I just talked to my mother, to ask her if she was going to watch Oprah’s smackdown of memoirist-turned-liar James Frey. She said she was, and offered to tape it for me, so I can see it myself next weekend.
It’s taken me a while to wrap my brain around why the Frey thing disgusted me so much. I shirked my duties at gothamist.com, as literary contributor, because I didn’t post about the controversy at all. I think it’s because of two things:
1. I got the book for Christmas from my brother, having put it on my wishlist as something that seemed interesting
2. I have issues with the memoir genre that are made worse by the Frey controversy.
As for #1, I don’t think I’m going to read the book. I’m tempted to take it back to B&N*, where I know my brother bought it, but I’m not sure they’d take it back without a receipt. Perhaps I’ll just keep it around as an oddity, or take a pen to every time the word “truth” appears in the book and change it to “lie” with a nice red pen.
#2 is what really troubles me. I don’t really like memoirs. It may be elitist and unfair of me to assume that ordinary lives don’t have that much to enlighten me with, but I only read memoirs by people that have accomplished something extaordinary that I find interesting, or have survived an ordeal that needs telling to the world. It may be ironic that I’m a blogger casting aspersions on the “ordinary person perspective”, but I’m not charging you to read this blog, it’s not my career. If you want to read about my ordinary life, I’m grateful for your participation. If I write a novel, it will be born of my imagination, wit, and creativity. My life, on the other hand, was born out of a zygote. Not that fascinating.
But Frey would have fallen into my exception. He would have survived a life less ordinary, learned something about himself and destruction and addiction that would have been worth sharing with the world. I would have been willing to grant him the right, in my own mind, to write a worthy memoir, something beneficial to the world and his readers.
On the other hand, I would also have been impressed if he’d written a novel dealing with destruction and addiction, if it was well-written. I would have granted him the liberty of fiction, and taken his writing at its own face-value, not how likely it was that any of it was autobiographical. I don’t care about Frey if he’s a novelist – I care about his writing.
Which is the crux of my problem with the memoir genre, and the crux of my problem with Frey. As a memoirist, I will consider you worthy if your life story is important to me. As a novelist, I will consider you worthy if your story-telling is important to me. James Frey, you cannot HAVE it both ways with me. Or anyone else, for that matter. You cannot demand to stand up and have your life heard, because it’s such a popular genre and subject to less critical scrutiny than fiction (“It really happened!” equates not needing creativity), and then decide you’re actually a novelist masquerading your story-telling as truth.
You cannot fool people like me, who ordinarily make it a habit to politely ignore the memoir genre, into thinking your fiction is truth. Stand by your extraordinary fiction or stick to your ordinary truth. Don’t lie your way into people’s opinion.
This is what I think about the Frey controversy. I am disgusted and disappointed and hope that he isn’t secretly glad his book exploded, because the destruction his little prank has wreaked is not yet over. The consequences to writers on both sides of the literary fence – memoirists or novelists – will be devastating and unfair, and it’s all because James Frey wanted to have it both ways.
That’s what I think.
UPDATE: Shana passed me this great link, where another memoirist gives a fair assessment of the process of writing a memoir and where Frey might have turned down the wrong road – here’s John Falk’s opinion. Very well said.
* I love my mother. She emailed me this: “Can you get a refund for Frey’s book? If every person who bought it would do that, the publisher would get the message and Frey’s bank account could shrink…maybe? They need a lesson for their deceitfulness!” That’s my mom, y’all. Always ready to stick it to the Man. Go mom!
what I think about James Frey and the memoir that didn’t
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I agree with most of the things you said. That being said, I had gotten the book before all the hullabaloo about it, and enjoyed it quite thoroughly. It struck me as more of a novel than a memoir, so I read it for it’s ‘interestingness’.
I didn’t mean to imply I won’t read memoirs unless I can directly relate to their life. I just want something to have HAPPENED to them that I, personally, want to read about. I read Mary Karr’s books and frankly, while they made good reading, I couldn’t help but wonder what her memoirs contributed other than good reading.
