Eric Felten opens his Journal column with the line, "Pity the man whose wife writes a memoir." His Exhibit A: Elizabeth Weil's Times Magazine piece about the intimate details of her marriage. I'll admit I winced a bit when reading this piece — Felten quotes Weil's mention of the "safe, narrow little bowling alley of a sex life" she and her husband shared, and I for one hope never to have my relationship problems written about in the Times. But I don't believe that men I've dated have never discussed those problems with anyone. Interestingly, Felten does. He writes,

No husband I know speaks out of school about his wife. You wouldn't trust any man who did. Say what you will about the male half of the species-famous for its promiscuous and predatory proclivities-but they can be remarkably discreet about the intimate aspect of marriage. Whether this is stoicism or a residual chivalry, it is a core part of the male code. Consider Tiger Woods's alleged transgressions: Perhaps the most appalling of them is the report that he prattled on to one of his cookies about how she connected with him in a way his wife did not. As if cheating weren't bad form enough.

Etonian diction aside ("speaks out of school?"), Felten's claim will seem pretty laughable to anyone who's ever heard a male friend complain about his significant other (I'm raising my hand). And the phrase "my wife doesn't understand me" became an old chestnut for a reason. Apparently, though, Felten is of the opinion that men remain stoically silent about their dissatisfactions while women chatter hennishly away:

Women, by contrast, seem to be at somewhat greater liberty to share private matters. This can be reflected in trivial indiscretions. DoubleX, a blog on Slate, asked its contributors for their Christmas wish lists. First up was Rachael Larimore, who proclaimed "All I want for Christmas is for my hubby to get a vasectomy. And he is!" I'm sure that made his day. Still, that's nothing compared to what gets aired in coffee klatches, where, according to writers such as Sandra Tsing Loh, the ladies get together to talk about how their husbands haven't touched them in years.

OMG vasectomy gross! And where those "coffee klatches" are concerned, if your husband "hasn't touched you in years," it seems legitimate to find some outlet for your frustration. Perhaps Felten would recommend the arms of an (appropriately quiet) mistress, but I think the ability to talk openly to friends about relationship problems is something men would do well to learn, if they haven't already. I'd also like to wag a finger at Tsing Loh, for feeding men's fear and hope that women's private conversations are all about them.

As The Daily Beast's Rebecca Dana points out, men have been responsible for this year's major sex scandals. Dana quotes Emily Gould, who says,

Men are typically seen as having agency and women are typically seen as being acted upon in romantic relationships. So then even when those stereotypical power dynamics aren't really the ones at play, the culture-making machinery will simplify whatever the real story is until it is a more familiar wronged-woman, lothario-man narrative.

But one of the ways women have been able to reclaim some agency, especially in times of great subjugation, is by talking. It's no accident that Scheherazade saved her skin with stories, or that the Little Mermaid had to give up her voice to land her prince (some view this as a metaphor for castration). Women may not actually have a monopoly on words, but men have always feared female "oversharing," because it's a way of taking back a narrative otherwise controlled by men. If women can write about their marriages in the New York Times, then the "familiar wronged-woman, lothario-man" story, along with the story about how women become asexual when they hit forty, and the one about how men need variety and women need security, and all the other patriarchy-approved stories about sex and love and female identity, have some competition. No wonder Felten wants us to keep our mouths shut.

Wives Who Kiss And Tell, And Tell, And Tell [Wall Street Journal]
Why Women Don't Have Sex Scandals [Daily Beast]

Onetime Jezebel editor Jessica Grose writes that Karr keeps a warning above her desk: letters that spell out "HUBRIS." She might still need it. When Grose asks Karr about her conversion to Catholicism, she says,

Somebody said to me, "So, you think you've had all this success because God likes you better than other writers?" And I said, "Absolutely!" Because of my faith, I do have a sense that I'm supposed to be alive on the planet. Which, given the way I was brought up, I didn't exactly have going in.

