First, the New York Times has even more evidence that J.T. Leroy never existed and is the pen name of a somewhat mixed-up 40-year old woman. And now James Frey (A MILLION LITTLE PIECES) comes under the gun.
This is really starting to bum me out. Whatever happened to writing memoirs that are, you know, memoirs?
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Current mood: mischievous
January 12th, 2006 at 7:34 am
OK - so the author is a fraud. Does that change the merit of the novels? Well written, provocative prose is still well written, provocative prose even if the author turns out to be a manipulating liar.
Are people upset that they’ve been fooled, or upset that they’ve been unmasked as pretentious snobs who only valued the literary work because it made them look good to support a former prostitute?
(Apologies if I’m snappish today - the weekend can’t come soon enough.)
I do agree with you though - memiors should be real. Real life is so much more bizarre than fiction.