Decades before I turned an author, I was a reader and remain one to this day. I’m usually the sort who reads a book from cover to cover, not bothering about the author–but that’s changed with the years. I’ve learned more about authors through interviews, talks, panels.
Recently, I heard unpleasant, devastating facts/ accusations about two authors whose work I’ve admired: the much-lauded Neil Gaiman and Nobel laureate Alice Munro. I’ve grown up reading their work, watching their interviews, quoting their words. Idolizing them, in short.
Neil Gaiman has been accused of abuse by at least two women. While nothing has been proven, he agrees to having relations with his nanny, 40 years his junior, who has ‘a mental illness that creates false memories.’ I doubt her ability to give free consent.
Munro has been accused posthumously of ignoring the fact that her partner abused her teenage daughter. She chose to return to live with a pedophile.
It’s made me think even more about how we think of artists and art. Picasso. All of the #MeToo accused worldwide. Woody Allen.
The reading world seems divided into two camps:
–the ones who say that it doesn’t matter what the artist was up to–what matters is the art. Just because Munro shielded an abuser, or Woody Allen committed abuse, doesn’t mean their art loses value.
–others who say that they would never consume art by the said artist again.
I propose a third (possibly less convenient) option: examine the art, continue to read it for MFAs or other degrees, but this time, examine it with the lens of the awareness of the author’s life. A lot of very moving art comes from broken, un-wholesome people with talent and skill choosing to examine their decisions, or even to confess their sins. Those familiar with Allen or Munro’s work will not have to look far to see the author/ filmmaker wrestling with their darkness.
While not everyone who writes/ creates stories that deal with darkness are basing their work on their own failings, it is time to understand and acknowledge that some do, and that they can be the very best we have. That an artist is not god, that writing compassionate fiction does not automatically make an artist compassionate, or moral. That we need to sit with the deep discomfort of knowing that some of the artists/ authors/ actors/ filmmakers we admire might have devastating, hideous failings.
I can’t lie that my first reaction to such kind of news (sadly Gaiman and Munro are not the first nor will be the last) is always a searing feeling of betrayal–I’m not immune to being charmed by an artist’s talent.
Despite working as a full-time trad-published author, though, I’m coming to understand that just as darkness in a story doesn’t equate to darkness in the storyteller, talent and vulnerability doesn’t necessarily equal compassion and morals.
I’m in awe of Munro’s daughter who came forward with these accusations despite decades of nay-saying and suppression. And I think her decision to make public the entire dark truth of her mother’s dark legacy is wise.
“I never wanted to see another interview, biography or event that didn’t wrestle with the reality of what had happened to me, and with the fact that my mother, confronted with the truth of what had happened, chose to stay with, and protect, my abuser.“
There is not, and there will never be, any doubt of Munro’s talent. Same is the case with Gaiman.
I’ll refrain from commenting on Gaiman’s legacy because the accusations against him are as yet unproven.
In Munro’s case, however, I’m glad that her dark secret came to light. All her stories must be read again with the knowledge of the brutal choices she made in her own life. I intend to read Corrie again today, or even better still, listen to this narration and commentary of it by Margaret Atwood.
As a reader, if there’s any lesson I’m taking from this entire debacle, it is to stop putting humans on a pedestal based on their talent alone. Idolization helps no one.
As an author, I aspire to live the sort of life that hurts no one. Tall order, I know, and I’m too puny an author to leave behind a legacy. I can keep trying, though. Life is work-in-progress, after all, and if anyone cares to think of me after I’m gone, I hope it isn’t with the absolute, gobsmacked disillusionment I feel at the moment about Alice Munro.
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What about you? What would your reaction be if you found out that your favorite author was an abuser, was complicit in abuse, or the culprit in some other crime? Are you willing and able to separate the artist from their art?