On the one hand, Karr has struggled with alcoholism and depression (the subjects of her new book, Lit), and it's hard to begrudge or anything that has given her a sense of place in the world. On the other, it's more than a little obnoxious for a writer who has benefited from the capricious whims of the literary market to claim that her success comes from God's favor. If she's right, God must be really into Dan Brown.

Of course, Karr is right that secular people will always have some difficulty with talk about religion. She says, "Talking about spiritual matters to a secular audience is like doing card tricks on the radio. It's like, 'This is really cool, everybody,' and they're like, 'Yeah, OK!' So I know that it sounds a little nutty." As a nonbeliever, I guess I'm listening to Karr's card tricks over the radio, and perhaps I've missed some nuance in her claim about God's love. In any case, the interview is more interesting when it deals with women and memoir. Grose asks,

I've read a lot of interviews recently with young female memoirists who say things like, "I'm writing this memoir to help other people," and I always find that to be disingenuous. And I wonder if you had any insight into why female memoirists, specifically, have this need to claim altruism, why they feel that something being a good story isn't enough of a reason to tell it.

And Karr responds:

You know, I think it actually has to do with what it means to be feminine in this culture. If you betray a family confidence, it's not seen as appropriately feminine. It's one reason, maybe, that men's memoirs, especially about adolescence, are so much easier to write. Because for a man to say, "And then I pushed my father down on the ground and stormed out of the house and stole the car," is, in a way, what a man does to come of age. For a woman to betray family secrets or intimacies is seen as particularly grotesque or masculinizing.

I didn't [write] it to help anybody. I did it for the money. I did it because I'm greedy and I like living in New York.

Karr's claim that she "did it for the money" is its own kind of bravado, but interestingly, it's a kind more common for male writers, who sometimes feel the need to counteract the supposedly effete nature of artistic endeavor by making it all about cold hard cash. Karr does happen to be in the (perhaps) enviable position of being able to write for money, but there are more lucrative careers, and Karr dances around one primary motive for memoir: narcissism.

The term has taken a big beating in the media lately, but Karr is right — it's something we've always tolerated in male writers. What else but narcissism could motivate someone to write his autobiography, not to help anyone, but simply because he considers his own life a good story? Such impulses have given us some great books, and without the narcissism of artists, society would be a lot less interesting. Still, we tend to forget this when women speak up to tell their stories — we call them out for oversharing or airing the family's dirty laundry, unless of course their books are good for us in some way. Men are allowed to be entertainers, but too often, we expect women to be teachers or nurses.

So maybe Karr's hubris is actually kind of refreshing. I don't think we all need to be swaggering around like Norman Mailer, but I do think arrogance in women is so demonized that it's nice to see it flare up from time to time. Writing is a pretty useless act, on the face of it, and also very self-centered. You can justify it to yourself by pretending you're helping people, but I'm not at all sure that books written with the intent to help actually do so. The other option is just to be convinced that your bullshit is intrinsically worth reading. And in order to do this, you may have to believe something crazy, like that God actually likes you best.

God's Favorite Writer [Double X]

Sarah Palin's cover is very simple, almost deceptively simple. We've got blue sky, red fleece, and not much else. However, Palin's book jacket clearly comes from a long history of portraiture. It is possible to compare this image to anything from Velasquez's grandiose portraits of Philip IV to August Sander's humble photographs of German citizens. Every great leader has, at one point or another, had a photograph or painting done of them almost exactly like this one, but despite the relatively restrained design, there are a few notable things about Palin's choice. This book shows us exactly how Palin wants to be viewed by the public, so let's see what subliminal messages are hiding in plain sight on the glossy jacket.

The composition of Going Rogue immediately brings to mind photographs of another famous maverick: Amelia Earhart. Earhart is frequently shown framed against a vast expanse of blue sky, hair tousled by the wind. Palin, too, stands against a background of nothing but clouds and sky, staring gamely at something far away, something above the viewer, that only she can see (Russia, perhaps?). Palin is the entire foreground-we see nothing but her brave figure silhouetted against the open Alaska sky. The aviation symbolism is clear: Palin is ready to take flight. Tired of being hemmed in by lame-duck governorship and the twistings and turnings of the liberal media, Palin is ready to fly off on her own, forge her own path into the future.

