The other day whilst pushing a wayward trolley around a huge fluorescently lit supermarket in the kind of automated daze that tends to be induced by those kinds of surroundings, I found myself in the book aisle. In true testament to Tescos hypnotic power, I have no idea how I got there, but what I did notice was that amongst the smiling Rachel Allens and seductive pouting Nigellas were what seemed like several tons of paperbacks dedicated to the true telling of ‘tragic life stories’.
Hmm. I’ve seen them popping up all around work as well. In the small overburdened wooden bookcase in the main waiting area of our information centre, glossy covers depicting small, sad looking children with plasters on their knees and forlorn, ragged eared teddies dangling from their hands are absolutely everywhere. Not a day goes by without me hearing at least one person say something along the lines of, “Aww… have you read that? Oh it’s awful isn’t it…. wicked it is, just wicked.” Which to me rather begs the obvious question: So why on earth would you want to read it then?
These days misery lit is obviously a hugely popular genre. Not only that, it is clearly very BIG business. I have to admit to finding it all extremely unpalatable.
It is not that I am personally expressing any doubt as to the veracity of the claims made in these auto-biographies. Fear of being disbelieved is one of the biggest barriers to the disclosure of abuse and I do not want to contribute to that culture of suspicion and dismissal with anything I write. Neither is it that I feel people shouldn’t ‘air their dirty linen in public’. Far from it. That sort of attitude only serves to protect abusers and shame their victims. No – what leaves the nasty taste in my mouth is that these gruesome tales – true or not – are being served up as cheap voyeuristic entertainment for the masses, providing grim titillation for those who would appear to like nothing better than to spend their time salivating over other peoples gory misfortune, whilst simultaneously generating huge profits for publishers and retailers.
Perhaps you think I am being unfair. I know that Dave Peltzer – author of A Child Called “It” – the book widely regarded as having been the spring board for the genre, has said that he believes his first book to be mainly concerned with issues of resilience and survival (he has in fact gone on to become a motivational speaker and has just published his fourth self-help book) and that he hopes him having put his experiences to paper has helped readers to understand that a traumatic childhood needn’t prevent one from making a success of their life. Constance Briscoe, author of Ugly, who went on to become one of Britains first black women judges has expressed similar sentiments. It all smacks very much of the American dream doesn’t it, this idea that anyone, no matter what their background, can become anything if only they try hard enough. But the life paths of Peltzer and Briscoe have been extraordinary by anyones standards, and while yes of course it is possible for the devastating effects of childhood abuse to be overcome to the extent that the survivor is able to live well and with a reasonable degree of contentment, it is not within everybodies grasp to become a judge or a best-selling author. Many things over which we have no control can and do affect our life chances, including the quality of the parenting we receive.
Many other mis-lit authors have spoken of the cathartic benefits of having written their stories, and their hopes that reading them will enable others to come to terms with their own, perhaps similar, pasts. But again, I would question the therapeutic value of an afternoon spent poring over the obscenely graphic details of someone else’s childhood abuse. Perhaps some readers may empathise with the authors experiences and find that it serves to bolster them, however others will be deeply triggered and perhaps even re-traumatised by what they read. And then what? Where does the reader then go with those feelings? There is a real cynicism and irresponsibility in the aggressive marketing and promotion of misery memoirs I think, especially when you consider the disturbing fact that for a small proportion of people, a very dark sort of enjoyment is to be derived from reading them.
Another ‘for’ argument is that these books help society to confront the issue of child abuse which has always been untill recently swept under the carpet. Again, a noble enough aim, but I’m not sure they do. I think the very fact that they are wrapped up in glossy covers and elevated to the top ranks of the bestseller lists simply reinforces the commonly held notion that these are extreme and unusual experiences - the sorts of things that happen to other people and not the sort of people that we know and that live in our towns and communities. Present society, it seems to me, is extremely confused in its attitude towards the abuse of children. On the one hand we are obsessed with paedophilia and protecting our kids from it. On the other, the focus always seems to be on the predatory stranger and the on-line groomer, when in fact it is relatively rare for a child to be abused by someone they don’t know. My opinion is that this mass hysteria serves to allow people to avoid an ugly truth, which is that the vast majority of sexual abuse is committed by someone close to the child – usually a family member. For all our moral outrage we are a long way from accepting that children are actually most at risk from their own fathers, grandfathers, uncles, brothers, and occasionally mothers.
It is the perfect climate for misery lit to flourish. These books feed our grim obsession whilst still allowing us to believe – by virtue of them having been made into a book – that these experiences of familial abuse are rare. They aren’t.
I find it telling that in my local branch of WHSmiths the ‘Tragic Lives’ section there is a selection of the stuff you describe, but also a fair few books about coming to terms with one’s husband or wife committing adultery and other such things I would describe as pretty bloody awful but not ‘tragic’ in the way that abuse and so on are: Anne Frank’s diary, in comparison, is not ‘tragic’ enough for this section and is relegated to the ordinary biographies…
Yes, I saw in a magazine article about misery-lit that most book-shops now had a ‘Tragic Lives’ section. Apparently this was done as a way to neatly side-step the issue of whether to put the books in the fiction or non-fiction sections. Because relatives of some of the authors have disputed the claims made in their books it was seen as a bit of a hot potato.
They are unpalatable. What is more unpalatable is that the publishers are pushing this as entertainment to make money out of it. I’m also cynical enough to wander just how many of these volumes are genuinely true and haven’t just been written to formula. What type of person would want to read these is beyond me – the overly sentimental I suspect, the type that like to wallow in fake, displaced misery to add a little spice to the otherwise flatline existence of their own lives. Maybe I’m being unfair but I see no difference between this type of reader and the type that pore over The News Of The World every Sunday. It’s the unsavoury pleasure of picking someone else’s scabs. The fact that Tesco is selling them is also nothing to do with philanthropy and everything to do with capitalizing on a new (and I suspect temporary) market and making a quick killing out of the gullible who spend their days hovering in store looking for BOGOFs. God. I’m such a curmudgeon!
