Could there be two books more different than James Frey's "A Million Little Pieces" and Elie Wiesel's "Night"? One is a fabricated life story by an American brat meant to cash in on our morbid fascination with the therapeutic culture: I was bad, but I redeemed myself! The other is a gut-wrenching memoir of one family's experience in a Nazi death camp. But both have been selections of Oprah's book club, and each raises questions about the definitions of fiction and nonfiction.
Granted, the distinction is sometimes hard to make. Many novels weave real people and actual events into their plots. Many good personal stories ("Kitchen Confidential," "It's all Over but the Shouting" and "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius" are ones I've read that qualify) obviously take some liberties with real events; spotty memories must sometimes be filled in with narrative leaps of faith. But every great book, whatever mix of fact and fiction it is, has a commitment to the truth at its core. Wiesel's book has that; Frey's does not.
Oprah doesn't seem to get that. Despite the revelation by The Smoking Gun Web site of Frey's embellishments of his story of substance abuse, she continues to say that any factual problems with "A Million Little Pieces" are "transcended by the book's emotional power." Emotion trumps reason. That's the modern narrative, isn't it?
Oprah Winfrey has more power than any other single person to get a book read:
On Monday, Winfrey announced that Wiesel's classic account of his family's placement in the Auschwitz death camp was her latest choice. "Night" quickly topped the best seller list on Amazon.com, displacing Winfrey's previous selection, James Frey's "A Million Little Pieces."
She does a very good thing by promoting books and reading. But unless she uses her power to advance the search for truth, Oprah is doing us no favors.
