A couple of days ago, there was a post on Romancing the Blog on how publishing could be improved if perhaps not so many books were published each year—if the number of books published were culled according to quality.

I didn't comment over there because that post happened on my Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day—it would have been very bad if I'd weighed in on that particular topic on that particular day. However, my most excellent and awesome critique partner, Selah, gave her own take on topic and I commented over there. Basically, I said the argument as presented over at RTB was exceedingly faulty and there were so many things that annoyed me about it that it was best not to get me started. Eva wanted to get me started, but I figured rather than drag down Selah's bandwidth, I'd drag down my own.

Okay, here's the thing—the argument? As presented at RTB? Is rife with faulty logic. The poster began by saying that she'd recently been diagnosed with a food allergy and was now limited in what she was able to eat. Some of her old favorites had been taken from her, but she still had other old favorites available to her and thing is, she physically felt much better overall, having a limited menu selection, as it were. She likened that to perhaps if publishers limited the selection of books—if not so many books were published in a given week or year, if selection was limited to really quality works, perhaps we'd be happier as readers.

That's the wrong analogy. For one thing, quality, for the most part, is such a subjective matter. One man's trash is another man's treasure, yada, yada, the thing, the thing. But more importantly, she's making an error in comparing a health-based directive; something she has to do because it directly affects her physical well being, to what's generally a market-driven decision.

The better analogy, if we were going to stick with food, is if she chose to become vegan or go completely organic in her food choices. I'll say it again—choices. Depending on where you live, making that kind of lifestyle decision, especially the organic one, can be very difficult. You have to really go out of your way to find the foods you want, the sources that will get you the best products. Ultimately, you have to really learn how to discern quality product from mass-produced. The mass-produced is still going to be there. You'll probably notice a difference if you eat something with sub-standard ingredients, it may even make your body physiclally feel bad—but not everyone has the same palate.

That's what bugged me. She wants the choice taken out of her hands, that's her prerogative, but she wants it done at the expense of those who like Velveeta Cheese Dip. I may loathe Velveeta, but I'm not going to tell someone they can't eat it or make nasty cheese dip from it. I just don't have any. If I get the opportunity, I introduce them to queso made with high-quality queso blanco, all thin and runny and barely coating the chip and with the sharp bite of tiny bits of fresh jalapeño. You know what? They may still like Velveeta better and it'll always be there for them. In the end, much as it might make me cringe, more people are going to want Velveeta rather than queso blanco, so which do you think the market is going to go out of its way to make sure is available? (Which is exactly what Selah said, I'm just reiterating.)

Because quality is all subjective. And in publishing, availability/selection is primarily driven by the market demand. Do we really think if publishers were going to publish fewer books they'd really go for the quality and cut down on the quantity of what brings them buyers? In other words, do we really think we'll get few dozen less vampire series so that the Atonements of the world will have a better opportunity to be published?

Yeah, I don't think so either.

Obviously, the Atonement and Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao novels do find their place, but are we really so naïve as to believe there aren't other, equally wonderful books out there that aren't getting their opportunity to be published? Come on. Let's be real—in fact, let's use a recent example. Love and Consequences the discredited memoir by Margaret B. Jones/Margaret Seltzer. Every single bloody review I've read lauds this book as one of the most well-written, intriguing stories of recent memory. It's fantastic, every reviewer agreed. No one said it wasn't an engrossing story. Of course, there was a problem with it in that it was all complete bullshit. A yarn. An exceptionally well-written fairy tale, if you will.

And the cries went out—"But why didn't she sell it as fiction, if it's so well-written?"

She tried. No one wanted it. By all accounts, this book couldn't get an editor interested in it as fiction. But it's quality. Everyone's agreed on that. It has all the hallmarks of quality and it couldn't get published as fiction because for whatever reason, it didn't grab an editor. But there would be a audience for it in memoir, because that's what the market's demanding.

So tell me again how publishing is going choose quality over market-driven demand?

Since I'm not in the slightest bit surprised. Anyone with the sheer cojones this woman has displayed to date would have to have more than a few more skeletons hiding out in the closet, no?

Via Galley Cat:

Search for Jones' Sources Begins

But another reader, taking note of Seltzer's false claims to Native American heritage, spotted what could have been another red flag in Love and Consequences: Sherman Alexie's Reservation Blues, which Seltzer is sure to have read while pursuing that ethnic studies degree she never quite picked up from the University of Oregon, also features a wise maternal character named "Big Mom." If anybody out there still has a copy of Seltzer's fantasy and can tell me if the similarities run deeper, drop me a line!

ETA: A big thanks to Jeff Baker from Oregonlive.com who wrote an interesting article that clarified something that I think was grossly downplayed by the NY Times and other media outlets.

On the most basic level, it is not hard to understand why Seltzer did what she did. "Once the dollar signs reached a certain level, I had my choice of three publishers," she said in the promotional interview that accompanied her book. Her advance was reported as less than $100,000 by the Times, still far more than the $5,000 to $10,000 that is common for a first novel.

