Will the parade of poseur memoirists never end?

Time to rework the cover of Margaret B. Jones' "memoir."

In case you haven't heard, Margaret B. Jones is another faux memoirist. Exposed by the New York Times (with the help of her sister) just days before the release of "Love and Consequences," it turns out there is no Jones, purportedly a half-Native American, half-white foster child raised in South Los Angeles who fell in with the Crips. Instead, author Margaret Seltzer was raised in comfortable circumstances by her biological family in the Valley and went to an exclusive private school.

It takes a lot of work to write a book. Why on earth do people keep pouring so much effort into writing memoirs that aren't memoirs? There's a word for what you're doing, folks; we call it "fiction."

Carolyn Kellogg

Comments

[Mike]

Where are the fact checkers? Who is running these publishing companies nowadays? Whoever bought this book without verifying its author's identity should be fired.

[kate niles]

I would be curious to know, however, if, as with James Frey, Seltzer saw a better promise of publication if her story remained "memoir" instead of fiction. Frey after all tried to sell his book as fiction first but the publishing world told him they would not take it unless he peddled it as nonfiction. A Faustian bargain, to be sure, but something the publishing world should take a little responsibility for.

[Browne]

Maybe if the publishing world was a bit more open minded this wouldn't happen. I'm going to bet there are plenty of people of color who have that exact same story (probably quite a few people of color pushed fiction versions of this story) but her story though not true was viewed as more marketable and why was that?

Publishers keep picking the same people with the same background or people that they can "relate to" to publish and then they are shocked when these insane outlandish stories turn out to be false.

It's the publishers that are false.

They want interesting stories of urban gritty life, but don't want to touch urban gritty people, so they believe these preppy middle class people, because that to them is more acceptable even though it's probably a lie than publishing a person outside of their social circle who is telling the truth.

They probably felt oddly comfortable with Margaret, which probably should have been a red flag that she was bs.

Maybe if publishers stopped looking for Elvis they would have less of this kind of thing happening.

Browne

[SandyC]

Kudos to Peggy's sister for "outing" her! There's a person with some integrity. Everyone seems to be focusing on the publishing industry and their fact checking. Yes, that's important, but what about authors who are so willing to pass off fiction as fact? What Peggy did was reprehensible, and there's no excuse for it.

[Johnny]

I've posted this on Susan's recent post as well, but find it oh-so-juicily-relevant, especially given the spite I find just chomping at the bit here...

Though we're focusing on the writer, I think we tread somewhere close to danger. That we have in fact forgotten the writer. Though we write with the publisher, you with your fingers flipping the pages of our books, in mind, we truly write for ourselves. To tell a story. To challenge the process. It's an independent journey. So when something like this happens, is it not premature to accuse the writer? Do we know, in this specific instance, if the writer has truly done something wrong? Do we know it was a memoir she for sure set out to write? Or was it the publisher, hands full of so juicy a story, so perfect but for one minor, but oh so major adjustment, to be made...

There is a responsibility on the publisher's part as well. Without the power of print, is not the writer left in turn, unheard? Powerless his or herself? I challenge anyone to say this is nothing short of a major responsibility, then.

Let's not be so quick to fire those lanterns on this witch hunt just yet.

[Susan]

C. Kellogg's observation is absolutely beautiful. It brought tears to my eyes. It reminds me of how my Mom (though I still love her) rewrites my childhood, her first two marriages & why my sister really died at 28 (other than from anorexia & growing up in Bel Air). Thank you Ms Kellogg, thank you.

[Jim S]

Ms. Kellogg puts her finger on the heart of the matter: Why are we no longer satisfied with calling a novel "fiction"? This question takes us to larger problems of culture--problems that are much more important than the fact that an individual writer committed fraud. Think, for instance, of how book reviewers, like the reading public in general, are so quick to sacrifice their standards for good writing when they think they'll be given a glimpse into the "reality" of something seedy. This thirst for the "genuine" and the "authentic"--especially when it concerns tales of recovery and redemption--reveals a failure to understand the complex, performative nature of both writing and identity, not to mention a woeful lack of imagination--for which our novelists are paying. People are pointing their fingers at editors and publishers; I'd like to see book reviewers like Kakutani of the NY Times develop a bit more intelligence when it comes to judging the value of a memoir.