Palin would no doubt like her audience to think of her as the continuation of a long line of fierce female warriors. Perhaps it is merely a coincidence that her book cover is so reminiscent of WWII recruiting posters. Many of these posters feature a single woman from the waist up, standing against a background of either blue sky or Old Glory. Like Going Rogue, for the most part, these women are not shown straight on, but rather from a slightly lower angle. The viewer is placed below the figure, which adds height and stature to their slight feminine frames. Unlike the images of Amelia Earhart, these women are all dolled-up, lipstick-on and ready for battle. While Palin is not dressed quite as sharply as her predecessors, her hair is flawless (as is, naturally, her lipstick). Luckily, she managed to pose for this photograph on the most windless day in Alaskan history, because nothing short of Photoshop could explain such perfection, and since we all know how much Palin appreciates truth, it is doubtful that she stooped to such low measures to manipulate her image.

In a similar vein, the color scheme of the cover brings to mind another set of propaganda posters. In the 1960s, Chinese communist leader Mao Zedong commissioned a series of posters and "large doses of didactic politicized art" in an attempt to "inoculate" the peasantry. These images show Mao looming large against a red and blue sky. Like Palin, he does not deign to make eye contact with the viewer, but looks out at something in the far distance. However, the most striking similarity between these images appears in the colors. Palin is surrounded by a white and blue, with her jacket as the sole bright spot of red. But notice that this is not one of her fancy, several-thousand dollar jackets: Instead, Palin wears a humble fleece. (Maybe she wants to remind us of her "Real America" roots. Certainly she doesn't want her customer base thinking of her as Designer Barbie Palin. Especially since, as Amazon shows, her biggest fans are currently too busy preparing for the end of the world to worry about fashion. Customers who bought this item also bought: How to Survive the End of the World as We Know It, Catastrophe, and, because everyone needs a little light reading, Glenn Beck's Common Sense.)

And, finally, one of the most important features of any book cover is the font. As typophiles know, the font sends an important message about the quality and type of publication. While we might have expected Palin to choose a bold and unadorned font like Impact (or perhaps Comic Sans), Palin's team went instead with Linotype Didot. According to Typedia, the Didot family of fonts comes from the Didot family, who lived and worked in Paris in the 19th Century. While Pierre Didot published books and prints, Firmin Didot designed the typefaces. Linotype Didot was added much later, drawn by Adrian Frutiger in 1991. Typedia informs us that this font, with its vertical emphasis and bold strokes, is the "right choice for elegant book and magazine designs, as well as advertising with a classic touch." However, as Anna notes, for all its elegance, Didot is only one "i" away from idiot. And you'd think that is one association she'd rather avoid.

Going Rogue [Amazon]
Linotype Didot [Typedia]

Writes Thomas Wagner, who goes by "Cadillac Man,"

Nearly 13 years between 1994 and 2007, I wandered the streets of New York, a nomad in the town where I was born in 1949. To say that I was homeless is true and yet not the whole truth. I had a mobile home of sorts - my wagon - the most recent, a grocery cart I liberated from the Costco in Long Island City. In it, I carried everything I needed: bedding, clothes, a camp stove, beach chairs, an umbrella, pots and pans, a first-aid kit and 20 or so paperbacks.

Cadillac Man, a onetime policeman and divorced father of three, supports himself by collecting cans and assumes he'll end his life in an unmarked grave like most of his compatriots. Then, while setting up a little 9/11 memorial, he meets Carol. 25 years younger than he, a white-collar professional, Carol falls in love with him and the two build a life together, getting a small apartment in Queens where Cadillac Man builds a memoir from the notebooks he kept while living rough. Despite the indignities, the abuse, the sleeping in open graves, the many small tragedies of living on the margins of society, he has a certain nostalgia for his prior life.

At home with Carol, I have peace and love; I don't have to watch my back. But I also get claustrophobic. In the street, I had freedom, coming and going as I pleased. The streets are hard but they're my life's blood. I even write better there, with more energy in my stories. I try to return to the viaduct at least three times a week. The way some people commute to their jobs, I commute to my old spot on the sidewalk and catch up on the latest gossip.