What's more important to publishers is the belief that memoirs sell better than novels and get more media attention.

So many times over the past few days I saw how much she made on the advance dismissed as "just under a hundred thousand dollars," as if it was somehow a trivial number—not that much in the scheme of things. Say that number to 90% of the authors out there and watch their reactions.

And finally:

GAG. Just... gag Is there no END to what this woman was capable of? I feel like I need a shower now.

Now, why doesn't this surprise me in the slightest?

Oprah's mag gushed over memoir of fake gangbanger

A "startlingly tender memoir," read the enthusiastic blurb.

You'd think of all corporations that would steer clear in that "wouldn't come within ten freakin' miles of the thing" sort of way. I mean, I'm surprised that Oprah didn't declare a lifetime moratorium on all memoirs. At least in this case it was only the magazine.

Found an NPR article last night along with an interview that had been taped with Peggy Seltzer prior to the fraud being uncovered. I could only take listening to a few minutes last night—what I heard was like a flashback to my own high school years in some ways. Of the nice, upper middle-class white girls and boys who flocked to the kids from Liberty City who were bussed in to our suburban high school and adopted the dress and mannerisms and slang.

Sort of like Vanilla Ice except with less cred.

You know, too, there are a lot of people who've been questioning why the editors didn't look more closely into Jones/Seltzer's background, especially since so much of it seemed beyond the realm of possibility. Thing is, we have an amazing capacity for fooling ourselves—especially when people in a perceived position of authority continue to make it okay for us to fool ourselves and see only what we want to see. Case in point, there have been some comments made on this sitch by Nan Talese, the publisher who published Frey and was excoriated right alongside him on Oprah on the day she decided to visit her wrath upon his tiny, little head.

About Seltzer, Talese said:

“I think what editors are going to have to do is point to the things that happened recently and say to their authors, ‘If there is anything in your book that can be discovered to be untrue, you better let us know right now, and we’ll deal with it before we publish it,’ ” Ms. Talese said. But she added: “I don’t think there is any way you can fact-check every single book. It would be very insulting and divisive in the author-editor relationship.”

This past June, her tune was slightly, but not much more, different about the James Frey situation and her decision to publish him

Saying she was unapologetic about publishing the book, Talese said in her genteel, mid-Atlantic accent that it was Oprah who needed to apologize for her behavior in the affair. Talese argued that Frey, in the gripping manuscript he submitted, had described himself as a liar, a cheater and an addict, and under those circumstances she did not believe she was reading "the New Testament," where every word was avowed truth. She described Oprah as exhibiting "fiercely bad manners."

I mean, look at that—she's essentially saying she knew or at least assumed a great deal of the book was bullshit, but by her reckoning, it was okay. It's a Don't Ask/Don't Tell permissiveness that allows for the continual perpetuation of what amounts to fraud. Even as she's now acknowledging that some things may have to change, she's essentially saying if faced with a Really! Good! Story! she's not going to feel too compelled to check it out too closely.

And is anyone else shaking their head over the irony that Frey's book contained more truth than Seltzer's? *boggles*

Finally, loved this memo to the publishing biz from Washington Post staff writer, Bob Thompson, except for the little fact that he neglects to mention that several reputable newspapers were also taken for a ride by this chick. He acknowledges that journalists aren't infallible, but hey, Bob, y'all got suckered by Peggy too.

ETA: Her local paper pulled a profile that was supposed to run last Saturday because they couldn't get facts to jibe

The Register-Guard postponed a planned Saturday profile of Seltzer, 33, after determining that she had not earned a degree from the UO, as her book jacket claimed.

(The university confirmed that Seltzer attended the UO as an ethnic studies major. It also confirmed her account of failing to receive her diploma because of a dispute over credits for an independent study project and another class.)

During her interview with The Register-Guard, Seltzer spoke in the same street-style dialect she uses in the book.

Again, sounds as if there might have been a serious level of self-deception and a disconnect from reality going on here. My concerns and questions now turn to her daughter—does this kid have any idea of her mother's true background or was she raised within the framework of the fantasy? I know my kids, they couldn't carry out a deception this intricate for more than five minutes (at ages 10 & 11) if that, so I have to think that this little girl's entire history and sense of self have just come crashing down around her.

Apologies for spamming the flist, but this is just too fascinating...

Follow up in the NY Times about the lengths to which Peggy Seltzer went

Geoffrey Kloske, publisher of Riverhead Books, the unit of Penguin Group USA that released the book, by Margaret Seltzer, under a pseudonym, Margaret B. Jones, said on Tuesday that there was nothing else that he or Sarah McGrath, the book’s editor, could have done to prevent the author from lying.

“In hindsight we can second-guess all day things we could have looked for or found,” Mr. Kloske said. “The fact is that the author went to extraordinary lengths: she provided people who acted as her foster siblings. There was a professor who vouched for her work, and a writer who had written about her that seemed to corroborate her story.” He added that Ms. Seltzer had signed a contract in which she had legally promised to tell the truth. “The one thing we wish,” Mr. Kloske said, “is that the author had told us the truth.”

