There's a great article in today's Publisher's Weekly about the whole controversy over James Frey's memoir. I suppose it's not shocking that the editorial team moved the book into nonfiction because they hoped it would sell better, anything and everything to get people to read is an honourable thing to do in my mind.
But the people who are crying because not every word is 'true', I might have to go all post-modern on their ass and ask them what does truth mean in today's world? We can't get a straight story from anyone; news is embellished for ratings; creative nonfiction vilified for turning out a solid narrative; actors are held up on pedestals usually reserved for well, writers, poets, statesmen/women and politicians; and truth becomes so utterly relevant to the person who is speaking it that, again, I don't see what the big deal is.
My Boy is Ten
My friend Heather took this photo a couple of weekends ago. We went for a walk in the woods. It was a bit cold at first, neither my boy nor ...
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Let me confess, first of all, that I don't read a lot of short stories. So while I'm a huge supporter of short fiction, I don't... -
Despite that fact that I'm fully aware that I'm home because I need to rest and, ahem, rest assured I'm doing just that, I have ...
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The last few weeks of my life have been the most terrifying and joyful I have ever known. The purpose of this blog has never been to documen...
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