The "fake" memoir is troubling to me. More and more of them are being exposed. Some are but embellished a little, like the infamous A Million Little Pieces. Others are completely made up, like Bruno "Binjamin Wilkomirski" Doessekker's memoir of Holocaust experiences he never had, Fragments.
Does labeling an lightly embellished story a "memoir" make the author a liar? Instinct says yes, but the intellectual issues behind it are more complicated. Are we allowed to make concessions like that in the name of art? If we aren't, how can "realist" novels like Germinal be allowed?
An even more knotty question: Is a reader allowed to enjoy a "fake memoir" as a novel, given its dishonest origins?
I must admit the second question is somewhat personal to me. Elie Wiesel's Night Trilogy*-excuse the cliche-changed my life when I was fourteen. It taught me gratitude, the finality of death, the importance of loyalty, and even empathy, a skill some aspies never gain. After I read it I discovered that Night is packed with a million little historical inaccuracies that can only be explained by the creative liscense of Elie Wiesel. Yet the book has a power over me just the same. I could never forget it. I reread it as a novel; It's still amazing.
A fake memoir. A contradiction of terms, yes. The price we pay for aesthetics, maybe.
*I know it's now the hip thing in intellectual circles to despise Elie Wiesel as a sentimental preener who has too much money, only speaks Humanitarianese, and is a slave to the evil Oprah empire, but please don't make fun of me. People have had their lives changed by worse books than his.
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