Sarah

A year or two ago, there was a sort of mid-level scandal in the publishing world when, at around the same time, it was revealed that James Frey, the author of A Million Little Pieces, had palmed off as a factual memoir what was, in reality, an almost total fabrication, and that J.T. LeRoy, the author of Sarah and The Heart Is Deceitful above All Things, was not, in fact, the bizarre, very young, camera-shy homosexual man that was presented to the public, but instead a woman in her thirties named Laura Albert. I'd read A Million Little Pieces a year or so before it was exposed as fiction - no; "fiction" does it an undeserved credit - before it was exposed as a load of horsefeathers, and for my own part, recognized it before I was halfway through as the tissue of feeble, self-glorifying lies it could not have been other than. I'd also read Sarah several years earlier, and although I certainly considered Mr. LeRoy a very odd character, I never saw any meaningful reason to doubt his existence, or even give it any thought. It wasn't an issue. Sarah remains one of the four or five greatest American novels of the past ten years, and whether it was written by J.T. LeRoy, Laura Albert, or a monkey hitting random keys on a typewriter, it's a flat-out masterpiece. George Eliot wasn't really a man. The Ramones weren't really brothers. Dr. Seuss did not, in reality, hold a valid medical license. You may even be shocked to learn that my name isn't actually zarpex. But for some reason, J.T. LeRoy is called a hoax. Authorial identity is one of the crutches available to the aesthetically crippled. Few people, it pains me to say, possess the faculties even to understand what they like or dislike. The majority would wince at a glass of wine poured from a bottle labeled "Gallo" and rhapsodize over the same wine poured from a bottle labeled "Chateau Lafite." If Toni Morrison were to be revealed in tomorrow's newspapers as a wealthy Caucasian, her writing would suddenly be recognized as the facile twaddle it has always been, and its newly identified creator would be hanged from the nearest tree by the 1993 Nobel Prize for literature. If anything, the invention of J.T. LeRoy should be regarded as a creative accomplishment unto itself, stranger and more complex than Ziggy Stardust (which, for all its endurance, was really little more than a pseudonym), possessing both an absurdity and a plausibility that stands toe-to-toe with Borat. And is it not possible that Laura Albert could not have written her books without creating an alternate character to speak through? Wagner had to dress in period costume to compose; Brian Wilson, whose feet, as far as I know, have yet to touch a surfboard, compensated by resting them in a box of sand when he sat at the piano to write. A misfortune of timing lumped an important work of art together with a piece of crude literary onanism, and our culture is the weaker for it. Do yourself a favor if

I found this work to be moving, poetic and original. A year later I still find myself thinking about it. As I see it, the brouhaha about the author's identity is irrelevant. The book is not offered up as a memoir. It's presented and sold as fiction. So whether or not you approve of the author's behavior, there's actually no literary scam to speak of. I don't know about the rest of you, but when I read Sarah, it sure seemed like fiction to me--and extraordinary fiction at that. Instead of hounding the author, we should be encouraging this rare and extraordinary talent to write more.

JT LeRoy's novel Sarah is the most sincere and heartbreakingly beautiful book i have ever read and i'm emotionally paralyzed. Sarah, is a semi-autobiographical book based heavily on Mr. Leroy himself. Sarah is the name of the protagonist's mother who by the way is a truck stop [prostitute] and doesn't want anyone to find out that she's a mother, but Sarah is also the name of the protagonist, i for one think its better than the one his kind pimp gave him "Cherry Vanilla". So here's the clincher Cherry Vanilla is this twelve year-old boy slash girl slash truck stop [prostitute] (or lizard as they are called in the book and in the south) slash saint. It may sound overwhelming but trust me Mr. Leroy is a genius he takes all these crazy characters and puts them in a burlap sack and shakes it up to make it come together into this beautiful written story. Besides everything thing that happens to Cherry Vanilla slash Sarah you can't help but think that there is something more deeper than a thirteen year-old boy slash girl turned truck stop [prostitute] and saint, but just a thirteen year old boy scared who just wants to be with his mother. To tell you the truth after reading this book it made me want to find my mother and hug her. Caution this book isn't for the weak hearted and elderly there is a lot of provocative material written in this book. But read it anyway, trust me, i never lie.

For those who have yet to hear of JT Leroy or his book, SARAH, you are missing out on one of the most amazing new voices in literature. With as haunting of a voice as Carson McCullers and with an edge to rival Harry Crews, JT Leroy writes with an intensity that will make you want to savor the small book over days rather than devour it in one sitting. And, with the depth of the characters and theme, you might find it impossible to make it a quick read, instead finding it best to consider, review and read slowly.Drawing from the experiences of his 20 years, Leroy is able to put together a story so surreal that you know it is awash in truth, yet also know that it is a world unique and foreign to most readers. Or is it? As JT Leroy tackles some of his own demons he quietly challeges the reader to do the same. The one thing to know going in is -- you will find yourself craving something else from this deep, beautiful, and wounded heart. I was at once reminded of John Kennedy Toole's NEON BIBLE. Both of these books left me craving more. With Leroy, at least we are likely to get our wish!

Kidding aside, "SARAH" is a treasure. I read a LOT, some junk, but a lot of classics and recommended stuff, and I owe a BIG HUG to the buddy who put me on to SARAH. After I read the first chapter, there was no holding me back. This story about a sweet-natured young boy who's just on the brink of teen-age could be about any of my own younger brothers - except that they didn't dress up in their mother's clothing or have the same desire to please men sexually. Yet, he's just a good kid and I kept cheering for him to survive the tough adventure he chose to prove his manhood...Yep, that's how he's like my kid brothers, who were always doing dangerous stunts to prove they were real guys. What a fabulous book!