The recent publicity over various books which had been marketed and produced as true stories but turned out to be either partially false or totally fabricated has led to people (mostly staff) asking that the book be classified as “fiction.” In all these cases we have replied that we can’t do that as the book is not fiction.

Forbidden loveNorma Khouri, that shrewd character whose bestselling book, Forbidden love, is the best example. She had certainly read the market right when she concocted a tale of the sad and sorry lot of Arabian women and the book became a bestseller. Shame it was all made up. Shame too that James Frey’s A million little pieces upset Oprah when she found that a book about a terrible childhood told things that weren’t necessarily true – or as terrible.

And, most recently, we have Margaret Seltzer’s Love and consequences which was an eye-opening account of gang life in L.A. The problem was whose eye as the author came from a very different background.

There’s also the book about the girl who trekked 1,900 miles across Europe with a pack of wolves in order to find her parents. Okay, it wasn’t exactly what happened said the author but she found it was hard to differentiate what happened with her imagination.

Where does all this end: are all the truckload of so-called misery memoirs coming out of Britain all true? As the ante is constantly upped with memories of horrible childhoods becoming more and more outlandishly horrible, questions are being raised about whether the decision to publish so many of these is purely commercial: the market is there so let’s supply it.

It is true to say that libraries can only categorise books by the intended genre of the book and a novel is written as a work of fiction and therefore something intended as a nonfiction title (however made up it is) can’t be a novel. Hopefully the books that are almost totally fabricated may die out but I wouldn’t hold my breath: the dreaded Tuesday Lobsang Rampa is still in print despite the fact that he wasn’t really a Tibetan lama but a plumber’s son from Devon and everyone accepted that the Baptist minister who had his hugely bestselling 90 days in heaven wasn’t making it up.

See also our post on Autobiographical Honesty: fact or fiction.