In
The New York Times yesterday, Ben Greenman wrote a satirical piece making
"pun" of recent lawsuits against Lance Armstrong and his memoirs. The
plaintiffs argue they bought his books because they believed in his honesty and
they are suing for the damages his lies have told. Greenman, however, attacks
works of fiction and claims:
These books commit a crime every bit as insidious as that perpetrated by Armstrong. These “novels” (I can hardly type the word without quaking with rage) are marketed as fiction when they blatantly contain elements of truth.
My
freshmen have begun David Egger's novel, What is the What, and I first
learned of the work when I met Valentino Deng in Louisville, Kentucky. Deng was
on a book tour for the book and I brought several Sudanese men with me for his
talk. I read the book soon after.
A
few years later, I would meet Dominic Mathiang in Syracuse, New York, who also
pointed me to the exact pages where parts of his story appear. The work of
fiction, both of them explained to me, are based on their lived experiences.
This, I believe, is Greenman's argument. He makes his case through alluding to Catcher
in the Rye.
Salinger said as much in an interview. “My boyhood,” he explained, “was very much the same as that of the boy in the book, and it was a great relief telling people about it.” Is this not a straightforward admission of the very deception I allege in my complaint?
There's
humor to Greenman's sarcasm, but also a level of wit that is more poignant. Do
we have the right to interrogate the printed page for total accuracy. After
all, I compose on this blog every night, but readily admit that my memory of
what I write is merely a reflection on my ability to recall. The point? My
stories, too, are inaccurate because they are filtered through me. Perhaps this
is why I've always been interested in the fine line blurring of fiction
/non-fiction and objectivity/subjectivity (I recall here where Stephen King
first got his idea for the movie Carrie. If you don't know how, you
should read his memoir on writing).
And
so I post this blog as an entry for a Monday morning, but also because I have a
plan for it - I will use it as a model for my EN 12 class on Tuesday evening.
My
point? Greeman says he will sue novelists for daring to include their fiction
based off of truth and lived experiences. He feels betrayed.
These works lied about being lies, and the only truth I feel now is that I will never forgive them.
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