![img_3658[1]](https://pbwrites.files.wordpress.com/2012/08/img_36581.jpg?w=240&h=300)
If you haven’t read “Waltzing The Cat”, give it a go. Wonderful, interlocking stories of self-discovery. There is danger, romance, an insane boating experience, and some of Pam’s best writing.
When it was decided (When was that again, and by whom?) that we were all supposed to choose between fiction and nonfiction, what was not taken into account was that for some of us truth can never be an absolute, that there can (at best) be only less true and more true and sometimes those two collapse inside each other like a Turducken. Given the failure of memory. Given the failure of language to mean. Given metaphor. Given metonymy. Given the ever-shifting junction of code and context. Given the twenty-five people who saw the same car accident. Given our denial. Given our longings. Who cares really, if she hung herself or slit her wrists when what really matters is that James Frey is secretly afraid that he’s the one who killed her. Dear Random House Refund Department: If they were moved, then they got their twenty-four dollars worth.
—Pam Houston (from the essay Corn Maze)
A provocative essay in true Pam Houston style. She weaves, she states, she conjures and reports back…or does she? A couple of reader comments following the essay are also provocative. It’s a nerve-tingling subject, writing truth, or truth and writing, truth in writing, writing the truth—I mean: creative non-fiction—I mean: faction—I mean, oh whatever works, I suppose. The mind reels. Indignant feelings swooped in as I read Corn Maze, then dissipated. I mean, I’m not lying when I tell you I’m not lying about not lying when I blog and don’t lie. Or am I?
![11786954[1]](https://pbwrites.files.wordpress.com/2012/08/117869541.jpg?w=198&h=300)
Currently on the nightstand.
Like this:
Like Loading...
Related
About PB Rippey
Writer, wife, mother, grateful. Fiction, memoir, poetry, kidlit (MG), member SCBWI.
pbwrites.wordpress.com
Love it creative non-fiction a necessary oxymoron.
Susan B—my copy is yours. PS.: How eez zat Eggers gewing?
Would love to read it next…