Cheated?

The Times has picked up on the allegations (across the blogosphere for the last couple of days) that James Frey's A Million Little Pieces contains 'wild exaggerations'.  I read the book last year and my reactions to it, which I've just re-read, were very much bound up in my belief that what was being described was true. I admired Frey's honesty and strength of character, and so involved was I in his story that I had to pause from the book to find out if he was actually still alive.  On his website Frey reproduces the allegations in a spirit of transparency but doesn't answer them.  That apparently is reserved for a tv appearance tonight. 

I hope that Frey hasn't lied.  If his book had been a novel I would still have been affected by it, but reading a memoir, with the unspoken promise that these events really happened to this person, makes it personal.  For an author of a memoir deliberately and knowingly to falsify the events (as opposed to trying to fill in gaps in their memory with plausible narrative) seems to speak of contempt for the reader.  I admit to feeling I've been cheated here. 

Comments

[Kristin]

Mrs. Bookworld -

Thanks for your honesty. The very second all of this came out, everyone began their spin--"I didn't like the book anyway," or "I knew it was fake to begin with", etc., etc., etc.

Well, someone must have liked it, since it was a NYT bestseller, and especially since it was passed around in my brother's group of friends like it was on fire, LONG before Oprah put her name on it (we're talking mid-'04). And these are kids who were heavy into drugs and alcohol, or still are in some cases. If it was able to hit a chord with people who actually *have* been there, then there must have been at least a spark of truth to it.

So it's been refreshing for someone to actually say, "Yeah, I got involved in the book, it grabbed me. And yeah, I feel betrayed." After two days of reading snide, sarcastic quips, it felt good to find your blog. Seems like the rest of the blogosphere is only interested in ensuring that everyone knows that THEY didn't believe the book for one second.

So thanks. Good to know I'm not the only one who can admit that -- *Gasp* -- I read a book and believed it.

-K.

[Sandra]

Yes, it's funny how suddenly everyone *always* knew it was fake. But didn't say anything. Clearly we two are the most naive people on the planet. And possibly happier for it!

[Kristin]

Sandra,

Here's something I'd like to see when people are discussing this: the distinction made between fiction, non-fiction, and CREATIVE non-fiction. I keep reading people referring to the book as non-fiction--well, no. Sorry. Non-fiction is a textbook, or a history book, a biography, or *maybe* an autobiography. Memoir falls into the genre of creative non-fiction, and although I've never really read anything definitive on HOW creative you can or should get in this area, I know that some creativity, embellishments, etc., are allowed.

I think one should treat creative non-fiction in very much the same way fiction is to be treated--read it and enjoy it, and take what you can from it, be that humor, a sense of redemption, etc. Because you *know* that not everything can be accurate. For God's sake, if everything in a memoir were written exactly as it happened, no one would read it. No matter how much drama a person has in his or her life, there are always those dull moments...that's life.

I'd like an open discussion somewhere, anywhere, about suspension of disbelief. Just as no one will cop to actually believing the book (not one word! never! can't fool me!), no one seems to be talking about this important part of reading and writing. I think that this is a vital part of the reader-author dynamic in fiction, and because of the creative aspect of CNF, I think it should be nearly as important in that area. Are you reading a memoir for facts, as you would read a history book? No! Are you reading it for education? God no! You're reading it for enjoyment, enlightenment, inspiration, the sheer thrill of being a part of someone else's life experience, whatever...whatever it is that draws you to reading. So if someone besides me would acknowledge this fact, I would be a happy woman. For now, though, all I can do is raise my coffee cup to you, Sandra, and to naivete and suspension of disbelief. You're right...we are happier for it.

-K.