Please allow me to set the scene.
Me, your heroine, on death's doorstep as a result of what the doctor called a "fairly nasty looking sore throat". FAIRLY nasty. The prescription I had for an antibiotic did not stop me from fulfilling my obligations as Book Club hostess. Nor did it stop me from loading my fat ass into my small SUV (4 cylinder--not a gas pig!) to drive to M&M to buy food for the Book Club ingrates.
I will start by telling you that the book we reviewed was "A Million Little Pieces" by Mr. Street Cred according to his Mom, James Frey. The dude is almost as Street as Carson Daly.
I will tell you what I told the book club ladies. I liked the book a lot for the first 3/4 of it. Then I started to notice the phoniness and the uni-dimensionality of the supporting cast. And I admitted it took me until I was three-quarters of the way through to notice this!
I said I'd have the same problems with the characters if the book were sold as a novel.
The ladies all disagreed with me...they all loved it and argued that they didn't expect any actual truth from a memoir. What they expected was "his truth as he remembered it" "His version of the events". Just FYI, in my memoir I am going to remember I was Mrs. Johnny Depp and I created Linux.
What about truth on a book tour, where he's talking about all these things happening to him as having actually happened in interviews? Where journalists ask him what was it like to be in jail, etc. And he said stuff like "Oh man, jail is hard!" (Like he'd know!)
Their answer? Silence. Then 10 minutes later they start talking about how they haven't seen me be so bitchy before. Apparently holding a different point of view and expressing said p.o.v. and thinking that the truth matters makes one bitchy.
(Didn't anyone else have those great arguments in university that would go on and on over bottles of wine and people would be disagreeing like crazy and even yelling, but it was okay to have a different point of view, it was even kinda good to...anyone remember that?)
one bad, bad woman who I really don't know well, but that didn't seem to stop her from scarfing down my hot hors d'oeuvres said, smugly...
"Well, I'd like to know what you thought of the book BEFORE you heard that Oprah didn't like it".
And then, in my mind, I quit the book club. But not before I grabbed those goddam cream cheese and sundried tomato puffs out of her fat little hand. (also in my mind).