In Defense of Autofiction
I love reading articles about books and writing theory as much as I love writing them. On a normal day, I’m able to absorb what is being written about, take it in with curiosity, and then move on to whatever comes next. But once in a while, there’s an article or two that stays with me. Sometimes it’s because it perfectly outlines and says what I have been unable to write about or say. Other times, it’s because I vehemently disagree with what the author of the article is saying. This article you’re reading right now is the product of the latter. After reading and re-reading the article, “Autofiction is Cheating, and You Cannot Change My Mind” by Sarah Hannah Gómez, my blood boiled every time I thought about it. I tried to push it down because who cares about one person’s opinion? But I couldn’t let it go. Maybe because it’s tied intimately into my work with my students and clients. Maybe it’s because I believe so strongly in the power of autofiction for healing that I get so worked up thinking about it.
What does one do when they can’t let go of or shake the feeling that something is inherently wrong? Well, they write about it, of course.
Rules that Don’t Actually Exist
What’s interesting about Gómez’s article is that what she seems bothered by is the label of autofiction because it does not fit into her limited perspective of genre. She likes “rules,” as she states here:
Anyway. I also like my literature to follow some rules. It’s not that I think all things have to fit precisely into one box — something can be both historical fiction and fantasy, for example. But I don’t like things to get too muddy.
And my response to this is — well, life is pretty damn muddy. And literature was not meant to follow the rules. It was not designed to uphold the “rules” that we have placed on them in social constructs like publishing or genres or categories. The rules are not really rules, but rather guidelines that someone along the way thought should be canon. I like to bust this myth by saying if something has “rules,” what happens when someone breaks them? In the case of literature, nothing. In fact, breaking the “rules” in literature often results in a new perspective, a shift in a literary lens, and a different approach. But nothing catastrophic happens if a rule is broken. This is why the “rules” people believe exist are really just social commentary on the way the people in power want things to look or be.
Yes, I’m aware that there is a socially acceptable “contract” between a writer and a reader, but if I’m being truly honest, I’ve always said “fuck that” in regards to the contract. Why? Because right off the bat, it ascertains that a writer is responsible for how a reader will interact with their book. It also shapes the belief that the author must fulfill certain “stipulations” of that contract. I don’t buy into the contract theory for a few reasons.
As a writer and creator, the only person I “owe” anything to is myself. Should I choose to share what I’ve written or created, that is a decision I, and only I, can make. And I certainly am not writing or creating things to fit into a cleanly labeled box of expectations.
Once you DO share your work, though, the responsibility to interpret the work falls on the reader. It is not a writer’s job to force-feed a reader. It is not a writer’s job to make it clear where truth and fiction differ or conjoin. It’s not a writer’s job to tell the reader what and how they should think. We’ve done our job. Now it’s the reader’s job to make meaning from the text through their lens.
I could really stop there and use this “defense” to counter all the rest of the arguments she uses in her piece (if there are no rules, therefore, Autofiction isn’t breaking any rules or making any rules, and her points are moot). But, I think there are some other interesting things to excavate within her piece.
Assumptions
The biggest gripe I have about Gómez’s argument is the wide-sweeping assumptions she makes. And you know what “they,” say about assuming things? So let’s start with this gem:
Autofiction, though? What am I supposed to do with this? Am I supposed to assume this is a slice of your life? Is this an imagined version of how you wish your life had gone? Is this actually all true, but you didn’t want to present it as nonfiction in case somebody got offended by the way you described them? Didn’t want to get slammed with a libel suit? I don’t get it. And I don’t like it. It’s cheating.
First — why are you assuming anything? Do you have these same assumptions when you’re reading a novel that is labeled fiction? Why does autofiction have to be approached with any assumptions at all? Why can’t you approach it as a fiction novel and make your own decisions about whether or not something felt real or not? And again, why does it matter so much to you if an author decides to write their fiction with autobiographical elements versus not if the book is enjoyable? I claim that it doesn’t actually matter. That literature, in all its incarnations and versions, should be approached with these questions in mind:
Did you enjoy it?
What did you like?
What didn’t you like?
What worked and what didn’t?
And guess what — regardless of which genre a book falls into — these questions are applicable across the board. So again, I ask, why does it actually matter if a novel falls into the autofiction label if it’s still a good book?
Is “Cheating” in Fiction a Thing?
This idea of “cheating” in fiction bounces off of the assumptions section. And it’s probably the most ignorant assumption in the entire piece. Gómez states:
I think it’s cheating because it feels like somebody wrote a memoir but thought it would sell better if they shelved it with the novels.
So, every single person in the entire world who has used the autofiction technique (or applies the label) first set out to write a memoir and then thought, “nah, labeling this as fiction will sell better?”
Spoiler alert: Not every writer intends to publish. Not every writer cares about where their book will be on the shelves. Not every writer wrote their fiction novel as a memoir first. This statement makes so many erroneous assumptions that as the gif says — I’m having a hard time responding to it.
Have there been authors who wrote a memoir and then were convinced, or did they, themselves come to the conclusion that it would work better as fiction? Sure. But ALL writers? Nope.
Believe it or not, there are writers in this world who understand the deep connection between blending fact and fiction to create a unique novel that could also double as a source of healing. These are the writers who are most often approaching writing through the autofiction lens. And they are usually not concerned with how literary critics, publishers or readers are categorizing their books.
