The James Frey debacle that has been playing out in the media lately has got me thinking about what all this moral outrage says about our society, and what this means for the future of publishing. It’s a big deal; after all, we now have to contend with the disturbing reality that there are people out there who may be deliberately lying to us! Fortunately, we can rest assured knowing that the nation’s literary advocate Oprah Winfrey is on our side, and is putting pressure on book publishers to investigate the accuracy of manuscripts before they reach our shelves. Thank God. I wouldn’t want to be reading a book only to discover that it’s fiction.
Oprah had her ego badly bruised after coming to Frey’s defense on Larry King Live, and had to recoup PR points somehow. Her method of salvaging her credibility involved lambasting Frey on her program, and then taking his publisher to task for not questioning the “obvious” lies that acne the book’s plotline. For overlooking a scene in A Million Little Pieces in which Frey describes receiving a root canal without Novocaine, Oprah indignantly reprimands Doubleday editor Nal Talese:
“I don't know why that [scene] wouldn't be a red flag to anybody, Nan. One of the reasons why we're all so taken with the book is because it feels and reads so sensationally that you can't believe that all of this happened to one person.”
So wait a minute, Oprah— you’re saying that the editor is naďve and irresponsible because she should have recognized this yarn as an obvious lie, but you and the 50 million Oprah-drones in TV Land who swallowed it hook, line, and sinker and are now demanding refunds because you claim to have been deceived by a tale that you yourself admit was unbelievable? If that isn’t talking out of both sides of the mouth, then I don’t know what is. Beyond disingenuous, it seems intellectually dishonest for Ms. Winfrey to pass the blame onto the publisher when there are millions of people out there who, as Oprah admitted, are just as capable of detecting lies. What special qualifications or faculties does Nan Talese have to determine truth from fiction? She’s an editor, not a clairvoyant. Anyway, anyone who had bothered to read the book would have noticed that Frey makes a big fuss about how he doesn’t believe anything unless it “rings true.” Surely someone out there—Oprah, you’d think— would have applied that reasoning to this book, given the amount of gushing her club poured onto A Million Little Pieces.
As it so happened, I came across Frey's book three years ago in 2003, in the midst of its first round of unrelenting publishing hype. At the time, Frey claimed that with this book, he was effectively commandeering this generation’s literary crown. That alone gave me pause about his credibility, but within 15 pages of the book, I quickly picked up on the fact that Frey was prone to hyperbole. He had a very clear agenda to market himself as a no-nonsense tough guy, and he seemed unusually driven to demonstrate the limits of his machismo. Nevertheless, I looked past his exaggerated storytelling, his irritating writing style, and his Tendency to randomly Capitalize words, because I felt that there was a worthwhile lesson about life buried under the mountains of posturing.
To me, focusing on the fact that James Frey didn’t really punch a cop in 1992 is missing the point entirely. While I realize that accepting blatant falsehoods in non-fiction literature sets up a dangerous precedent, at some point we must evaluate what it is we seek from reading books like this.
One Oprah Book Club reader was upset that the book lured her into believing that someone could actually break free from the horrors of drug dependency, a hope she apparently abandoned after James Frey was found to have lied about his experiences—or so it would seem, if we are to judge by the level of disillusionment and moral indignation in her voice.
A Million Little Pieces doesn’t state anywhere that everything in it is true; nor does it say that is inspired by true events. The only point of reference is the “Non-fiction” label that adorns the blue-green cover. Yet, contrary to what the “Frey-lied/Oprah-cried” faction might lead you to believe, not all non-fiction books are the same. A biography of Winston Churchill does not serve the same purpose as a book like A Million Little Pieces. The former is primarily set up to be a factual account of a life; the latter is meant to provoke thought on a subject through the telling of a life experience. Does it have to be a completely true story? I don’t think so. Are there ethical problems with an author claiming it is entirely true when it’s not? Yes, there are. But realistically, you’d be hard pressed to find an autobiographical memoir that isn’t padded with occasional detours from fact. The question is whether or not an author owes it to readers to be completely faithful to the truth when retelling his story. On the surface, it’s a simple yes/no question, but upon considering it a while longer, grey areas begin forming. What if an author writes strictly from recollection, but the memory varies from what others say really happened? At what point does subjective reality end and objective reality begin when representing the “truth?” Is it okay for an author to fudge facts if it would better convey the intended message? If the author honestly doesn’t remember specifics about an event, is he forced to leave it out entirely instead of being given the option of fabricating a functional border around it? Is branding Frey a liar for changing some facts any different than labeling Claude Monet a liar for painting extra water lilies in his representation of a pond?
These are difficult questions to answer, and I’m not certain there are any simple solutions, or any way to address them in a practical manner. As Frey himself suggests in his book, perhaps the best way to protect ourselves in the future is to accept that we’re not going to be given the truth 100% of the time, and adjust our bullshit meters accordingly.
