Friday, November 21, 2008
Law & Order: Literary Crimes Unit
"In the criminal justice system, literary based offenses are considered especially heinous. In Gallowmere, the individual who rants about these vicious felonies is a member of an elite squad known as the Literary Crimes Unit. Here's what he has to say."
*Clung* *Clow!*
The state of the book world bugs me more than a virus. It's a total mess, filled to the brim with hokey self-help books, literary potboilers, feel-good fiction, new age mumbo-jumbo by Sylvia Browne and her cold-reading friends, things labeled autobiographies by people who can't even put words together to form sentences, and those "I made myself a millionaire read this to find out how" books. I confess I've never read a book of the latter category, but I imagine looking inside I'd find long winded anecdotes which lead up to the final line, "...So I wrote this book and a million suckers like you bought it!"
But whatever, it's reflective of the world. A great percent of most things out there are bullshit. It's pretty hard to do anything about that. If I let things actually bother me, I'd end up like... almost everybody else in the world; obsessed with the inconsequential. No use crying over spilt milk as the notorious collective "they" would say. Why cry about anything at all when you can laugh?
Every so often, things actually penetrate, and I find myself dwelling on things I just can't ignore. One of those things happens to be people committing literary felonies and getting rewarded with hefty sums. A few people over the last couple years have been getting into some controversy for their literary transgressions. The Gallowmere Literary Crimes Unit has been given
Case #1: Devil in the Details.
Suspect: Kaavya Viswanathan.
Offense: Plagiarizing fluff.
Associations: IvyWise, Alloy Entertainment, Harvard University, Little Brown Publishing Firm.
Summary: Miss Viswanathan, a young woman of an expedient nature decided to, at the end of her high school career "write" a novel to bolster her credentials to get into an Harvard University. The novel in question --How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild and Got a Life. She earned a $500,000 advance for a two book deal with Little Brown publishing firm. The novel is of the standard "Chick Lit" category. Works of the "Chick Lit" nomenclature are generally of a derivative nature. However, in the case of How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild and Got a Life similarities between the aforementioned novel and the novels by Megan McCafferty - Sloppy Firsts and Second Helpings were striking.
Exhibit A:
From McCafferty...
Second Helpings, page 69...
"Throughout this conversation, Manda acted like she couldn't have been more bored. She lazily skimmed her new paperback copy of Reviving Ophelia -- she must have read the old one down to shreds. She just stood there, popping another piece of Doublemint, or reapplying her lip gloss, or slapping her ever-present pack of Virginia Slims against her palm. (Insert oral fixation jokes, here, here and here.) Her hair -- usually dishwater brown and wavy -- had been straightened and bleached the color of sweet corn since the last time I saw her... Just when I thought she had maxed out on hooter hugeness, it seemed that whatever poundage Sara had lost over the summer had turned up in Manda's bra."
From Viswanathan - How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild and Got a Life, page 48...
"The other HBz acted like they couldn't be more bored. They sat down at a table, lazily skimmed heavy copies of Italian Vogue, popped pieces of Orbit, and reapplied layers of lip gloss. Jennifer, who used to be a bit on the heavy side, had dramatically slimmed down, no doubt through some combination of starvation and cosmetic surgery. Her lost pounds hadn't completely disappeared, though; whatever extra pounds she'd shed from her hips had ended up in her bra. Jennifer's hair, which I remembered as dishwater brown and riotously curly, had been bleached Clairol 252: Never Seen in Nature Blonde. It was also so straight it looked washed, pressed and starched."
Many more examples have been cited.
Miss Viswaanathan has also been accused of lifting lines from the work of Tanuja Desai Hidier.
Exhibit B:
Hidier - page 13, Born Confused...
"India. I had few memories of the place, but the ones I held were dream clear: Bathing in a bucket as a little girl. The unnerving richness of buffalo milk drunk from a pewter cup. My Dadaji pouring tea into a saucer so it would cool faster, sipping from the edge of the thin dish, never spilling a drop. A whole host of kitchen gods (looking so at home in the undishwashed unmicrowaved room). Meera Maasi crouching on the floor to sift the stones from rice. Cows huddled in the middle of the vegetable market, sparrows nesting on their backs. Hibiscus so brilliant they look like they'd caught fire. Children with red hair living in tires. A perpetual squint against sun and dust. The most delicious orange soda I've ever drunk -- the cap-split hiss, and then the bubbling jetstream down a parched throat."
Viswanathan, pages 230-1 How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild and Got a Life...
"I had only a few memories of India; the last time my family visited was six years ago, when I was in the sixth grade... Some impressions stood out sharply in my mind, still as clear as freshly developed Polaroids. I remembered the cold, creamy taste of fresh buffalo milk, Babaji pouring Ovaltine from one tin cup to another until froth bubbled thickly on the surface and it was cool enough to drink. I remembered shooting rockets made of coconut leaves off the rooftop terrace, and watching the beady-eyed green-and-yellow lizards that scuttled over the putty-colored walls after a hard rain. I remembered cold baths from a bucket with a plastic dipper, and sweet, oily badam halva from the nearby Chola hotel. Sometimes I still read the old Enid Blyton books, which were only available in countries of the former British empire. Most of all, I could close my eyes and return to the smells of sun and dust and refuse, mixed with sharp chilis, my grandmother's soft rose talcum powder, and the heady, sweet scent of blossoming hibiscus."
Allegations of plagiarism continue, involving the work of many other authors including: Sophie Kinsella, Meg Cabot, and Salman Rushdie.
The Verdict: Guilty.
Sentence: Miss Viswanathan's book was recalled from bookstores, causing Little Brown tremendous embarrassment. No mention has been made of the $500,000 advance (that I would be happy to have!) was called back with them.
Miss Viswanathan was made a pariah at Harvard University, and made the headline of many snarky articles and editorials. She will probably never get another book deal in her lifetime. As well, being vetted for future jobs will be problematic. Unless, of course she hones her skills of deception.
I personally recommend slow death.
See everyone in Hell!
