Here's what I think about the whole J.T. Leroy and Million Big Lies debacle.
It's not even a debacle. In fact, it's a bunch of people crying that somebody else got a bigger piece of cake (and got to blow out most of the candles) and it wasn't even their birthday.
And yeah, that's pretty much what it is. But so what?
I sort of wish I could get worked up about all this. But in the end, I just can't. If you enjoyed those books by those people, then you enjoyed those books by those people regardless of the “facts” contained therein. So far as I know, “memoir” has never claimed to be unaltered historical record. So long as the authors aren't slandering anybody, there's no real foul.
Can you trust that what is said in a memoir is the truth? Not really. You never could. But it may just be the truth for the author. And if they do a good enough job, they write a book that's worth reading.
So then. Next hubbub, please. I'm tired of this one.
℅ Rocky Mountain News
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