Why You Can’t Stop Thinking About “Bad Art Friend”
By Tiffany Yates Martin | October 11, 2021 |
Like probably every writer who’s read it, I’m fascinated by the recent New York Times “Who Is the Bad Art Friend?” article—but not just for the obvious reasons of the astonishing story it tells. (Haven’t seen it yet? It’s worth it. I’ll wait….)
Yes, this is rich story material: two driven artists who began as peers, one more successful while another still struggles, à la Mozart and Salieri; interesting, complicated characters; and a question and theme deeply, darkly resonant for authors, who so frequently draw from life: Where is the line? Heck, there’s even an organ transplant.
But as juicy as the story itself is, what I think makes it so effective and haunting is how author Robert Kolker tells it.
How the Storytelling Makes the Story
Let’s start with the way Kolker opens on one of his protagonists, painting a portrait full of conflict from the first line: Dawn Dorland evinces a “sunny earnestness” that some find “a little extra.” She’s “openhearted and eager,” even as she feels “like an outsider.”
She’s relatable, passionate about her work and a seemingly decent sort who even ends all her letters with the notable signoff “Kindly.”
Pay attention to that cleverly dropped bread crumb. Kolker is using it to show us who Dorland is, while subtly planting what will later become an essential element in the unfolding of her story.
From the beginning he’s keeping us a little off balance as we try to fit together the pieces of the puzzle of Dawn Dorland. She does an immense and inarguable act of kindness: donating a kidney to a stranger. But right away we start to see that she might be just a little too proud of that kindness, might fly her own flag just a little too high.
In fact, when one of her writer friends fails to acknowledge her extraordinary gift in the Facebook page Dorland started to publicly tout it, Dorland actually bears down on her to force her praise for it.
By this point did you begin to believe Dawn Dorland to be a self-aggrandizing narcissist craving attention? Maybe mock her desperate need for Sonya Larson to acknowledge her kidney gift? Did you even start to question Dorland’s motives for doing it in the first place? Or did you take her at face value, follow her desired narrative? Already Kolker has planted delicious uncertainty in our minds.
But then he reveals more layers of story, upends our expectations: Did you side with Sonya Larson at first—someone being held emotional hostage by a desperately striving peer? Did your alliance start to shift when you found out what her short story was about? Or how closely some of it adhered to Dorland’s own experiences and posts? Or that Larson mocked Dorland to her fellow “Chunky Monkeys” writers after presenting a very different face to Dorland and publicly? Little by little Kolker keeps peeling the onion.
Did your loyalties and opinions shift throughout? Kolker isn’t just listing off the facts of the story—he’s drawing you into it, making you an invisible third party, a hidden judge and jury.
That direct involvement the reader feels elicits strong visceral reactions in us: Did you feel defensive? Angry? Outraged? Astonished? Mocking? Confused? Empathetic? Did those reactions continue to shift as Kolker gradually, expertly painted in more shades of gray?
He’s not spoon-feeding the reader—not telling us what to feel or even who is the bad guy here. He simply keeps laying in those brushstrokes, each one heightening the stakes as Larson’s short story begins to get more acclaim…as Dorland grows more agitated by it…as the lawsuits starts and we learn—holy cow!—that the seeming victim of her outrage and actions did indeed lift the spirit of Dorland’s original note to her kidney recipient—no, wait…oh, my God, Larson lifted the actual letter of it too. And she knew it even as she denied it! And she and her friends mocked Dorland all the while….
And yet…the premise of the short story is Larson’s own. The inspiration for it is so understandable, especially for a writer: The complicated, ambiguous Dorland provides such rich fodder. How many of us began forming our own versions of a potential story in our heads based on her extravagant actions even before we knew what was to unfold?
Then Kolker draws our attention to a new thread, there all along and so obvious, and yet one you may not even have been aware of: the hot-button issue of race and the role it might have played in this story. He’s dropping more bread crumbs for us to gobble up, leading us further into the woods.
