As Fictional as Non-Fiction Can Be

I confess. I haven't talked to Margaret Seltzer, the latest American author to fabricate a book about her life. I found a number for her and tried to call a couple of times yesterday and this morning but she didn't answer and her voice mailbox is full.


I'm going to write about her anyway.


If you haven't followed the story, Seltzer claimed to be "Margaret B. Jones," a half white/half Native American girl who documented her background as a foster child/gang-bangerhanger-on/and drug runner in the book "Love and Consequences." As the New York Times revealed however, the entire memoir is phony. Not true. Never happened. A lie. Her publisher halted publication, cancelled her book tour, and reacted to reporters with a bunch of words like "stunned" and "outraged" and disappointed" and probably a few more colorful ones that, like Seltzer's, never made it to print.


I can only guess why someone would fake their life story and try to sell it to a national audience. The Times describes Seltzer as tearfully claiming she thought the book was, "my opportunity to put a voice to people who people don't listen to." Is that the reaction of a conscientious woman whose motives are misguided or of a pathological liar trying to spin her way out of trouble? Doesn't much matter. The fact is, like most who try the big con, she was outed by arrogance.


Just as the Unabomber was unmasked by his brother, Seltzer got caught when her sister read an article about her in the Times and came forward with the adult version of "Liar liar pants on fire," no doubt guaranteeing a tad bit of tension around the 'ol Thanksgiving table in that house this year.

Seltzer isn't the only one to blame for this train wreck. Why did her publisher allow the cho-choo to chug so far down the track? In the wake of James Frey's spectacular flameout with "A Million Little Pieces" a couple of years ago, and other documented cases of memoir fraud since, where was the fact-checking? To protect their investment, wouldn't you think a publisher would invest a few bucks to do a simple background investigation of their author, especially with so much at stake? Why isn't that routine?

And I'm not even talking about hiring a private eye, although having an in-house troubleshooter for matters like this might not be a bad idea. For crying out loud folks, the internet offers dozens of ways to verify someone is who they claim to be. Any halfway bright journalism student with a computer and a phone could have backtracked Jones/Seltzer in a matter of hours. Even closer questioning of the author herself, instead of blind acceptance of the story, might have turned up an inconsistency or two.

Which all leads a cynical old reporter/crime novelist like me to raise two thumb-in-the-eye questions.

Was her publisher really that naive?

Or do they just think we are?