Fact or Fiction

28 Feb

WASH BY Margaret Wrinkle

WASH BY Margaret Wrinkle

I am reading, with great zeal, Margaret Wrinkle’s newly published novel Wash— a slave narrative transversing (or is traverseing) 19th century coastal Africa and Tennessee. Its a riveting montage of life in a particular very specific part of American life. There is lots to recommend this novel (which is only part of my mission here). This (so obvious) caught my eye as Ms Wrinkle allows a slave trader ship’s captain observe:

He will tell these buyers whatever he feels like telling them and they’ll be glad to hear it, cherishing those nuggets of information correct or not, because vetyone wants life to come wrapped in a story. Most people prefer a good story over one that’s accurate so he plans to oblige (page 140 Wash)

The best part of reading a newspaper is, of course the discovery of unobvious and happy accident, Today I ran across an article in the NY Times style section led by Liza Thorn



Reading MS Thorn’s story, entitled Liza Thorn, the Unforgettable Face of a Muse on this particular day felt to me like I was reading a short story (not necessary factually accurate) written for insiders of the fashion and art school music demimonde:

Ms. Thorn was raised in Marin County, Calif., and lived with her mother. She took up the guitar at 13. “I was reading ‘Please Kill Me’ and wishing I was in the city,” she said. There were strict rules in the household, and Ms. Thorn moved to San Francisco at 15 to attend Catholic school and live with her father, a Buddhist priest. “You don’t raise somebody to be Buddhist,” she said. “It’s not like: ‘Meditate! You’ve got to meditate!’ ”

The rules were lax. “It was basically your curfew is tomorrow at noon, do whatever you want,” she said. She joined an abrasive noise band called So So Many White White Tigers. They’d play in backyards to crowds of 20.
“I’d throw myself on the drums,” Ms. Thorn said. She also screamed a lot.

And then there is this video of Ms Muse

This press release, style reportage, short fiction reminded me of the slave trader captain’s musing (reproduced above).

Currently reading The Book of My Lives by Aleksandar Hemon FSG)

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