These are the facts of this strange case. They are true, and compelling all on their own. But it’s Kolker who is steadily drawing you into this bizarre, unsteady web. He isn’t extemporizing or sermonizing about any of it. He simply lets the characters reveal themselves through their actions, reactions, behavior, words—he shows, rather than tells. And yet he is the architect of that web, the one who has spun its threads into the solid structure that snares us.
Who is the wronged victim here? Is there one? Kolker never answers the question or leads you to an answer—he spins his riveting tale and leaves you to decipher its meaning. Days after reading it, many of us can’t stop thinking about it, talking about it, puzzling through its Byzantine twists and turns, its layers, all of its nuance.
Kolker lays out his premise right in the title: “Who Is the Bad Art Friend?” And yet he doesn’t force-feed you his own answer. He simply spins the thread and leaves you to answer that question for yourself.
He’s carefully, deliberately taken us on a journey—a journey that stays with you long after you’ve finished it. But in fact we may never have even noticed he was traveling at our side every step of the way, subtly directing our route.
And that, writer friends, is the work of a brilliant storyteller.
How about you, authors—what captured you about this story? Is there a side to be taken, or is this story too full of gray area, no hero, no villain? Were you as taken with the way the story is told as with the story itself?
Tiffany Yates Martin has spent nearly thirty years as an editor in the publishing industry, working with major publishers and NYTimes, WaPo, WSJ, and USA Today bestselling, award-winning authors as well as indie and newer writers, and is the founder of FoxPrint Editorial and author of the Amazon bestseller Intuitive Editing: A Creative and Practical Guide to Revising Your Writing. She leads workshops and seminars for conferences and writers’ groups across the country and is a frequent contributor to writers’ sites and publications. Under the pen name Phoebe Fox, she’s the author of six novels.
Small point of correction: Sonya’s small, private writing group is called The Chunky Monkeys. GrubStreet, where Sonya is employed and where several members of the Chunky Monkeys sometimes teach classes, is a huge nonprofit writing organization with thousands of members.
Beautifully illustrating that even editors need editing–thanks very much for the correction, Mark. I’ll see if WU will make the update.
Tiffany
hadn’t seen or heard of this. (Ouch!) Will read, of course.
Writers can get away with this in a short story. That kind of punch and draw is one of the great capabilities of the form.
Question: could this be done in a novel? Would readers stand for it? The closest kind I can think of is the anti-hero novel of the 70s and 80s. Would this fly today?
I think so. Look at Gone Girl, which was equally adept at keeping us off balance with Nick and Amy, with lots of gray area maintained throughout the story–all the way through the end, in fact. I remember the first time I read it sitting with it after I finished and trying to think through who was the worst of the two in their horrific crucible they stayed trapped in.
Thanks for the interesting point, Tom.
I love your analysis of this story. I was absolutely sucked in to the salaciousness of it all, but I hadn’t contemplated how the story was told. There’s an excellent writing lesson here. Thank you.
Thanks, Liza. I’m constitutionally unable not to analyze EVERYTHING for its story components. :) Kolker offered such juicy material to do that with. And I always think dissecting how other authors tell a story is one of the most effective things a writer can do for her own storytelling skills.
Thanks for this post, Tiffany. Yes, I was taken by the story telling as well as the story itself. The author told the story with great skill and the narrative style was effective. There were several points in the story where my sympathies shifted. It was almost like reading a great novel where your view of the protagonist changes. As an active participant in three writing groups, I reflected on how sometimes we mask our true feelings about an author’s work so as not to hurt their feelings. We try to be diplomatic. In fact, one of my colleagues quite a writer’s group because a fellow member had harshly criticized her work without providing any substantiation or elaboration for her opinion. In this case, I believe there was fault on both sides. Sonya displayed a lack of transparency and honesty, but Dawn could have handled the situation better. In the end, they both suffered tremendously and I don’t believe it had to go that way. It is a cautionary tale with many dimensions. Every fiction writer should read this story. Thanks again for this post.
Love this analysis–and I just realized what you meant below (teach me to answer comments out of order).