The essay is a textbook reminder of the lives behind the faceless, and surely the memoir will be an even more powerful one. But just as striking is the philosophical way in which the author moves from life to life: what of his daughters, you wonder, his prior life? It seems the mental and emotional flexibilty needed to adjust to the existence of life on the streets in some ways means a level of stoicism that's as alien to most of us as the appeal of living off the grid. In a sense, he's illustrating the push-pulls of any relationship, writ large — freedom versus security and love? — and though the conflict may seem unthinkable to many of us — and evidently to his girlfriend, who worries he's "homeless in his heart." Maybe their definitions of "saving someone" differ.

I Loved It Under the Viaduct; Still Do [New York Times]

The book is called Six-Word Memoirs on Love & Heartbreak by Writers Famous & Obscure, and it includes such gems as "My life's accomplishments? Sanity, and you" (Elizabeth Gilbert), and "It's just a matter of luck" (Ayelet Waldman). What do you think: six word fad — cute or over? [USA Today]

1. "Well, I thought it was funny."

2. "Liars, hysterectomy didn't improve sex life!"

3."Revenge is living well, without you."

4. "Maybe you had to be there."

5. "Secret of life: marry an Italian."

a) Joan Rivers b) Roy Blount Jr. c) Nora Ephron d) Stephen Colbert e) Joyce Carol Oates *

As in so many things, what's revealing is less the words than the spirit. Personally, I'm torn between, "Hey, what fresh hell is this?" ;"Butter is my one true love"; and "Life story: ur doin it rong."

*1d, 2a, 3e, 4b, 5c.

People's Memoirs. Six Words. Surprising Results. [USA Today]

Some celebrity-penned tomes seem like they might actually contain worthwhile information: Celebrity Detox by Rosie O'Donnell, for instance, or How I Play Golf by Tiger Woods. But what about Naomi Campbell's Naomi? Victoria Beckham's That Extra Half An Inch? Or Tori Spelling's unfortunately titled sTORI Telling?

Kelly Osbourne and Miley Cyrus have definitely had life experiences that are not "average," but is there enough to fill a book? And who will buy their stories? (And who will ghostwrite???)

While I don't have any celebrity autobiographies (well, someone did give me Raising Kanye, by Donda West), I asked around and Megan owns Gracie by George Burns. Megan and Jessica both own Me, by Katherine Hepburn. Jessica says: "Also I read Drew Barrymore's sex and drug addled teen memoir when I was at camp in 1995. It was totally passed around like contraband." Maria used to have Beauty Inside And Out, by Tyra. Margaret admits: "I own Having It All by Erika Kane. Note this is not a book about Susan Lucci, but a celebrity autobiography written by the fictional character she plays on All My Children. I don't want to discuss why I own this. The shame runs too deep." Fess up: Do you own (or have you read) celebrity memoirs?

Why Are So Many New Memoirs 'Inspirational'? [Guardian]

And anyway, she keeps trying to prove that the sexual union with her brother was completely normal and healthy and didn't interfere with their relationships, except she "found it hard to be physically intimate with anyone else" and eventually her brother almost agreed to dump his fiancee, on the condition that they "Stay together and not see anyone else. We could be the old boring brother and sister who never got married, but ended up sharing a house because no one else would have them! I know this is meant to be wrong but I've never felt anything so right.” [Note: if she feels so strongly about breaking the taboo of incest, why is this article anonymous? Just sayin'.]

The tone of her essay reminded me of a comment left in response to a story I did on Ellen Tien, who wrote in O denigrating her husband and thinking about divorce constantly. She was upset about our judge-y coverage of Tien, and said, "What about 'when a woman tells the truth she is creating the possibility for more truth around her'? If this is the truth of Tien's experience of marriage I'm glad she described it, and I don't think she's a selfish or nasty person for it." But our truthful reaction to Tien was that her article in O was incredibly bitchy, just as my truthful reaction to this incest story is ew. If your takeaway from that quote is truth is God, then these articles and our subsequent reactions are truly worthwhile. But is every transgression, no matter how base or cruel, from the status quo worthy of shouting from the rooftops?
"I Had Sex With My Brother But I Don't Feel Guilty." [Times of London]
Earlier: O Writer Claims That Beneath Every Marriage Runs The "Chyron Of Divorce"

KERRY COHEN can barely remember all of the 40-odd men she's slept with...