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“When it comes to art, it is important to not hide the madness.” -Atticus
But as you say, I struggled to reconcile my love for Frank Herbert’s work with his homophobia, my love of Lou Reid’s music with his bigotry and abuse to women. I like your option: if the work has merrit, if it speaks to the reader (listener) then the work will survive. The victims must be heard. The guilty must deal with the consequences their actions. We must normalize survivors being heard and encourage abusers/enablers to seek help a path to restoring the survivors. Or, at least, a lesson to others against allowing success and privilege to enbolden bad behavior.
Yes, absolutely. Fame, popularity, and talent shouldn’t be an excuse to cause harm to others without reaping the consequences.
Interesting discussion Damyanti. I’m familiar with those recent headlines. As a memoir writer, I can say that our stories aren’t always flowers and roses because things happen to us and, I know that many of my readers are like me, in that they want to know, or relate to something that may be famiiar and looking for some kind of hopeful resolution. And you know what they say, ‘there’s truth in fiction’. Many write fiction from pieces of their own lives, and also because they may not want to publicly own their own stories. Also, many artists from past days were depressed, as are many creatives, such as comedians. It’s surprising how many comedians cover their depression in humor – like Robin Williams. As for Munro, it wouldn’t stop me from reading her books, in fact, I’d read her stories with ‘different eyes’. Also, I love the art of two batshit crazy talented lovers – Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera. Diego cheated on every woman he was with, including Frida. And they remain famous. 🙂 <3
Thank you for sharing, Debby! You’re right, our lives are filled with ups and downs, the pleasant and the unpleasant, and the dark insides concealed within the bright exterior. And hope is so important. Truth and fiction do intertwine, and picking out the parallels between fantasy and reality provides such an interesting perspective when looking at our own lives and environments. As for what you said about Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera, I agree — their personal lives and problems don’t make them any less talented.
Thank you Damyanti. I do believe you and I are on the ‘same page’. 🙂 xx
This is a tough one. I find the reactions to JK Rowling difficult too in this gender critical arena. And Nabakov’s Lolita as you read into the mind of the abuser.
I think your third way is a good way but our heroes can always be fallible.
Very true, as sad as it is to admit.
I usually can separate the two. Take Kevin Spacey, for example. He is an immensely talented actor, yet has had myriad sexual misconduct charges levelled against him. I read recently that he was acquitted, but the public likely won’t accept him in any new roles, regardless. Alice Munro’s daughter should have confronted her mother while she was still alive. I don’t think that takes away from Munro’s brilliant works.
I’m definitely working on separating the two, what with my growing list of literary idols whose actions are coming to light. In order to save myself from further devastation, I’d like to appreciate the genius of the work without becoming too attached to the author.
Talent and success, I feel, are a combination of many factors. The bottom line is that there should be some retribution for your deeds. No matter how talented or popular one may be, they cannot be allowed to walk on this earth without consequences. Especially, when they are someone who have the power to influence generations. Or else, we are sending some very wrong messages. That’s how I see it. Although, I do feel that such revelations must be made in one’s lifetime. How else will we ensure poetic justice? Or, is it a concept only for books?
Absolutely. And yet, there are so many instances where poetic justice never comes and wrongdoings are overlooked. In a world where injustice is often an unfortunate reality, it can often feel so disheartening and even dystopian to watch as fame and popularity becomes an excuse for bad behavior.
This is an interesting debate, art is something that comes from the soul of a person. It’s possible that there’s much in the art world that’s created by people who according to the standards of society are fallen short of what it expects. The difference comes when we know more, the narrative changes.
If we looked even deeper into these lives we may find more that changes the narrative again. The value of the art depends on those consuming it and some will say I won’t touch it again and that’s fine, some may disagree – is that also fine. Does it mean that if someone still values that art agrees with what they’re done? I don’t think it’s that simple… Humanity is a melting pot of all kinds of thing whether we like it or not – it just depends on what we know and don’t know about a person and is that person their art and is their art that person. Again it’s not that simple.
I really appreciate your comment. I found it incredibly insightful and interesting, and I couldn’t help nodding along as I read it. The narrative really is so fluid. Not only is it made up of the threads and stories of countless people, but it also takes so many different forms depending on the individual, the situation, the time, and so on. Everything is so subjective, and everyone will have their own opinion. I think it’s a matter of staying true to one’s personal morals and values, and taking actions in line with that.