I thought the way Kolker orchestrated our reactions–or at least set us up for them–with his unspooling of the story was almost breathtaking.
One thing that impressed me so much about this piece is how that heightens what’s already a compelling, ambiguous story, as you pointed out: There’s SO MUCH juicy moral gray area here, and I agree with you–I think no one is blameless, and it sure does illustrate how things can go so badly.
Thoughtful observations–thanks for sharing.
Correction: quit a writer’s group
Do you mean that’s your take on the piece? I have to say that I’ve overwhelmingly found support, camaraderie, and warmth from the writing community. But yes, I’ve also been in the kind of group that can get derailed by a negative, unconstructive approach. But I still think a good one can offer phenomenal value to an author.
Thanks for the comment, CG.
I should clarify. I have also found great support and friendship in writer’s groups. That was not my take. My point was that some critics hold back while others have no filter. In Sonya’s case, she had some negative opinions about Dawn, but did not share her feelings directly with her. Perhaps my example wasn’t on point with the story. I should have made my point more clearly.
I think you made your point well, actually–that was my misunderstanding for jumping ahead in comments and not reading your first one first.
I was that kid in class who wound up unnecessarily taking the test where the opening instructions said you don’t have to take the test–remember that thing? :) I am a notorious jumper-ahead.
And yes, I agree–especially as an editor–that how we deliver our feedback is as important as the feedback itself. Destructive, negative feedback can do so much harm to an author and her writing, and serves no one but the commenter.
This situation is definitely a hot mess, and I agree with your assessment of the skill of the writer who exposed it, although I have to wonder if Kolker could have been a bit more concise. You really had to WANT to read a story this long, something I barely managed to accomplish.
While neither of the main parties involved sound like people I would want to tip a glass with, for me the bottom line is that one writer blatantly plagiarized another, and then went on to mock that writer within her own writing clique (who joined in the mockery).
That’s just plain shitty, and tips the scales for me. One writer was simply annoying; the other crossed the line into flat-out evil behavior, with the support of her own little “mean girls” group. Truly some icky stuff here.
That’s the part that sticks in my craw so much too, Keith–not just the blatant plagiarism, but the lies about it, and then the justifications, and then the mockery.
I did find the piece long, but not too long, for me. I actually enjoyed being taken on the roller coaster ride, and had that feeling you get with the most engaging books of wishing it wouldn’t end too soon.
This is as subjective a business as any there is. That’s another facet of this story I think is so fascinating–the strong emotions it elicits not just about the details of the story itself, but even about Kolker’s telling of it.
Was it Oscar Wilde who said, “There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about”? Kolker (and Larson and Dorland) have no worries there at the moment.
Thanks for weighing in.
“While neither of the main parties involved sound like people I would want to tip a glass with, for me the bottom line is that one writer blatantly plagiarized another, and then went on to mock that writer within her own writing clique (who joined in the mockery).”
This captures my feelings exactly. I’m so bothered by the pure, unadulterated mean-girlness of it all.
Yeah, that was one of the parts that heightened stakes, for me, on a storytelling level–the mean-spiritedness of those emails. Plus I hate that it plays into negative stereotypes of back-stabby writers’ groups. Some are…many aren’t, in my experience. This one was pretty unfortunate, judging from those comments.
As Barbara already said, thanks to Keith for perfectly capturing my horrified feeling about it!
if kolker was such a brilliant storyteller why do so many people who have been commenting on social media get the facts wrong, even though they’re right there in the story? many come away thinking dorland is suing larson as part of her attention-seeking narcissism, yet larson sued first for defamation because dorland had the audacity to call her out for plagiarism. had they settled this out of court, had larson not continued to insist she didn’t steal dorland’s letter outright, none of us would know this story.
at the heart of this story is a legal issue that kolker never fully explains, and in fact muddies with an emotional drama and narrative misdirection that causes readers feel more than think. it’s been called “a rorschach piece” but in an actual ink blot the two halves are equal, and to make the two sides equal in this story kolker must make them equally unlikeable. that’s great for fiction but not for reportage.