I don’t like memoirs unless I feel like something happened of great enough import to merit me reading about their real-life. That’s what I meant about “important to me”. I’m not discrediting the entire genre, I’m just stating why I steer clear of them, for the most part.
correct me if i’m wrong but is there not a distinction between autobiography and memoir?
whereas, a memoir has more flexibility? more chance for creative embellishment? and as writers aren’t we, even when telling the truth (blogging is a great example of this), always exaggerating a little.
how possible is it to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?
a good book is a good book no matter what category it falls into in my eyes.
(i haven’t read the book so i pass no judgment on its merit-i’m just sayin)
The way I see it, a “memoir” is a “poor writer’s autobiography”. The reader gives the memoirist some slack on how skillfully the story is told, with the catch being that the memoirist had better be able to provide the reader with a worthwhile story.
A few picky details slightly off in a memoir? OK, who cares. Entire scenes that are complete fiction? That’s just wrong. Sort of like in a newspaper, just because it’s a “soft” feature story over in the style section with lots of the journalist’s voice doesn’t mean it’s OK to just make stuff up!
If your creative side is taking you in that direction, there’s nothing stopping someone from writing a novel “based on” true life. But when they do it, calling it their “memoir” is trying to pull a fast one. (And if you’re writing a novel, of course, you’re expected to be able to write!)
If you’re creatively embellishing your own life, why are you even writing about your life? Whatever you call them – autobiographies or memoirs, and I’m not convinced there’s a difference – they fall under nonfiction. If writers of non-fiction are routinely creatively embellishing anything, any term that implies “non-fiction” is misleading.
So, no. I don’t think there’s room for adding any element of untruth. And exaggerating is different than embellishing.
Example:
Truth: “I went outside and it was cold.”
Exaggeration: “I went outside and it was THE COLDEST DAY EVER.”
Embellishment: “I went outside and it was the COLDEST DAY EVER and it was so cold that my NOSE FELL OFF.”
For it to be non-fiction, the situation you’re describing (“I went outside”, or “I was in in a jail cell once”) has to have happened, even if you exaggerate the events a little. To exaggerate means to represent something as larger or more impactful that it really was, which necessitates the thing happening in the first place. If you add elements that didn’t happen, (“and my nose fell off!” or “I was in prison for months!”), that may be embellishing, which is defined as “making a story or statement more interesting by adding extra details that are not true”, which basically means lying.
(Oh, and for the record, as the originator of the opinions that are up for debate here, I am pleased as punch to see people pitching in with their opinions. If I reiterate my opinion or reply to a question about my opinion, as I’ve done twice now, please take it in the spirit of discourse and understand that I’m thrilled that you’ve read what I said, are thinking about it, and have offered up an alternative viewpoint. Discourse is fun! Oh, and now that Shana’s already done so, I can’t wait until Conrad and Simon weigh in. )
just for the record, b&n will take any book and give you store credit because they’re cool like that. or they always have been for me.
Dahl, that’s good to know. I have to stand up to my mother’s awesome challenge and return the book, although I’ll try not to be TOO high-and-mighty at the B&N clerk.
Stranded in AZ, as I was at Thanksgiving, seemed the perfect place and time to begin this book. And after a few pages I was hooked. And this was a suprise reaction for me. It was written, well, oddly. The structure – the hard returns and the choice to capitalize so many inconsequential words – bothered me. And the capitalization of words like Fury. We get it. Put the brick down and back away from the typewriter.
But the story was so compelling that I couldn’t put it down.
Do I feel duped? No. I had no skin in the game, really. If it had been a supposedly true tale of a woman’s lifelong struggle with her weight, maybe I would feel it more intensely.
I wish it were true.
It would make it matter more.
But… I don’t enjoy it any the less for having been made up. And I do believe it was largely made up.
I look forward to watching the Oprah rebuttal episode.
Thanks for weighing in.
Regarding Frey, I am torn – I bought the book in my usual fashion – it caught my eye during the weekly B&N browse. Unusual, because I have an innate aversion to Oprah’s book club books, however good her track record might be. Here’s the problem…I read about 200 pages of it, liked it, put it down in favor of some chick lit fluff that I turn to when I’m feeling less than ready for any kind of mental effort. Haven’t picked it up again, and now the damn controversial thing is sitting on my bookstand, laughing at me. I think its a great piece of fiction – based (however loosely) on real life events. Not a memoir. But fine, compelling writing. I guess I’m going to finish the thing. I certainly don’t feel compelled to get my 15 bucks back.
