The Perversity of the Reader
Topic: Connections
Saturday 2Dec06 11:20am

A few different authors discussed the belief of readers at the International Festival of Author's this year. When you write a piece of Fiction readers want to know how much of the novel is pulled from your life, how much of the truth are you hiding in your fiction. When you write non-fiction readers want to know how much of the book is made up. Antanas Sileika phrased it well (as he always does) by calling it the Perversity of the Reader.

Nancy Huston, several years ago, said that she writes "the story of my life that I would rather have happened." Pushing the tragedies further, acting on opportunities that we as humans may not have had the guts to act on.

Of course many writers draw from their real life and the life of others in their writing. My interpretation of taking from my real life in keeping with Nancy Huston's comment is this example:

I know a woman, Aries, that I've known since I was 7 years old. She is white, pretty much only dated black men and is sexually open in such a way that no one ever called her a slut. Even though her behaviours could be deemed slutty. I respected her for having that masculine attitude that she could sleep with someone for the enjoyment of sex and not get emotionally involved.

I loved a man, Leo, for close to 15 years. A man I'd known since childhood. I waited for him to see that I was his only home. I was the woman that he would finally commit to. When we first got together he'd been seeing four different women. We hadn't seen each other in a few years, maybe three. I'd moved to Toronto and he still lived in Montreal. The first time we saw each other as adults was like being winded. I was all body, large breasts and tiny waist. He was all buff having picked up weight lifting as a practice after being a very tall and skinny boy his whole life. He tried to act like I was no big deal, I went back into my mother's house and changed into those jeans that announced that I was more than a big deal. When the conversation came up, I made it clear that I wasn't into sharing. I was to be the only woman or would forever remain in the look but don't touch category. He dropped all his women.

Fast forward to the 1990's and Leo and I are off again. We still think/say that we'll end up together but not right now. He still lives in Montreal and isn't ready to commit to the move to Toronto. I cannot see ever moving back to Montreal. I go home for a visit and that time is spent with him. I am staying with Aries who is now a part of my family. It's a hot summer and when Leo comes to pick me up, we all discuss the heat. I comment on how Leo can't stand being touched when it's too hot because he gets cranky. Aries agrees and says to Leo, "You should come hang out here in the summer and we can be miserable together." I laugh it off.

A year later I receive two phone calls. Leo calls me to tell me that he'd run into Aries and they'd exchanged phone numbers. "We've been talking on the phone quite regularly and I wanted you to know so that you don't feel like I'm keeping anything from you."
Aries calls me to ask, "Do you mind if I talk to Leo. We're just friends of course, we would never do that to you."
My mother is shocked that I give my approval. "What am I going to do? Stop them. If it's going to happen, can I really stop that train wreck?"

What I do really get is that they are both highly sexual people and in that respect they are probably more compatible. The storyteller in me has to ask, How much of an importance does sex really play in these two people's lives that they will forfeit a relationship they have with me? How far will they take this being given my approval? Aries was like a mother figure to me and Leo was the man I'd planned to marry. How much more operatic can that be?

Taking all these factors the fiction that I would create is this:
I often think about the white women that only love black men and bear their children. I've seen them on the streets talking that street vernacular, acting like they were raised black, and berating their black children. It's a certain cross section of white woman, mind you, but it's hard for me to watch. Taking my real life and what I've seen around me the characters would include an Aries type mother; her black daughter Maxine and Maxine's boyfriend a Leo type man.
Maxine goes home to surprise her boyfriend for New Year's eve and catches him in bed with her mother. The ultimate betrayal.

I think that is how most writers create their fiction if it's not completely from their imagination. Stretch your own story to the point where it isn't recognizable then it's no longer your story, then it is fiction.

EY