thornier are the comments of readers who see larson as a writer doing what writers do – drawing inspiration from life – and dorland as a wannabe stalker (a term applied to larson by another writer in her group, which kolker accepts as a land mine he happily allows readers to step on) who is unpublished and therefore not really a writer. is that really the takeaway we as writers want to see from a “great storyteller?”
the deeper, darker, untold story here is how dorland struggled to reclaim something personal from a small army of writers and organizations looking to preserve their images and brands, underscoring not so much “the donor and the borrower” (the title the story appears under in the nyt sunday magazine) but more like “the outsider and the writers clique” involving celeste ng and her chunky monkeys and their proxies doing everything within their power in the social media sphere to stoke the fires against the unpublished and undeserving dorland. larson has a team of agents and PR people and friends in high places actively creating #teamlarson with no coordinated #teamdorland on the other side because, well, she’s not really a writer and doesn’t have a team circling the wagons to keep her protected. as writers, it’s a chilling message that kolker, himself part of the establishment, doesn’t dispel in the name of “brilliant” writing.
finally, many have come away from the story finding both parties unlikeable. i’d add kolker to that for creating a piece of journalism that succeeds only through ambiguity and omission. his contempt for both sides shows an ugliness of character.
“ a term applied to larson by another writer in her group” should read “a term applied to dorland by another writer in larson’s group”
I can’t speak to its factuality–I haven’t fact-checked it, though I do see that the NY Times is pretty diligent about that, and promptly issues corrections if warranted.
But on a strictly storytelling level, the fact that you (and many others) have strong feelings about this article illustrates part of why I think it succeeds so well. It engaged readers deeply (for better or worse, depending on your point of view).
And as you pointed out, Kolker doesn’t dictate our reactions: though as you say, people might “come away thinking” certain things about the two players and their actions, I don’t think it’s because of any misdirection on the author’s part. He lays it out and lets us interpret. I think that’s such a powerful example of the ability of story to involve and engage, and for good storytellers to draw us in.
There’s definitely much to be disturbed by in this tale. Thanks for weighing in.
Fascinating profile indeed of two complicated personalities and the brutal struggle writing can be. Great now to go back and look at the masterful structure of the article. Robert Kolker’s story reminded me of a theme brilliantly portrayed in T. Boyle Coraghessan’s novel, East is East: the underbelly of writing groups…the raw competition, the painful insecurity of the unrecognized, the adulation and star treatment awarded to the commercially successful, the backbiting and cliques. Thank you, Tiffany, for reminding us to look at just how he stitched together his story.
Thanks, Jeanne. As soon as I finished reading this story I couldn’t wait to dissect its structure too. :)
Among many things I find upsetting about this story is the way it paints writers groups, unfortunately. I’ve definitely experienced negative ones, but by far have encountered much more positive and constructive support from the writing community. I worry this spotlights the worst of the damage one can do when it devolves into infighting and envy and cliques. But caveat emptor, I guess–maybe it’ll help writers be more open-eyed about finding a good group for themselves.
Thanks for the comments.
Tiffany, deft explanation of the subtlety with which Kolker stages the story, and how that succession of flipped cards builds intrigue. Great comments too—thanks.
Thanks, Tom! I had a flat-out ball analyzing why this story felt so effective to me (analyzing story is pretty much my favorite pastime). Glad you liked it.
Celeste Ng, a member of the Chunky Monkeys and is quoted in the piece, tweets repeatedly that Dorland pitched the story to Kolker. That blunts it somewhat for me. He’s manipulating the reader much like a reality show. What is the truth?
Interesting point…! I’m not sure that changes things for me, though. I didn’t get the idea that he was taking sides (part of what I liked about his approach, actually), wherever the suggestion came from.
Good one. I enjoyed—without really thinking about it—the way the Times story played with my head. I have known people very much like Dawn, and was prepared to make her the villain. And then I changed my mind. Good writing on Kolker’s part. And good work on your part for showing us what he was doing. I’m sticking that story in my “How to Write Good” folder.