Riverhead has recalled nearly 19,000 copies of the book and is offering refunds to book buyers.

There are some serious, serious mental issues going on here, methinks, not the least of which is the insanity that is publishing.

Okay, thing, the first? Lady in Target parking lot this morning? The one on San Jose Blvd? Yeah, you—the parking lot? Is not the freakin' Daytona Speedway. And your 4Runner? Cannot corner on rails or brake on a dime. So when I stopped in the parking lot, rather than swing into the open parking space to my left? It was because I had absolutely NO faith you were going to come to anything approaching a stop or even slow down. Seeing as I rather like my car, I chose to stop. This was not, however, an invitation for your ass to take the space I was waiting for.

Okay, authors, listen up. Most of us, we're storytellers. Our stories, they take various forms, be they in the realm of fiction or non-fiction. If'n you're telling a story that's allegedly based on your own, true life experiences, otherwise known as a MEMOIR, for the love of all that's good and holy, make sure the bitch is actually, you know, TRUE.

James Frey, I'm lookin' at you.

You too, Misha Defonseca. Or should we call you Monique De Wael?

Joining this particular Hall of Shame is Margaret B. Jones AKA Margaret Seltzer, who was caught out in the flagrant bullshit lie that she didn't grow up as a half-Native American/half-white girl who grew up in a foster home in South Central and ran drugs for the Bloods. In fact, she grew up as an affluent, all white girl who graduated from an exclusive private school.

Best part? She got busted by her sister. Guess who's off the Christmas card list this year?

There's so much of this that chaps my ass, I don't even know where to start, honestly. There's this part:

Riverhead Books, the unit of Penguin Group USA that published “Love and Consequences,” is recalling all copies of the book and has canceled Ms. Seltzer’s book tour, which was scheduled to start on Monday in Eugene, Ore., where she currently lives.

Book tour. They were expecting THAT much out of it.

And she'd gotten sterling reviews, like this one, from the LA Times:

"Love and Consequences" drew admiring reviews from critics. Los Angeles Times book reviewer Susan Salter Reynolds cited "her loyalty to the language, the sense of community, the tight bonds she formed with her gang."

The cynic in me is wondering if she got such sterling reviews because of the idea that it was a memoir. Would the reviews have been as freely given, would she have become such a critical darling, if the book had been just another fiction title? It's that whole "essential truth" bullshit, that Oprah made allowable with all her praise for James Frey—that somehow, because there's allegedly truth in it, it speaks more deeply to the human condition and soul.

Yes, there are memoirs that do just that and that the only way their story can unfold is within the framework of the memoir. But that sort of snobbery does such a terrible disservice to the really wonderful novels out there that capture so much of the same emotion and pain and beauty and journeys that memoirs do. Do not dismiss the novel simply because your perception of it as nothing more than an entertaining fabrication precludes you from appreciating what might lie between the covers.

But ultimately, you know what really, really sets my hair on fire with this woman's story? Let me let her tell it in her own words:

In a sometimes tearful, often contrite telephone interview from her home on Monday, Ms. Seltzer, 33, who is known as Peggy, admitted that the personal story she told in the book was entirely fabricated. She insisted, though, that many of the details in the book were based on the experiences of close friends she had met over the years while working to reduce gang violence in Los Angeles.

“For whatever reason, I was really torn and I thought it was my opportunity to put a voice to people who people don’t listen to,” Ms. Seltzer said. “I was in a position where at one point people said you should speak for us because nobody else is going to let us in to talk. Maybe it’s an ego thing — I don’t know. I just felt that there was good that I could do and there was no other way that someone would listen to it.”

Yes, you could have told their story. But how DARE you misappropriate a cultural background that's already been abused so severely in the past for your own gain? How DARE you misappropriate these people's stories and experiences and pain as your own? How DARE you? Were you going to share your advance or the royalties? Were you going to take them on Oprah or any of the morning shows, where you undoubtedly would have been invited and paraded so the rest of us peons could see someone who'd really risen from the ashes? Were you going to take these "voices" with you on your tour that unfortunately has been cancelled? Seriously, Peggy, were you??

Somehow, I don't think so.

You know what, y'all? Write your stories—I got no beef with that. However, call it what it is, i.e. fiction and take your chances right along with the rest of us who are slogging along and trying to sell our very good books.

Worst part is? Someone will give her another book deal. They'll just use the notoriety from the failed memoir experiment to propel the next book's sales. Cult of personality, baby. Cult of personality.

ETA: Like my blood pressure needed to go any higher. I read the NYTimes profile which was what ultimately got her busted by her sister.

I could cheerfully take Bertha to this chick. Seriously. What a self-serving, condescending, stereotype perpetuating, arrogant bitch.

However, I find myself chuckling at a quote from the book, reprinted in the Times:

“There is no greater sin in war than ignorance. Never speak or act on anything you aren’t 100 percent sure of, or someone will expose your mistake and take you down for it.”

The irony, she is truly deliciously spicy.