The Sebold Paradigm
Yet another writer has been caught passing fiction as memoir; and with the inevitable mention of James Frey and A Million Little Pieces, I have to ask again — are we absolutely certain he’s still alive? Has anyone seen James Frey recently? Somebody should bring that guy some groceries.
Anyway, you have to wonder if this continuing trend is really the fault of the author, or the editor? Having just finished a novel, myself, I’ve been asked which scenes “really happened.” Well, I couldn’t have written about smoking if I hadn’t been a smoker, first (or, couldn’t have written convincingly); and I couldn’t opine on quitting if I hadn’t already quit. Arguably, I might reveal more of myself if compelled to “tell the truth” — though it may result in a more artful rendering, given the freedom to make things up. That’s the writer’s prerogative.
However, put in the hands of a publisher, a book becomes something to market. The genre of memoir is ineffably more interesting to readers — as evidenced by our passion for reality-based television, and celebrity rehab, and poor James Frey. Opportunity knocks but once — or so every unpublished writer is led to believe.
Except, perhaps, Alice Sebold. If you recognize the name, it’s because she’s the author of The Lovely Bones, a novel about the abduction, rape, and murder of a young girl. (How decidedly fictional is this account? The narrator’s already dead.) Alice Sebold is also the author of Lucky — a memoir about her own abduction and rape as a teenager. First came Lucky, published in 1999; then The Lovely Bones, in 2002.
Clearly, the two books share a common theme. For reasons of her own, Ms. Sebold was inclined to write a memoir, first: this book fared poorly, commercially speaking. Perhaps encouraged by an agent or publisher, she then revisited the source material — and discovered that fiction allowed her certain freedoms (e.g., narration from beyond the grave, a first-person voice with third-person omniscience). So, what in The Lovely Bones is “real?” Well … nothing. It’s fiction.
Of course, to write a credible memoir, one must have lived the experiences caught between the covers. And Ms. Sebold has proved herself to be a better writer than most, to have three books published. But she serves as an instructive paradigm: a writer who produced both memoir and fiction, one out-selling the other, sacrificing neither to a more marketable genre. The moral of the story being: tell it straight, first — then you can fudge the details. Or in reverse order, but one at a time.
Now, let’s go get James Frey some fruit.