:D Love that folder title…
Yeah, that’s what struck me too right away–how he plays with our assumptions. I am unable in general not to analyze stories–it’s like a patellar reflex for me. :)
Thanks for stopping by, Michael.
Court documents show letter from Kolker to Sonya where he assures her the story will be pitched to favor her viewpoint. “Above all it seems to me that this case is about an artist who became the target of a protracted effort to discredit her work, and who is now fighting to preserve control over her creative life.” And Kolker does indeed work to excuse Sonya while portraying Dawn as needy and unbalanced. Screencap in this tweet: https://twitter.com/NY_popcorn/status/1447671480200929283
Fascinating! Here’s what struck me about the letter: “As I hope you will see from my other work, I do not come into stories as a judge and jury. My goal is to understand the complexities of a situation and help people understand what it must be like to be experiencing it.”
It’s interesting to me to see that some people feel this was a hit job on Dawn Dorland. What I took from the piece–and tried to convey in mine, looking only at the story itself and analyzing its elements as craft–is that whatever his intentions or his own opinion, I didn’t feel he favored either side, but rather let the characters show who they are through their actions and words and let readers form their own conclusions.
But as I mentioned in a previous comment, art is subjective. Another powerful element of the story, to me, is how much and how fervently people are thinking and talking about it, even a week later.
Thanks for adding your perspective!
Hi,
Here is a link to a piece by one writer who interprets Kolker’s withholding of certain facts (until the end) and lack of chronology as manipulative:
https://rottenindenmark.org/2021/10/10/identifying-the-bad-art-friend-is-easy/
Oh, and in the New Yorker’s reporting of this (Katy Waldman’s The Short Story at the Center of the “Bad Art Friend” Saga) salacious issue, parts of Larson’s story are quoted and the writing is bad to the point of being cringe-worthy. Also, Waldman suggests that there is a difference between writing about another person and writing about another writer’s life. The latter amounts to a theft of the other writer’s material.
Personally, I agree with yet another writer (I don’t remember who said this) who concluded that the story and letter are foils and the issue has morphed way beyond plagiarism of a letter. The incident is really about two people who used the vehicles available to them to express their feelings about the other; Larson, who appears to have deliberately portrayed her colleague as a character in her story and Dorland, who made seemingly extreme retaliatory efforts, at the onset, to destroy Larson’s career. It’s like watching a gladiators battle to the death . . .
That’s a thought-provoking take on it, Joanne. I did infer a personal element of…well, if not attack then certainly mockery in Larson’s approach to the character in her story, as described in the article. For me I didn’t see that in Dorland–she does seem genuinely hurt and outraged by it, in my view…but I also got an impression of her desire for attention.
On a strictly “story” level, independent of everything else, this one is just chock-full of the meaty gray areas that make for riveting characters, of conflict and tension, and of that gradual peeling of the onion that leads readers into a story. I can’t speak to whether it was manipulative of the facts, but as far as the “manipulation” of a good storyteller drawing readers into his tale, this to me is one hell of an example of that.
Thanks for your thoughts, and the links.
For me, the larger issue is including a person from your own life in a story, with very little variation or disguise. It’s one thing to do it with prior notice and permission, another to do it without either of those things, but to then make that character a subject of ridicule crosses an ethical line for me. If she hadn’t wanted others to know whom she intended to ridicule, there were lots of ways to change it without compromising the point of her story. The email exchanges that came out late in the process, and which Kolker properly (and cleverly) withholds until late in the piece, reveal her true intentions and reflect badly on Larson and the CM group, and I say that as someone who has taken classes with many of them gone to one of their book readings. It’s just not OK, whatever you think of Dorland’s behavior.
Agreed. And yes, I think you’re right that that the way Kolker unfolds that–much as it unfolded in life, in fact–is part of what lets it pack extra punch.
Just so much about this story that’s fascinating to me–uncomfortable, disturbing…but fascinating. Thanks for chiming in, Bob.
