I'm reading an interesting article in The Globe and Mail about the modern paparazzi business. I'll give you a hint: it's madness. Poor Britney.
(You know, that sounded a bit glib, but I really do feel sorry for her. I mean, if I knew someone who acts the way she does, I would feel really sorry for them. Just because she's famous and rich, doesn't make her life any less screwed up.)
Also, what's with the rash of fake memoirs lately, and why are they so newsworthy? If these books were just marketed as novels instead of memoirs, no one would care whether they were true. Why does a book seem more valuable if we think it tells the truth about a real person?
(Whoa, that was, like, a Carrie Bradshaw-esque moment right there, seeing the cursor flashing on my screen as I typed myself a rhetorical question. Except I would have to write, "I wondered, why does a book seem more valuable if we think it tells the truth about a real person?" And then I would have to wear wildly improbable clothes and alienate a succession of boyfriends with my neuroses.)
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
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Was it entirely rhetorical, because I have an answer. There's a lot of folks (maybe this is a pragmatic, Western American thing) who claim they don't have time for fiction, that life's too complicated to bother with made-up stuff. So, memoirs mean real life, and therefore are, supposedly, more valuable.
Also, I wonder if men read memoirs. They don't read novels, in large part, but the few who do read, read non-fiction. But, then, I don't know many men dying to read about a woman's trials...
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