Does Memoir Have to be True?

In a world where truth, fact, and reality are as fraught as the plotline of a thriller, memoirists must establish trust with their intended readers. It may sound straightforward in theory, but differing interpretations of what exactly a ‘memoir’ is can sometimes challenge a writer’s credibility. Where some readers might expect a personal account to be entirely truthful, other writers prioritize emotion and interpretation, creating a version of reality with no substantive truth behind it. This space between fact and fiction is sometimes called “unreality,” and it’s no stranger to the realm of creative nonfiction.

To delve deeper into this subject, we first need to understand some of the terms associated with the genre. ‘Creative nonfiction’ describes narrative nonfiction with space for embellishment in the dialogue, characterization, and description. Many forms of nonfiction writing, such as true crime, biography, and even some historical nonfiction, fall under this label. The genres of both autobiography and memoir are categorized as creative nonfiction as well. The difference between them is primarily based on the nature of the book’s subject. An autobiography is a retelling of the author’s entire life, while memoirs tend to focus on a specific aspect or theme. A memoir might even contain an explicit argument or viewpoint.

For all these genres, regardless of how creative the writing is, the basis in reality is a selling point for readers. So much so that the space between fact and fiction can stir up controversy.

Take A Million Little Pieces by James Frey. This memoir, about the author’s struggle with drug addiction, rehabilitation, and criminality as a young man, was a huge hit upon its release. Frey was invited to The Oprah Winfrey show to discuss the book, which was selected by Oprah for her book club, only for an investigation by The Smoking Gun to later reveal that the details of the story were greatly exaggerated if not outright fabricated.

Before Frey’s embellishments were revealed, A Million Little Pieces sold 3.5 million copies, clearly demonstrating the strength of an emotional memoir’s appeal to readers. Many of those readers were left feeling deceived after the depth of the writing’s deceptions were revealed, and the author’s response? Frey simply stated that he was doing the same thing as every other memoirist: storytelling.

There is some truth to that. Reality is moldable in creative nonfiction. Even the earliest biographies in English literary history exemplified that. Novels like Daniel Defoe’s Moll Flanders described their stories as ‘true criminal histories,’ when they were entirely fictious. The idea behind their publication was not to write something true at all, but to write something interesting. In that sense, memoir writers engaging with unreal elements aren’t doing anything new with the genre.

Still, in an era saturated by misinformation and media noise, ‘reality’ is more important to readers than ever. What worries modern readers more about unreal recollections, perhaps, is the idea that an author could be twisting the truth to support a specific argument or viewpoint, thus distorting the readers’ view of reality with it.

James Frey twisted the truth to portray himself as a reformed addict and criminal, lying about fights he never had and arrests that never occurred. He even made up a story about the death of a woman he dated. The woman was real and died in a tragic accident, but she and Frey were never romantic. By twisting his real past to suit his own purposes, Frey was able to craft his own reputation, inserting himself into stories where he didn’t belong.

Some authors are tongue-in-cheek about the truthfulness of their personal accounts, like author Lauren Slater in her memoir Lying, which pointedly focuses on Slater’s tendency to lie and her inability to tell fact from fiction due to her bouts with epilepsy. The lyrical memoir speaks more to emotional and perceptual truth as experienced by the author, rather than factual truth.

Other authors choose to use unreality in obvious, metaphorical ways, ensuring their readers understand the difference between their literal experience and their emotional interpretation of events.

In The Girl I Am, Was, and Never Will Be, for example, author Shannon Gibney uses a portal to connect her true life—that of a biracial girl raised by white parents—to the life she might have had with her birthmother. The distinction is made clear to the reader through the addition of speculative elements.

Even more fantastical is Jess Zimmerman’s Women and Other Monsters. In it, Zimmerman uses female monsters from Greek mythology to communicate her experience living as a woman and attempting to fit within the narrow confines of femininity. Once again, the metaphor is clear. At no point is the reader wondering if Zimmerman literally became a monster.

Other memoirists engage with unreality with more subtlety, reframing their stories to make themselves the heroes or to dodge their own misdeeds.

Sarah Wynn-Williams, author of Careless People, received praise for her condemnation of Mark Zuckerberg and his team in her writing about the ethics inside Facebook. Her writing depicts a cutthroat corporate world obsessed with expansion and profit with little to no regard for the impact of their actions. It is, at times, difficult to read.

Yet some skeptical critics point out that Wynn-Williams’ version of events continually puts distance between herself and the corporate world she lived in for years. Book reviewer Cindy Pham, known on YouTube as readwithcindy, discussed how the author’s lack of agency within the story, despite her position as the director of public policy, casts doubt on the accuracy of her version of events. In a sense, Wynn-Williams’ proclaimed innocence was too ‘unreal’ for Pham. Other readers hardly noticed.

The way in which an author chooses to incorporate fact and fiction in their narrative is a purely personal choice. Major book publishers can often be trusted to do their factchecking—but not always—and while a major miscarriage of truth might be caught by eager literary detectives, most dips into unreality go completely undetected by editors and readers alike. They’ve simply come to expect creative interpretation as part of a memoir.

Unreality is a writing tool in memoir as much as a statistic, anecdote, or quote is. Its efficacy in the narrative can only be determined by the reader after they turn the last page. And, as much as I enjoy an unreliable narrator, when setting a story firmly in reality, I find it’s necessary that I believe the author really lived the life they describe. No matter how unreal the experience felt.

Claire van Doren holds degrees in English literature and journalism as well as a certificate in LGBTQ+ studies from Arizona State University. She is a volunteer reader for Uncharted magazine, a publisher of genre fiction. Her writing has been published by Inner Worlds, Zocalo Public Square, and ASU News.