What interests me is how the article has, in effect, tried the case in the court of public opinion, with an apparently hung jury… the ping-pong effect of the story construction, as first one person seems to be in the right, and then the other, feels like the arguments for the prosecution and defense…
That’s what struck me too–among other things. And how viscerally and powerfully people are responding to it, on either side. It’s struck such a chord–it hits right at such delicate, charged areas for authors. Thanks for your thoughts, Gabi.
Not to defend the mean girls — or maybe I do want to defend them since I have certainly done my time in that world — but there are some people whose behavior can make you so crazy that before you know it you are nonstop trashing her and almost praying for her to keep being outrageous in order to keep that dumpster fire burning. (Remind you of anyone?) It can be very difficult to step back and realize your own role and extricate yourself from the mess without then drawing criticism down upon yourself for raining on the parade. Group behavior.
Agreed. Isn’t that how politics has been pitting us against one another so furiously? It’s one of so many things I thought Kolker illuminated so well in the article. Thanks for your thoughts, Maria. And your frankness. :)
One of the things that strikes me the most about this situation is that real life inspires the fictional worlds we create. So from now, will we be scrutinized if someone appears out of nowhere and says they see themselves in our characters or stories? For example, I’m writing a story inspired by a woman I met briefly. I always wondered why a person who seemed to have everything anyone could want would be so bitter and angry with the world. So in trying to sort this out, I began writing, exploring what could have happened in her life to make her that way. Real life feeds our stories. My protagonist is a little bit of several people I know, even a little of myself. But what would stop someone from saying, “You stole my personal story?” I think this incident opens a whole can of worms that may stifle some stories in the future. All creators should follow this situation. The outcome may set precedent that dictates how we tell stories.
That’s an interesting point, Maria. I agree that we can be more and more nervous about what some people might accuse us of after reading our books.
Yes…! This is the troubling question at the center of the article, to me. I am currently on my way home from a writers’ retreat where so many of the ideas for authors’ stories came from moments like that–a situation, a spark, the “what-if.” Isn’t that what storytelling so often is? And that’s why I think the post lingers with us–the way Kolker relates it lets us see that in the ripe-for-what-if-scenario of Dorland’s donation and her distinct personality and behavior. What writer doesn’t hear something like that and start unspooling possibilities in her head? I did as I started reading–and then he peels back the next layer, and the next, making us question our assumptions and assessments with every new revelation.
As one of the writers in our group this week pointed out–a lawyer–people seem to be conflating the legal and ethical issues in the article. Independent of the plagiarism element of the story, that “where’s the line” question about the ethics of “borrowing” elements of a real-life story is what we spent a lot of discussion time on this week. With no concrete answers. I don’t know if there is one. Thanks, Maria (and Mary) for the thoughts.
Thanks for this insightful post. I was not aware of what was going on between those two writers. What a mess. You are right about how well the NYT story was written, letting us come to our own conclusions. Neither side of the dispute is blameless, and that seems to be the nature of humanity. We are all flawed and sometimes do things without fully thinking out the consequences.
The internet now allows people to act spontaneously, which only exasperates an already volatile situation. I remember when we used to have to write a letter of protest about something. Often, just writing it out was enough and we never had to mail it.
True! And then you had the time to take a breath and think about it.
I do think what you point out–that neither side is blameless–is part of why this story feels so absorbing. So much juicy (for story) gray area. Thanks for stopping by, Maryann.
Thank you for this, Tiffanny. I hadn’t been aware of the article but read eagerly on your recommendation. Fascinating to see the way each woman’s strengths and associated shadows seemed to be playing out: Dawn’s incredible generosity coupled with her need to be seen and appreciated; Sherry’s sharp-eyed talent for seeing others’ blind spots coupled with the inhumane sharpness of how she wields that talent. Loved how Kolker dropped the line about blind spots very early. Also interesting to consider the mostly invisible third character who seems to be profiting most from turning people’s failings into story. You’re spot on to celebrate Kolker’s skill. He obviously was playing entirely above board and doing sound reporting but — as with much reporting on human drama — his success hinges on his sources’ suffering. And is it weird given some of the context about privilege and race that the most successful player in this whole thing is the white dude and the institution of the NYT? I’m definitely not saying he shouldn’t profit but doesn’t it just add to the tragedy? And what to make of exhibitionism and voyeurism? The generosity exhibitionist wants an audience and cultivates it on social media. A voyeur takes it in and makes art of it but not in a way the exhibitionist wants. And now all of us get to be voyeurs to the fallout.