Here’s to mistrusting memoir. No one’s life is as interesting as the one they could have made up. Of course, this has been going on for awhile, there’s Casanova, and there’s Robert Graves (and his buddy, T.E. Lawrence), there’s Henry Kissinger, who of course had nothing to do with war crimes in Cambodia if you ask him, there’s the Marquis de Sade, who couldn’t stop lying about himself, there’s Bill Clinton, who is a liar by omission in his memoir if ever one there was; there’s more than enough mendacity to go around. What bugs me a little about Frey- and like you I haven’t read the book, but I’m thinking about it now, because I like the snippets, but I most likely never will- is that the only exceptional thing about him, as it turns out, is his ability to tell a good lie, and after all the bullshit-wrapped-in-pomo prevarication, he now has the gall to apologize for it.
I am infuriated at this condemnation of memoirs, filled as it may be with caveats and apology. Being able to be generous of spirit enough to offer, often in beautifully creative and poetic prose, a glimpse into any real experience that might make some feel more connected, enlightened, entertained, understood, or even challenged…it’s beautiful, valuable, and powerful.
Those writers that condemn memoir as a lesser form are, in my opinion, elitists bolstered by jealousy. Some love to say it’s not art since the experiences weren’t CHOSEN by the writer. Others say ‘Why would we care?’ Well if you don’t, don’t read it – millions of others still do and will.
James Frey is a decietful opportunist. Those who share their TRUE selves in writing ought to be admired or at very least respected. I am shocked that you think that the difference between your blog and a well-edited, well-crafted, complete and deliberate book makes the former useful (uh…) and the latter somehow less!
Infuriating.
And no, I’ve not (yet) published any non fiction of my own.
Anon, not to ignore everything else you said (which I am doing because it’s your opinion and obviously we differ, although I apologize for infuriating you in any way), but I just have one brief point…
HAHAHAHAHHA. Seriously, I never at any point anywhere in the wide beautiful world said that my blog was USEFUL. I apologize doubly if I ever gave you that impression. AHHAAHHAHAHAHHA. My blog is probably the most useless thing since TOAST TONGS.
Anon, the big difference between memoir and, say, a book about a fictional character is that when a memoirist says she was shot, you believe her; when he says he was terrified, or in love, or in pain, you imagine those feelings, and either (a) “relate” (and what a petty, narcissistic way to enjoy literature, as if the measure of the value of any experience is whether we have had it ourselves) or (b) feel glad that you can’t.
In either case, you might as well return the book, spend the proceeds on some ice cream, and go appreciate yourself in a more overt, if messier, manner.
I’m certainly not jealous of anyone who feels like blessing me with their memories makes them generous. In other contexts, that kind of thinking is what makes for a pontificating nutsack.
I just wanted to ask you what the “consequences to writers on both sides of the literary fence” will be. What do you anticipate the consequences will be?
I just started reading this–a friend lent it to me with a caveat about the deceit. It’s a fast, uncomfortable read. The thing that bugs me most, thus far, is the inconsistent capitalization. I can’t understand what its meaning/purpose is. It’s not the intentional/funny capitalization (aka “the Man”). If it’s supposed to be a demonstration of how crazy and shattered the author is, it’s a lame technique. I am actually a huge fan of memoir and creative nonfiction, but I’ve learned through various classes and workshops that a good memoir has a reflective quality that shows that the author has analyzed and distilled his/her experience, and is no longer “in it”. So far, the book reads like an emotional black hole. Fascinating, but not good writing.
hey, toast tongs are useful! you don’t burn your little tootsies when you take the toast out of the toaster…
sharing your TRUE self is … therapy. or love, sometimes. but worth a stranger’s time …
Barnes & Noble will take your book back without a receipt, but will give you store credit. I had to do this recently with a duplicate book bought for me by an unknowing friend, and they were cool with it.
A lie is a lie, period. One of many: 87 days in jail (lie) versus a few hours at a police station’s conference room (truth) – which one belongs in a non-fiction book? Give me a break!
