Pants on Fire
I should say upfront that I haven't read James Frey's A Million Little Pieces but this won't be the first time I've had an opinion about something I haven't read/seen/done so I'm not going to let it stop me. I've been ruminating on this one for a while, since the 'scandal' broke and especially since the Oprah show where Frey received a pretty thorough dressing down at the hands of our favourite day-time TV host (actually Ellen is my fave but Oprah is undoubtedly the 'queen') as well as a number of other folk keen to join in the verbal flogging.
I think that it's an interesting case and I'm very much not on the bandwagon of disapproval.
Although the big deal that is being made of Frey's book and its 'lies' would suggest otherwise, this is not the first time an autobiographical text has been found to contain elements of fiction or exaggeration. One of the texts I read last year at Uni was Zora Neale Hurston's Dust Tracks on a Road - a wonderful book, and one where the writer meddles with what might be described as the 'truths' of her life. She lies about her age, shuffles around the chronology of particular events and generally stretches the boundaries of what is expected (desired?) from the audience that would seek to know her. I'm not necessarily comparing the two texts, but certainly my experience with Hurston's influences the way I see what has been happening with James Frey.
I think what really frustrates me is this obsession with 'the truth' and how the audience, the readers, Oprah, are so vehement that this book was such a huge betrayal, a crime, because it strayed from this 'truth' that the categorisation of memoir or non-fiction apparantly demands. For a start, a memoir, is always going to rely a lot on memory which is subject to not only the perspective of the time of the event(s) recalled, but also the perspective of the time of the recalling of those events. A particular description of events that might best describe the essence of the situation/emotion at that particular time, might not actually correspond with how those events actually unfolded from a third-party point of view. If a writer feels that describing things a particular way to convey something more than just a series of events, actually translates that moment/time better, isn't that a kind of 'truth' also? Is it less valid?
Then there's the label/category that the book was published under: Non-fiction, and the hoo-ha surrounding Frey's breaking of its rules. I really really don't like these kinds of rules - you know, the ones that say a text is or isn't some particular category because of something it does or doesn't do. I'm not (yet) convinced that a complete dissolution of these categories is the answer, but I certainly find them problematic and that their conventions lead to hierarchies that privilege particular kinds of writing/writers and discriminate against 'others'. I'm really glad Frey did what he did because it highlights our obsession and need to categorise things and our shock and betrayal when these boundaries are challenged.
It annoyed me, as I watched Oprah, that James Frey sat and took their tongue lashing so quietly. I really wanted him to sit up and say 'Look, I'm a writer, an artist, and if I want to fabricate elements of my life then I will. I wasn't fabricating anyone elses' life, I wasn't lying to my country about economic factors that affect them or about the justification for a war that should not be happening, I embellished elements of my life-story. Get over it.' Instead of being so bloody pompous (you lied to me, ME, how could you...you embarassed me!) Oprah should understand the value of this event, what it might mean for the development (and yes, that does include change) of how we perceive and define life-writing.
Any thoughts?
I think that it's an interesting case and I'm very much not on the bandwagon of disapproval.
Although the big deal that is being made of Frey's book and its 'lies' would suggest otherwise, this is not the first time an autobiographical text has been found to contain elements of fiction or exaggeration. One of the texts I read last year at Uni was Zora Neale Hurston's Dust Tracks on a Road - a wonderful book, and one where the writer meddles with what might be described as the 'truths' of her life. She lies about her age, shuffles around the chronology of particular events and generally stretches the boundaries of what is expected (desired?) from the audience that would seek to know her. I'm not necessarily comparing the two texts, but certainly my experience with Hurston's influences the way I see what has been happening with James Frey.
I think what really frustrates me is this obsession with 'the truth' and how the audience, the readers, Oprah, are so vehement that this book was such a huge betrayal, a crime, because it strayed from this 'truth' that the categorisation of memoir or non-fiction apparantly demands. For a start, a memoir, is always going to rely a lot on memory which is subject to not only the perspective of the time of the event(s) recalled, but also the perspective of the time of the recalling of those events. A particular description of events that might best describe the essence of the situation/emotion at that particular time, might not actually correspond with how those events actually unfolded from a third-party point of view. If a writer feels that describing things a particular way to convey something more than just a series of events, actually translates that moment/time better, isn't that a kind of 'truth' also? Is it less valid?
Then there's the label/category that the book was published under: Non-fiction, and the hoo-ha surrounding Frey's breaking of its rules. I really really don't like these kinds of rules - you know, the ones that say a text is or isn't some particular category because of something it does or doesn't do. I'm not (yet) convinced that a complete dissolution of these categories is the answer, but I certainly find them problematic and that their conventions lead to hierarchies that privilege particular kinds of writing/writers and discriminate against 'others'. I'm really glad Frey did what he did because it highlights our obsession and need to categorise things and our shock and betrayal when these boundaries are challenged.
It annoyed me, as I watched Oprah, that James Frey sat and took their tongue lashing so quietly. I really wanted him to sit up and say 'Look, I'm a writer, an artist, and if I want to fabricate elements of my life then I will. I wasn't fabricating anyone elses' life, I wasn't lying to my country about economic factors that affect them or about the justification for a war that should not be happening, I embellished elements of my life-story. Get over it.' Instead of being so bloody pompous (you lied to me, ME, how could you...you embarassed me!) Oprah should understand the value of this event, what it might mean for the development (and yes, that does include change) of how we perceive and define life-writing.
Any thoughts?
1 Comments:
My reaction was similar when I heard about this, especially as I was reading Borges at the time.
"What is fiction...?" "Clearly Oprah doesn't understand literature"...
But, having read About.com's long analysis (I haven't read the book, and from the excerpts they printed, don't), it seems more about marketing than literature.
The book was pretty stupid as fiction, moving as alleged fact, and Oprah read it, loved it, and made it. It's on the best sellers because of her, so when she says "you betrayed me", that's what she means. He made her look stupid, hence the fury...
I guess I'd say that fiction and non-fiction is a divide that should be used to further art... not to make the marketing better...
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