truth.

For the rare person and several wafting dust motes who noticed that I went on a bit last week about a book called Expecting Adam by Martha Beck, you may be wondering why I’ve removed all references. I loved that book while I was reading it. It made me laugh and cry at the same time, and for several days after I finished I would have told you that it was one of the best books I’d ever read.

In fact, I loved it so much that I wanted to see if other people loved it as much as I did. So I started reading Amazon.com reviews. And most loved it, even if with slightly less fervor than I. But some didn’t. Some knew more about the author’s life and subsequent work than I did, and some included information that I tracked down to verify.

And now I’m left with what I’d call a trust issue. I loved the book partly because I believed, and the author insisted, that the events she was recounting were true as depicted. Now I have reason to wonder if she embellished flagrantly, completely fictionalized for the purpose of book sales, or is possibly just not stable.

One could argue that it doesn’t matter. Did I love the story? Is that not enough? For example, another book of which I’m very fond--Life of Pi tackles the very issue of whether the literal truth of a story even matters. But Life of Pi did not purport to be the author’s memoir.

I’m left with a sense of responsibility toward my readership. There's no question that I like to spoof, embellish, and bullsquat. But even dust motes deserve the truth if you say it’s the truth.