Fiction/Nonfiction - Blurring the Line

I am a fiction writer for the most part, at least in my books, so the issue of writing factual nonfiction doesn’t much concern me. However all the recent flap over James Frey’s A Million Little Pieces has gotten me thinking about the responsibilities of a writer to his/her readers when writing nonfiction. I haven’t read Frey’s book and won’t. I’m not particularly interested in the my-screwed-up-life genre. But I’ve read a few of the op-ed pieces and news stories on this issue and it is worth thinking about.

First of all, I want to say that in these exposé-happy times, when everyone thinks they are Woodward and Bernstein, it is just plain stupid to publish a book as nonfiction that the author knows perfectly well contains a considerable amount of bullshit. Did he think no one would call him on it? On the other hand, maybe he’s just very clever at marketing. After all, he’s gotten more publicity for this book and sold more copies than he probably would have on its own merits. That’s another matter altogether.

But, when it comes to the nonfiction memoir genre how much truth does a writer owe his readers? Stories that start out in childhood present an interesting situation, for instance. If a writer writes about things from childhood, he recalls them with a child’s mind. Children see “reality” from an entirely different perspective than adults do and their recollection of dates and times are frequently faulty. A writer friend shared a piece he was working on with me in which he recalled in detail the day President Kennedy was shot. In his narrative he said, “I was five and...” he proceeded to paint a beautifully written and sad portrait of a family in shock and mourning – a day that would effect his life for years to come.

"It’s good," I told him, "but you and I are the same age. That would make you thirteen when Kennedy died. Thirteen year olds see things much differently than five year olds do." No one was more shocked than he was to realize how old he was then – but it was a far more innocent time. Still writing with the memories of a child affords much more leeway than the memories of adults.

Maybe nonfiction writers should take a few lessons from fiction writers. It is true that fiction writers can be more inventive but we have to adhere to certain rules of credibility. For one thing we have to be true to the nature of our characters. You cannot take a character who has been quiet, gentle and unassuming and turn her into a sassy flirt without some powerful triggering incident. Secondly, we have to abide by the rules of nature (unless you are Isabel Allende, Gabriel Garcia Marquez or some other South American writer) and not bend time or weather or the essential order of the natural world to fit your story. And third, the natural arc of the story has to be credible. Once that seed of scepticism is planted in a reader’s mind it is hard to overcome.

I am not sure I would ever undertake a nonfiction memoir work. For one thing I’ve used up a lot of my life’s experiences in two novels and a collection of short stories and they are – I hope – far more interesting than my actual life has been. Writers write to entertain, to inform, to stimulate thinking, to offer new perspectives – all of these things are important but the nonfiction writer needs to respect his audience’s intelligence. Once you’ve lost credibility with your reader the book is pretty much over for them.

I remember when I read John Krakauer’s brilliant Into Thin Air: A Personal Account of the Mt. Everest Disaster. I found myself wondering why in God’s name anyone would want to climb that mountain – but by the end of the book I understood it. It made no sense to me but I understood. I guess holding to the truth is ultimately more interesting to me – maybe not as dramatic but certainly more thought-provoking. If that is good enough for the novelist, it should be for the memoirist as well.

Thanks for reading.