January 10, 2006
I love elaborately staged hoaxes. Partically because they always come undone. It's like discovering the secret to an elaborate magic trick that you didn't know was being performed, or watching a little bit of accepted reality disintegrate before your eyes. I'm also greatly intrigued by the notion of amorphous identities, particularly those having to do with gender and sexuality (a la Persona).
Both of these interests have been indulged lately by one particularly unbelievable story. Back in October, Yen turned me on to the New York Magazine article that first extensively questioned author J.T. LeRoy's identity. Last week, Greg Allen pointed to Laura Barton's piece in the Guardian, which delved further into the bizarre affair. And yesterday, the whole veil grew substantially more diaphanous with this somewhat conclusive New York Times article. The final piece at the center of this spiral mystery is still missing, but most of the clues in its orbit seem to have been revealed.
I've never read any of LeRoy's work - the closest I've come is watching Asia Argento's adaptation of The Heart Is Deceitful Above All Things at SXSW (before which producer Lily Bright read an extremely long letter LeRoy wrote to the audience) and, many years ago, reading an interview he did with John Waters in Filmmaker and being extremely jealous that someone only two months older than me had achieved such literary success. Oh, and then there was the recorded discussion between him and Jonathan Caouette on the Criterion DVD of My Own Private Idaho. I recall that my reaction to his voice was something between disbelief and fascination; I could scarcely believe that it was a young man I was listening to, but managed to convince myself that, indeed, it was: a mental leap made by many, disputed by the authors of the articles above, and now come almost entirely undone.
Especially intriguing are the potential repercussions of this rift. This is something more emotionally troubling than, say, the whole Stephen Glass fiasco, and it raises serious questions about artistic integrity. If people connected on a personal level with LeRoy's fiction - and apparently they did - does that validate the deceit? Judging by LeRoy's own statements, he/she would say yes. I'd disagree; an understood trust between artist and audience has been violated. And, while I can't quantifiably comment on the work itself, it seems to me that it has, on a vital level, been robbed of whatever inherent qualities it might once have had; it has been rendered a series of curios, bits and pieces of hucksterism.
At the same time, one really must admire the lurid art of the fabrication itself. It's a staggering thing, and it share some of the same mind-bogglingly extensive qualities as the (equally mysterious) parody of the Esoteric Rabbit blog, which Matt finally wrote about the other day (posting as well my initial correspondence with him on the matter - in which it's a little clear that I was slightly jealous of the attention). If you read the comments at his post, you'll see that some people are already positing that Matt created the doppleganger himself. I've plenty of reasons to believe this isn't true, but of course I don't know for sure; if it were, it would be both an odd and concerning display of ego and a really fascinating work of self reflexivity, one with a confounding appeal of even greater similarity to J.T. Leroy's.
Regardless of whether this cause celebre persona is entirely or only somewhat fake, his multilayered degrees of artifice forces a rapid reconception of what one perceives to be true. It's equivocal to those magicians who shake your hand, hand you a balloon and then point out that your wristwratch is inside it; there's something incredibly thrilling and satisfying about being taken advantage of in that manner - provided you get your watch back.
Posted by David Lowery at January 10, 2006 1:15 AM
Comments
I have also been following 'paper trail' that is slowly unravelling the mystery of J.T. LeRoy.
I have read none of the books, but from I can gather they are memoir-ish -- what is not memoir if it is fiction created by a person? A question for another time.
The difference, besides the extended anonymity of LeRoy, and mystique-growers such as Eggers and Forster Wallace is that they intend their work to be read as fiction. There is enough seperation between the work and the writer for the reader to comfortably wedge themselves in between.
With LeRoy is immersing themself in the work and the writer at the same time, or so the unsuspecting reader would assume.
Excellent post, David.
Note: Eggers first book was memoir, however he has worked extensively (and often poorly) with the short story format.My case being, I am aware.
Posted by: David at January 10, 2006 7:43 AM
I'd disagree; an understood trust between artist and audience has been violated.
yes, but it sure as hell is a lot of fun to watch, isn't it?
i had no idea of the esoteric blog redux, that's hilarious! and yes, he should be flattered. i would be. kind of.
Posted by: brad at January 10, 2006 9:54 PM
No one had any idea, Brad--I kept it well hidden, making no mention of it until recently.
And 'kind of' is right--it's at once both flattering and hilarious, and hurtful and completely without humour. Quite the balancing act!
Posted by: Matt at January 11, 2006 7:21 AM