Well according to statistics, about 85% of readers are women, and the vast majority of sales are through supermarkets such as Asda and Tescos. Make of that what you will. I guess perhaps for some it’s just one step up from Chat or Take a Break. A bit of throwaway gossipy gawping with your cuppa. Yuk.
Amen to that. I am totally with you on this one. I used to run a Children’s Home for kids who had been sexually abused (primarily by family members), we need to have more awareness of what is going on here and now and stop focussing on the thought that it always happens to someone else.
Goodness, that can’t have been an easy job. I agree with you, we still have a long way to go in terms of real awareness of the real risks.
Very well written. There is a thin line. I rarely watch or listen to news. On the one hand I do miss things and at times feel like I am sticking my head in the sand, but on the other hand, there is enough real misery that personally affects me that I don’t feel I have the capacity to hear much more.
I can completely understand where you’re coming from Susie. I do buy the newspaper, but always seem to end up just reading the supplements…
Book reviews and silly articles about pets seem infinitely preferable sometimes to the endless catalogue of doom that is most often found in the proper paper.
You are so right that abuse is not few and far between. For me, I would not want to read a book even autobiographical, describing someone’s abuse and childhood. Mine was plenty for me. And it has taken many years to face the trauma and work through it. I don’t think writing about the really horrible things and sharing with others would help me either. I write about the minor things in my blog but I have come to terms with my past with professional help and do not want to keep it close. Why would I want bad memories to rule my life? I like your post and I again like you speaking your mind.
I love the way you write about your life and recovery Technobabe. It has real soul I think. It is meaningful to me. I worry with all this misery lit that perhaps people will become desensitised to the descriptions of violence and abuse and that the real suffering of others will cease to be meaningful to them.
Totally agree, apart from I’d probably be much less diplomatic and sensitive if I blogged about mis-lit! What a well positioned argument… Mis-lit seems like a bad idea to me on many, many levels. The potential to hurt innocent third parties seems huge, as does the capacity for things to be disbelieved, and then everyone gets even more hurt and people get worried that nobody will believe them if something happens to them, and situations get worse. I think that catharsis from sharing can be done in a much safer environment than stacked on high piles in Smiths. (And, actually, aside from the questionable ethical position and dodgy subject matter, the writing is not very good 9 times out of 10.)
Having said that, I think there are classier examples to cite in the genre – like A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius. Which I really enjoyed (although it’s different enough that I imagine it would be in another section of the bookshop). But then the fallout from that for the Dave Eggers’ family seemed to be pretty massive, so that takes me nicely back to my initial point about potential to hurt third parties!
I did think about third parties and issues of confidentiality while writing this post. For example, if there were siblings who were also abused, surely the author would need to have their consent before publishing? Otherwise you could have the potentially devastating situation of someones past being laid bare for all who know them to read, against their will.
You’re also right when you say that there is rarely much literary merit to these books. But I suppose that isn’t why people read them. I never read A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius. To be honest I thought the title was a bit much, even if it was supposed to be a joke. That whole group of authors to which Dave Eggers belonged at the time just seemed really up themselves.
I too find them unpalateable but I’m not entirely sure why. If the aim is noble, it helps the author, it helps one person understand or empathise then they must be good. But really, I’m not sure they do. Like you say, there is huge potential for hurt for third parties – I think Dave Peltzer’s family fell out over it because they did not see things in the same light (correct me if I’m wrong).
I don’t know why people read them. But then again I don’t know why people buy things like books on the Yorkshire Ripper or true crimes or any of that stuff. Sometimes people are a mystery to me.
I did think Dave Eggers’ was great and I liked Austen Burroughs’ Running with Scissors. But they’re a completely different genre. I think the way misery lit is marketed is distasteful and I shrink from people picking it up in the supermarket along with their veggies as one more thing to feed on. But that’s just me.
You know it’s funny because I was working with someone I wouldn’t usually work with today, and she was saying that she reads them and that her husband is appalled, but of course he doesn’t realise “how much they help with our work.” I was like “huh??” I bit my tongue though.
Brilliant post. You say all the things I think in my head but could never get into a post in a coherent manner. One of my sister’s simply adores these poxy books and keeps sending them to me. I’m thinking of sending them back as she seems to ignore my comments of “I can’t stand that type of book!”. I read the Pelzer one years back and hated it. I tried again with Gypsy Boy recently but again, switched off once the abuse started to be described in more detail. Maybe its because of the work I’ve done, maybe its because of my own experiences or maybe its just because I find it disgraceful money is being made from these stories – whatever is at the root of my feelings, all I know is I’m very anti this type of writing. If a victim or survivor (depending on your start point) wants to express themselves or get help, there are many other ways of doing so. Lining the pockets of publishers, editors and book stores is not in my view the way to help yourself or others.
MD xx
I agree. I really hope that at least the authors did find some catharsis in writing and publishing their stories you know? Because I can’t see much else good that can come out of the genre. I just can’t understand why anyone would want to read these books – they’re upsetting and horrible – it’s a bit grim to want to read them I think.
Fantastic post. It’s one of my pet confusions, the topic of mis-lit, I’m not quite sure where I stand on it. I read “A child called it” and it was very interesting but that’s where I stopped. I do tend to peruse the mis-lit shelves and gasp at titles such as “Daddy’s little earner” but I do refrain from buying them because, ultimately, do I really want to know just how awful the world can be?