Now that James Frey has been fried, we have a long-lost letter surfacing which questions author Upton Sinclair's ethics. Is that timing, or what?
Is this the beginning of open season on nonfic and memoir authors? Hard to say. Frey's faux past has stirred his colleagues to offer so many righteous and indignant rants that finding a hooker in a convent would likely cause less pious fuss. I do think the truth is important, even if it only serves as a cautionary tale for future writers. But when the soapbox becomes an open mike night stage, and those who climb on it start sounding like the cast of A Chorus Line, then it may be time to move on.
At least Oprah won't be able to book Sinclair on the show. Not without a backhoe, anyway -- he's been dead for 38 years.