Final slightly off-topic connection: have you seen Nina Paley’s TED talk “Copyright is Brain Damage?” An interesting accompaniment to all of this fascinating discussion.
Thanks again, Tiffany!
Phew, that’s an insightful assessment, Aaron. (No surprise from you.) Funny you bring this up too–I was in a writers group discussion this week where that exact point about the author himself was raised–one that hadn’t been apparent to me. I’m still working out my thoughts on that–as a former journalist and a lover of good reporting, I think if a writer sees an interesting story and does a fair and factual and ethical job of reporting it, it’s fair game. But there’s gray area here too, as you and some others have pointed out. I need to ponder that some more. (And yet more evidence of the effectiveness of this piece, to me–how many strata there are to mine into, how long it lingers with readers.)
So good to see your name here. Thanks for the comment.
As a writer, one important takeaway is how Larson’s desire to “take down” Dawn Dorland harmed Larson’s story and may end her writing career. Not only did she make the donor character in the story unpleasant and somehow racist, she made an astonishingly large list of blatant factual errors about the whole kidney donation process, starting with an active alcoholic receiving a donor organ (surgeons drinking champagne over her bed? What the hell, Sonya?) Among one of the many deep ironies in this story is that the person with the information to make Sonya’s story reflect reality was Dawn, but Sonya didn’t want to listen to Dawn about organ donation, she just wanted to slam Dawn for being “needy.” Larson also did a major disservice to the “dialysis community” (family and friends of those engaged in the agonizing wait for a kidney donor) by not researching the story and seriously misrepresenting how donor-recipient communication happens (or doesn’t.)
Such a petty, easy avoidable thing to hang your writing career on.
The suggestion that Larson might have had the intention of “taking down” Dorland stuck in my craw too. I do think as writers we take on issues/behaviors we want to shine a light on and show the dirty underbelly…but to direct that at a specific person is part of what feels mean-spirited to me (if it was indeed her intention).
I haven’t read Larson’s story outside of the bits quoted in the article (I think in the New Yorker) cited in one of the comments above that examines it–but I did hear it was flawed in some of the areas you mention. And yes, a damned shame if it might discourage organ donation, or misrepresent it. (That said, it’s fiction, and in fiction I’m prone to accept some artistic license of the strict facts.)
And your point about authors trying to hamper one another’s careers sure does hit a chord too. The whole thing feels “icky,” to use a technical term. :) But damned if it isn’t a fascinating train wreck. Thanks so much for your thoughts, Jennifer.
This is a great example of how media will take a story from another outlet and run with it, without confirming the facts first. Dorland did this, Dorland did that — all according to Sonya Laron and Celeste Ng, and believed by Bob Kolker and his editors.
Oh sure. …. Multilayered brush strokes, and all — but he specifically has said this is journalism.
The piece is so distorted when you look at the actual court documents.
And as I see one Writer after another get things wrong about this, the madder I get.
And you know what? With the current American lack of attention span, this crap gets promoted and then forgotten — but filed away, ready to ruin lives.
Media pile-ons are nothing new, and everyone wants and needs the clicks. But just remember those clicks exact a price from real people.
This story was only brilliant in that it clarified who exactly was willing to believe Kolker’s distortion of the timeline. Kolker also interviewed a number of Larson’s writerly friends who conveyed Larson’s version of what was happening.
I worked in news for a long, long time. This was not journalism, it was a hit piece. And the fact that so many Writerly Writers fell for it is just crushing. This is why fake news proliferates.
And I’m about as left as it gets. I don’t use that term casually.
Here, it applies.