First there was James Frey. Forced to admit he had made up and/or exagerrated chunks of "A Million Little Pieces," his bestselling "memoir" of drug addiction and illness. (You will recall how steamed Oprah was.)
Last week some lady in Eurpoe admitted fabricating her Holocaust memoir. Turned out she was never in a camp. Heck, she wasn't even Jewish.
Today the New York Times reported that "Love and Consequences," a memoir of growing up as a foster child in the gang culture of South Central L.A. by Margaret B. Jones, was in fact written by Margaret Seltzer of Sherman Oaks, California. Who was raised in her biological family, was never in a gang, and graduated from an Episcopal prep school.
That does it. I've got to go into the phony memoir biz.
I mean, look at the situation. There's obviously a market for the up-from-hardscrabble memoir. And if Ms. Seltzer's experience is any guide, there are also plenty of eager, willing and none-too-bright literary agents who would be only too happy to assist me in my climb to fame and fortune.
All I need now is a phony life to write about.
Fine. Easy as pie- uh, well,I'll look up the gang-style expression for that later. In the meantime, allow me to assembly my basic materials.
I grew up on the mean streets of Long Island. The home of dog-eat-dog shopping malls and ruthless competition for the best orthodontists. I got my teeth straightened, but it was no picnic. I know pain.
I went to a Catholic girls' high school. I been to Purgatory, man. And I came out alive.
To escape the hell that was LI, I went to an Ivy League college-- only to find it full of Long Island kids. Every time I thought I was getting out, they dragged me back in...
I'll work on this. I will begin to talk gang talk, no matter how ridiculous it sounds. The members of my Bible study group will herewith be referred to as my "homies." My 'hood is off Kenwood Parkway. Or maybe I mean my crib. Yeah, that's it: my 'hood is Kenwood, my crib is off the Parkway. I got a lab in my kitchen, I cook up Kona and Thai. Hot Thai. Lots of it. Yeah. You wanna score some Kona? I got Kona. It don't come cheap, but I got it.
Yeah. That's what i'm talkin' about. Word. Later. Your mama.