So Augusten Burroughs had his day in court with the family he smeared in his obviously subjective memoir Running with Scissors.
On his blog, Burroughs issued the following statement:
“I consider this not only a personal victory but a victory for all memoirists. I still maintain that the book is an entirely accurate memoir, and that it was not fictionalized or sensationalized in any way. I did not embellish or invent elements. We had a very strong case because I had the truth on my side…
To clarify, Running With Scissors is still called a memoir. It always has been a memoir, and the family expressly agreed that it will continue to be called one. I was happy to substitute the one word “book” for “memoir” on the Author’s Note page, but it still says “A Memoir” on the cover, and will continue to be truthfully advertised as such. I was also happy to add an additional expression of gratitude to the family in the Acknowledgments, as well as to point out the fact that they remember things differently.
Not one word of the actual memoir itself has been changed or altered in any way. The text is exactly as I wrote it, intended it, and lived it. Running With Scissors was and continues to be the true story of my unusual and remarkable childhood.”
We get it: it’s a memoir.
Am I the only person who hated Running with Scissors?
When I read Running with Scissors, I kept waited for the part where all the critical acclaim would start to make sense. Where was the new David Sedaris? Where was the greatest memoir of our time? Halfway through, I began to sense the author’s disingenuousness. Not long after I started getting bored, and barely made it to the end, at which point I began to regret the time – all of one rainy weekend – I spent reading it.
Since that time, my interest has been piqued by the actual backstory: interviews with Burroughs’ mother and the like (
the reason his mother didn’t sue was because he is her son and she loves him). I can imagine that the family that just settled their case with him must have felt shafted in their attempts to give him a better lifestyle / education than his mother could (she gave him up while suffering from mental illness, owning up to the fact that she wasn’t cut out for raising a kid).
Burroughs has been (unjustifiably in my book) compared to David Sedaris by many critics but the the two writers differ in at least one critical way. Sedaris‘s writing is both personal and universal; he includes himself in the situations he skewers. He employs a formidable and self-deprecating sense of humor, whereas Burroughs, who I sense takes himself very, very seriously, uses humor only as a weapon against his subjects.
There is no real spark to his writing – just snark.
I’m always amazed at how writers like this take off. Why can’t critics see through this stuff? It’s disheartening.
Next time I’ll tell you what I really think.
One final note about the settlement. Besides a financial settlement (confidential, natch, but I hope the family at least got compensated for the room and board they provided the budding memoir-tiste), the family won these little concessions:
Where the Acknowledgments page currently reads:
“Additionally, I would like to thank each and every member of a certain Massachusetts family for taking me into their home and accepting me as one of their own,”
the following will be substituted: ”
Additionally, I would like to thank the real-life members of the family portrayed in this book for taking me into their home and accepting me as one of their own. I recognize that their memories of the events described in this book are different than my own. They are each fine, decent, and hard-working people. The book was not intended to hurt the family. Both my publisher and I regret any unintentional harm resulting from the publishing and marketing of Running with Scissors.”
Unintentional harm, my ass. How did he think these people would feel once they found out about it? Maybe he thought they wouldn’t – he never told even them he was writing a book about his life with them.
In addition, on the Author’s Note page the word “book” will replace the word “memoir.” The book still will be described as a memoir on the cover and elsewhere. The family agreed to that, and “memoir” remains an entirely accurate description of the book.
Ok, we get it, its a memoir…
Somewhere in this rats’ nest there is probably a truly rich and interesting and perhaps even humorous story, but I doubt Burroughs has the kind of courage it would take to write it.
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Why haven’t I been blogging you may ask? Lack of readership? Never stopped me before! The fact that my most frequently searched tag was “horse’s ass” (see Augusten Burroughs)? Almost, but not quite. 
Vox Pop Sudari 