Terrific post!
http://www.suburbanbliss.net/suburbanbliss/2006/01/index.html
just thought i’d add this to the mix. scroll down to “James Frey and his 999,998 pieces of things you can believe in.”
i feel sorry for james frey. he had a story to share. i read his book when it first came out, before oprah and the whole hoopla. and i liked it. and i still do.
but as i was reading it, i knew that some parts of the story just had to have been embellished, if just a little.
jame frey, in my opinion (and with the help of oprah), simply showed the idiotic side of human nature: we just want to believe, anything something someone. we put him on the pedestal and now we can’t get enough of throwing him off it.
however, i especially liked his writing style. it was unique in the way that it showed how words appear to our brain before it is translated to make sense gramatically.
All industries embellish in one way or another. When writing a story one can go back and reread what the author said and fact check it. With other industries like fashion – you can’t fact check a designers influence – you have to take a person on their word. This is why I think he’s an idiot. Had he come out and said that he did indeed take poetic license the general public would have been kinder to him and Oprah probably would not have called him out. He out right lied by stating everything was true. Boy, how I hate liers. And AMEN to your Mom.
Funny, I read the book as pure and utter fiction. Mainly because I had friends who were drug addicts and their lives didn’t sound HALF as interesting as Frey’s. I know that sounds silly, but my high school boyfriend did “recreational” drugs for years and now he slurs his words and can’t remember more than a few hours of his day, yet James Frey can “remember” in great detail something that supposedly happened over 10 years ago. Riiiight. I also didn’t really buy into cause I work in the insurance industry and I don’t believe shit.
I think you are all missing the most important thing: OPRAH ATE HIM ON LIVE TV. It was amazing. I have never seen an act of cannabalism so gratuitous on network television. Frey was a tiny, shaking bunny and Oprah was an angry tiger! I could smell his fear through my television set! I think he peed his pants on that couch Tom Cruise jumped on!
You know, Erin, I was eating a COOKIE when I read that and COOKIE CAME THROUGH MY NOSE. COOKIE, ERIN. That CANNOT be healthy.
HAHAHA BUNNY.
Is there anywhere I can download a recording of the entire thing? I’m curious to see for myself how (and whether) he defended himself.
You could try youtube.com, otherwise, mom taped it for me and I could bring home the tape next weekend. Does anyone still have a VCR?
I never watch Oprah, but I did make a point to try and see this. I missed the main event, but sat through something called Oprah After the Show. Poor Frey sat there while getting cooked by various panelists (and Oprah). His publisher’s rep was particularly preposterous. But at the end Oprah reached over and held his hand as the credits rolled.
I’m probably going to get smacked down for this, but my opinion? Why the FUCK does anybody CARE if he embellished or not? It’s a BOOK. Is it an enjoyable read? Then good for him! If it’s not a good book, then don’t read it. I don’t think a poorly-written book should suddenly be called great because it’s supposedly TRUE, and vice versa. It’s like the people who are all up in arms about this are somehow personally offended, and for the life of me, I can’t understand why. Does it make any difference to ANYBODY, except the author, if he spent one night in jail, or 87?
The worst part about this whole episode, to me, is how gleefully people are tearing this man apart — a bunch of sharks in a feeding frenzy, for heaven’s sake. It’s this frantic desire for some kind of revenge that I really find disgusting and disappointing.
And that’s what I think.
Biscuit, you might have a point. It’s not like he lied about having sold nuclear secrets to Iran or going on cocaine benders with Queen Elizabeth or doing anything that matters to anyone but him.
I certainly don’t think you’ll get smacked down for your opinion, much as I don’t expect to get smacked down for mine. And I’ll go ahead and except myself, as I’m sure you do since we’re friends, from any pool of people you classify as having a frantic desire for revenge that’s both disgusting and disappointing.
I read the book in about two days before all the hoopla came out. I could not put it down. I’m so disappointed in the way people are tearing James Frey apart. It was a great book. It helped a lot of people struggling with addiction. Yes, he should have marketed it as a novel based on a true story, but the message of the book and his life remains.
On the other hand, I am quite disappointed in James Frey. He reminds me of those kids in high school who pretended to be “badder” than they were because they thought it was cool. It seems as if he is a little emotionally immature, which doesn’t surprise me considering the life he has led.