Additionally, my argument above stands in opposition to this statement. If there are no “rules” to writing, then there’s no way to “cheat.” You can’t cheat at something that doesn’t have parameters or limitations.
Are you even listening?
“When I hear “autofiction,” I hear “nobody likes or respects memoir, so I decided to re-categorize it.”
With all due respect, I don’t believe Ms. Gómez is actually listening, then. She may “hear” whatever she wants, but this statement tells me that she’s not interested in what someone has to actually say about it and isn’t willing to listen.
She’s also basing this off the erroneous assumption (again) that someone who writes autofiction does so because they wrote a memoir and are concerned about how someone else may view it as such. The reality is that most writers who write autofiction don’t even attempt to write a memoir. Most of them go straight from an idea that stems from reality to writing a fictional novel about it. So her argument falls apart when someone intentionally writes autofiction without the precursor of wanting or actually writing a memoir.
And I can promise that 90% of the people writing autofiction really don’t give a rat’s ass about whether or not someone likes or respects memoirs as much as they care whether someone likes or respects fiction. Ms. Gómez operates under the assumption that writers of autofiction are somehow all underneath the umbrella of publishing and therefore are looking for the best option to “categorize” their writing outside of memoir. That’s a very small population group to make assumptions with. And my guess would be that the publishing landscape only covers a very small percentage of autofiction writers. So honestly? I just straight up call bullshit on this assumption. Ms. Gómez doesn’t actually know the reasoning or backstory to why someone wrote an autofiction novel and whether or not they wrote a memoir first, or whether or not they had a choice in labeling their work. And she doesn’t seem particularly keen on doing the work it takes to actually understand the label or its writers.
Oh, the Questions
What do I do with autofiction? Is it just a good story? Is it a glimpse into the life of a real person I could actually meet in real life? Did it actually happen? Is it made up? What are you so afraid of?
These are a few of the closing questions from Gómez’s article, and I find it deliciously ironic that they could be turned back onto her and examined.
What do you do with fiction? (Because it’s the same thing as autofiction at the end of the day).
Is it a good story? (So why does it matter what label it has?)
Is it a glimpse into the life of a real person I could actually meet in real life? (Is this important? I mean, we all know Harry Potter isn’t a “real” person, but we still crave to meet him in real life if we could.)
Did it actually happen? (So what if it did? What if a fiction novel covers something that really has happened even if they didn’t know it happened in real life? Does it matter?)
Is it made up? (Again, does it matter? Someone could claim that the “fiction” novel they wrote is completely made up and yet the events happened in reality — do you offer the same criticism to fiction then?)
What are you so afraid of? (Yes, tell me, Ms. Gómez, what are you so afraid of with the mixing of reality and fiction? Why are you so uncomfortable with the alchemizing of life and fiction?)
Supporters
While researching Ms. Gómez and her past articles, I was led to an article by Senjuti Patra, “In Defense of Navel-Gazing: Why We Read Memoirs and Autofiction” which is actually a response piece (in my opinion) to Ms. Gómez’s piece much like this article is. I really respected how Patra framed her piece (though she is nicer than I am).
Right away in her piece, Patra talks about a common misconception about memoir and autofiction that it’s “self-indulgent.” I LOVE her response back to that:
If putting one’s thoughts and life experiences down on paper and expecting strangers to be interested in reading them is narcissistic or self-indulgent, then all writing is self-indulgent. A writer of fiction is narcissistic in assuming that the world and the characters that exist only in their mind deserve a place in the minds of readers. Philosophers, writers of some literary fiction, and their admirers are narcissistic in assuming that their view of the “human condition” is one worth serious contemplation. If assigning importance to one’s personal truth is self indulgent, so is assigning importance to one’s personal view of the whole truth. Art is not — and cannot be — impersonal. It is about discovering and rediscovering one’s self in connection to the world around. Why not leave it to the readers to ascertain if memoirs are worth their time? Why disparage a whole genre while discussing a particular book a critic might not have liked?
Emphasis is from me
I haven’t seen a response this well-crafted in a long time, and I found myself cheering after reading this section. I also respect her assertion that it’s the reader's job to ascertain if someone’s memories are worth their time. Additionally, she touches on something I talk to my clients and students about a lot — the relationship between reader and writer and the text.
In autofiction, the relationship between the reader and the writer is interactive. The reader gets to navigate on their own terms the region between fact and fiction. They can extract from the narrative as much honesty as they need to.
Yes. Voice and choice. I don’t tell my readers what they should think about my stories — that’s not my job. My job is to write the story of my heart/soul. It’s my job to be self-indulgent and write to make sense and meaning of life. A reader’s job is to take away whatever meaning-making and relevance the text has to offer for them.
Conclusion
At the end of the day, what I hope someone gets from this article is a sense that everyone has opinions on everything. Even me. I don’t begrudge someone for their opinions. What I begrudge is when someone tries to claim that their opinion is the “right” way or the “only” way. That their opinion should be held up to the highest standards, and everyone else should fall in line. On the other hand, I love when opinion pieces give the reader autonomy and agency to make their own conclusions. Voice and choice, people. I’m in the business of empowerment, so of course, when I feel like someone or something is trying to disempower people, I tend to get like this:
So please, don’t disempower people. Don’t make me hulk out.
