version of himself? Should it make a difference?

We caught ‘Big Fish” on television over the weekend and I sat there and watched the whole thing, bawling at the end just like the first time I saw it. (A lot of my friends who I recommended the movie to ended up h-a-t-i-n-g it, so some of you reading this are probably in that camp: hi.) But I think what I liked best about the movie was the subtext of this man having a life fraught with complicated emotions that he was only able to relay through a mythology he built and maintained for himself. The son doesn’t get it until the end, but it isn’t about the stories themselves, but what he was trying to say with those stories.

It’s nice for the movie and all; I’m not sure how I’d really react to a relative or friend who could only tell me things through complicated, obviously false stories. But how far do we extend that expectation of honesty to memoir writers? Isn’t it their life they’re telling us about? And even if some facts are mushed around or even blatantly wrong, should we forgive them the myth they’ve decided to build for themselves?

And what if it extends to an ENTIRE PERSON? The JT Leroy thing really hits me in a strange way. It’s that the writer were made up, but more than that, it was that the entire person was made up. I have friends who have met him! J was there behind the scenes when he ducked out from a reading he was supposed to do for McSweeney’s. A lot of people believe the people behind the fabrication of this character with AIDS are guilty of exploiting the public’s generosity and compassion for the disease. Have all the writers here gone too far, or some more guilty than others?

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