The Lies We Tell

We tell lies to others; we tell lies to ourselves. Which is worse?

I was lucky enough to be invited to a local book club recently to discuss Folio, my debut novel about two war photographers who become rivals for the Pulitzer Prize.

And I learned something. Imagine that.

There I was, perched self-importantly on a barstool several inches higher than the twenty-odd ladies sitting on couches and chairs. Copies of Folio were cradled in laps or lay well-thumbed on tables next to glasses of Chardonnay on coasters. I was in Debut Author Heaven. To kick things off, someone asked me the main idea of the novel… that is, what did I think the story’s “takeaway” was, for my readers.

I allowed myself a smug smile, then happily launched into a rant about truthfulness in photography—especially war photography—and how we (that is, society) should be more aware of how that photograph was (perhaps) manipulated to make us feel a certain way (patriotic, angry, sad, hopeful, etc.).

The number of parentheticals required to capture this lofty idea were many!

But, as my editor Judy Gitenstein likes to remind me: If you want to send a message, call Western Union. An old adage, for sure, but it turns out… it’s still true. Because, in response to my lofty, long-winded response, the lady facing me in that book club meeting said (firmly, I might add): “No, it's about a family. And I hate both the mother and the father for abandoning their children.” The room went quiet, and I suddenly had the attention of twenty sets of sympathetic eyes.

The entire book club—in that moment—thought I had no idea what my own book was about; how it had struck a chord with this particular group of readers: mothers, grandmothers… but also daughters, sisters. They saw themselves in that book, and they wanted justice.

Frankly, I was caught up short.

At that point in this very vocal and engaging book club meeting, I wisely changed my stance from speaker to listener. Not that I didn’t keep talking. They wanted to hear about the research and discuss plot details. But the rest of that evening, in the back of my mind, I thought about the lies I’d told myself—much like the main protagonist, Terry Tusley, tells himself—of the (perhaps questionable!) motivations behind our actions, behind our reasoning… behind our stories. The lies we tell others, but, perhaps more importantly, the lies we tell ourselves.

Which is worse?

In Folio, Terry and Francine leave their eldest daughter, Katie, a mere teenager, to essentially raise her two younger brothers while they (Terry and Francine) traipse around the globe, supposedly saving the world. Terry, a war photographer, is embarked on a journey to tell the truth on the battlefield. He is surrounded by propagandists and others whose motives are more related to personal fame than truthfulness. So, he’s imbued with equal parts self-righteousness and ambition. Francine… well, I’ll let you read the book and make up your own minds about Francine. Their daughter Katie tells about half the story in the novel and is the most sympathetic character. It’s “An epic tale of passion, manipulation, and obsession.” (Whitney Otto). That’s marketing-speak for Lots Happens.

Apparently, at least to this book club, Terry and Francine make choices that have substantial negative impact on the very people they should love and protect the most: their three children. But T and F never even blink an eye about their lives. Never apologize, never think twice. They don’t watch, don’t listen, and they certainly don’t change, even when the family suffers a devastating loss. The lies they tell themselves—about personal and parental accountability, in particular—are rock-solid. Impenetrable.

Where the heck did I get these characters from, you may ask? Was I an absent parent? Did I lie to myself about it? How many other lies have I told? Was my childhood as great as it seems when looking back? Did I walk a mile in a driving snowstorm to get to school? Did I block out the angry words, the loneliness? Was I mean, when I recall myself as such a “nice” person? Did I tell myself lies so often that I now see them as truth?

And, even if I did, who among us can cast the first stone?

Folio is, indeed, about rival photographers. But, at my next book club (hey, out there, invite me!), I think I’m more ready for that Big Question regarding what my book is about. It’s about a dysfunctional family that has to deal with neglect (some would say abuse), all in the name of ambition and fame. The family is the center of the novel, not the corollary idea. The parents are possibly villains, not heroes. The book is done, and I would never rewrite it. I’m OK with this assessment of the novel, whether I agree with it or not is irrelevant. Readers will, inevitably, bring a bit of themselves to the page… that’s their job, and, in any case, it’s not something within my control. It’s the risk you take when you become a writer, and one that I’m willing to embrace. But, at least now, I can see it through my readers’ eyes.

Readers. They are, and always were, the smarter half of the Writer/Reader equation. I am beyond grateful, and I hope to write more stories for them to ponder.

Hear, hear.