Writer David Sedaris recently lost a fan. Despite the admiration that Sathnam Sanghera feels towards the famed American writer, there is a philosophical disparity that cannot be resolved among the two once-amiable parties. The cause of such rift, you ask? Simply put: Sanghera feels that any dramatic additions to a true story must be properly acknowledged. But Sedaris, the author of five New York Times bestsellers, feels otherwise:

“If you tell a funny story at the dinner table in front of ten people, nine will laugh, and one will say: ‘That’s not true.’ I’ve always hated that person.”

“I would never say that. It is either a good story or it’s not. It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not.”

Sanghera argues that factual representation is vital when there is an implication that a particular tale was woven using the natural threads of reality:

It doesn’t matter if non-fiction authors exercise literary or poetic licence, if they omit things, if they fill in details, if they play around with minor facts, even if they exaggerate for comic effect, as long as they acknowledge it in some way, and are consistent about it, but it matters hugely if they are making things up and not admitting to doing so.

The most notable transgression of this tenet is James Frey’s feigned memoir A Million Little Pieces, which became a part of Oprah’s Book Club. Frey later had to atone for his falsified claims of accuracy, for the sake of drama, on Oprah’s show. This publicity (of which, it is often said, there is only good) ignited fresh debate as to the assigned responsibilities of writers, publishers, and readers to police accuracy among memoirs and other non-fiction work

In a Literary Editing & Publishing course that I took in my final year of college coursework, one of the most debated topics was the responsibilities of the involved players. Some in the class felt that it was the sole responsibility of the publisher to fact-check all material. Others felt the onus to be inherently placed upon the author.

Then there were those who feel similarly to Michael Schaub, who seems to have no qualms with the conjugality of entertainment and incredulity:

The idea that a memoir can’t be good unless it’s true seems absurd to me. Everybody knows that everybody lies; if you trust writers to always tell you the truth, you shouldn’t. I’d rather read a memoir by an interesting liar than one by someone who’s terminally earnest and boring. Maybe it’s just a difference in perspective; I’ve never in my life expected any memoir to be truthful. Why should it? If you’re writing a book on how to perform heart surgery, then OK, sure, let’s go with the truth. But memoirs? Go ahead and lie. It’s your life; it’s your right to make shit up.

First, let’s be clear: I don’t think there is any contention with the importance and enjoyability of a fictitious story, even one that is loosely so.

But the issue is not whether a story is good or not. It’s whether it’s true or not.

A memoir implies that a bolstering attribute of the story’s enjoyability and (perhaps) profundity, lies in its wake of truth. Fiction can be just as enjoyable and profound, but for slightly different reasons.  Yes, a talented writer, engaging characters, and sustaining plot are all necessary attributes, but the creative elbow-room that fiction possesses can give it an emotional, psychological, cultural scope that goes beyond reality.

Now, I have no qualms with attributing hyperbolic interpretations of factual events and people; creative reflection and dramatization can accentuate the truth in very interesting ways. But bear in mind that word ‘accentuate.’ It implies embellishment. And embellishment is a fictitious dramatization.

Whether the term memoir becomes associated with such creative embellishment, or if publishers and writers collectively use another signifier (please God, not “Faction”) to acknowledge any work that combines elements of fiction and non in a see-saw fashion, there must be some acknowledgment as such.

Feel free to dramatize your life to your heart’s content.  Just let us know ahead of time.

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