Well, Jesus Christ. Fortysomething. Memory repress a few off that list and you've got something approaching 37, which would be your age, Kerry, and that would be "too old to have learned the meaning of the word 'promiscuous' from Timbaland feat. Nelly Furtado." You know, I have this theory about people who think some grave injustice has occurred when they find out some dude with whom they had a one night stand doesn't actually care about them, and it's sort of the same theory I have about people who generate two separate memoirs without actually doing anything particularly memorable. But I try to give sluts the benefit of the doubt, which is why I consulted the "About Kerry" section of Kerry's two separate personal websites and...

Kerry loves learning. She loves books and lively, passionate discussions. She loves delving deep inside a subject and pulling up the hidden pieces. She loves to see the connections between things. For these reasons, college was a fantastic time for Kerry. And, the social life wasn't too shabby either...As time went on, Kerry's writing matured, melded, and took on new meaning, as all work does when you keep at it. Kerry started to write Easy when Ezra was 11 months old and somehow managed to keep writing between nursies, trips to the park, colds, cuddles, and being dragged by the hand around the house. This is the thing about being a writer: it doesn't matter what else comes. Like breathing, you do it. You don't know how else to live.

My first book - all writers have such a first book, don't they? - was titled "Poop and Pee." Each page showed private body parts urinating and defecating. Inexplicably, one page showed a penis defecating. The images were wordless, until the final page where I wrote, simply, "sniff-sniff." Sort of brilliant, I think.

Hoffman realized the book had been published after seeing a photo of Peggy and her daughter, Rya, in the Times' "Home & Garden" section last week. That story described Peggy's pink hoodie, "gangland slang" and acrylic nails, and congratulated her for her grit in overcoming her underprivileged existence. (Sample passage: "'The first time my o. g. visited me here'" — meaning original gangster, the gang's leader — 'he slept 20 hours straight. In L.A. your anxiety is so high you sleep three hours a night.'") The Times had been creaming themselves over Love and Consequences until the fabrication news broke. In addition to the "Home & Garden" profile, the notoriously poison-tongued and powerful book critic Michiko Kakutani had given Love an outright rave.

Sarah McGrath, Peggy's editor at Riverhead (the same imprint that published James Frey's My Friend Leonard), is devastated. "It's very upsetting to us because we spent so much time with this person and we felt such sympathy for her and she would talk about how she didn't have any money or any heat and we completely bought into that and thought we were doing something good by bringing her story to light," McGrath told the Times. McGrath added: "There was a way to do this book honestly and have it be just as compelling." (McGrath is absolutely correct. If you want to read a well-researched book about the inner city world of drug running, try Random Family by Adrien Nicole LeBlanc.)

Peggy sounds only semi-contrite about lying her way to a book deal. "For whatever reason, I was really torn and I thought it was my opportunity to put a voice to people who people don't listen to...I was in a position where at one point people said you should speak for us because nobody else is going to let us in to talk." Peggy did work with gang members in South Central and, for a time, attended Grant High in a poor section of the Valley; she based the book on the experiences of those around her. "Trust no one. Even your own momma will sell you out for the right price or if she gets scared enough," she writes in Love and Consequences. Sadly, book editors may have to start heeding that advice more and more.

Author Admits Acclaimed Memoir Is Fantasy [New York Times]
A Refugee From Gangland [New York Times]
However Mean the Streets, Have an Exit Strategy [New York Times]
Gangbanger Margaret B. Jones Is Really Peggy Seltzer, Valley Girl [Mediabistro]
Why Do We Keep Publishing Fake Memoirists? [Mediabistro]

Related: Fabricating Writer's Hilarious Interview