That is indeed what we should do, I’m glad you found it useful. I think perhaps there’s too many unfounded opinions these days.
I think art is an expression of the artist their philosophy in life their belief system personality and they express it through the use of characters in their stories that depict these traits and the characters that express the opposite show their dislikes.
That’s an interesting way of looking at it, thank you for sharing, Ian!
My first reaction is that that I am willing and able to separate the artist from their art. However, on second thought it has some importance to me depending on what kind of flaw is in question. I’ve stopped enjoying some authors because I’ve found out things about them that offends me. I don’t care if someone is a drunk, hypocrite, has a nasty temper or has the wrong political opinions (from my perspective) but a child abuser that’s too much. Knowing about certain things can effect your enjoyment of the art. If you don’t know, well that’s different, and often I don’t know.
Agreed, it’s difficult to read a creator’s work with the same feelings of appreciation after finding out certain characteristics and aspects of their lives.
I can separate some stuff as their personal life isn’t their art. There are a few times when it’s bad enough that I will pull back, possibly not give them my money anymore. And sometimes they step out and bravely say something that makes me respect them more.
Yes, I try to do the same. I will still appreciate the genius within their books, but separating the writers from their writing is something I really need to work on.
It’s almost better to know little or nothing about an author if I love their works. Often the knowledge is disappointing because the real human being seems dull or too different from the characters they’ve created. So I guess I favour separating the art from the artist. If elements I find objectionable appear in an author’s works I would simply not read them.
Unfortunately, that’s so true. The recent discoveries shook me to my core, and I’m now working on separating my love for my favorite books from my perceptions of their authors.
It’s not easy to answer this, Damyanti. Instinctively, I’m more troubled by Woody Allen than by Alice Munro. Is that because he was so much in the public eye and his victims protested his treatment? Or is it that so many of his movies treat sex as a theme, and at least one (Manhattan) portrays him having an affair with a teenager and tries to make it seem perfectly natural? I don’t know. I’ve read few Munro stories, but I don’t remember any that appeared to give sexual abuse a pass. So maybe context matters.
I have no use for cancel culture and would never urge anyone to steer clear of a particular author whose private life failed to meet my standards, assuming I even knew why. I think that’s up to the individual reader. That said, I’ve put aside plenty of books whose political, social, or religious viewpoint rubs me the wrong way.
I also think that historical fiction, my greatest love, falls into a different category altogether. Check out a terrific essay by Brian Morton, titled “Virginia Woolf? Snob! Richard Wright? Sexist! Dostoyevsky? Anti-Semite!” (New York Times, January 8, 2019). He argues that reading fiction published long ago is a time-travel exercise in which you immerse yourself in the culture and views of that era and mustn’t expect the book to fit current notions of what’s proper (or not).
I agree. I never read T. S. Eliot, for instance, without recalling that he was a misogynist and anti-Semite, for starters. Yet I still enjoy his poetry (and also recall that he once invited Groucho Marx to his home; the two had a grand time together). Blanket judgments are easy to make.
Thank you for sharing, I’ll definitely be checking out that essay. And yes, the attitudes and actions of the past, as conveyed in literature, are aspects which often don’t conform to our present standards and understanding of right and wrong. I find such literature so interesting to read, evaluating the differences between then and now and recognizing how powerful books are in capturing the spirit of an age. The same goes for now, with incredible writers being capable of bringing so much life to their stories. But the wrongdoings of the author will always come to mind when I pick up their books, and I’ll forever be reading their work in a different light.
In a somewhat similar vein, some of the funniest standup comedy I’ve ever heard was done by Bill Cosby. The fact that he’s been convicted of multipe sexual assaults doesn’t make his records any less funny. I don’t listen to them anymore, but they’re still funny.
I find it annoying when people criticise authors for holding attitudes that were held by the majority of people in their day. If it’s a current/recent author and they’ve done something bad, I do tend to avoid their work, though.
Yes, the time period and associated societal norms and shared ideas are definitely something to consider.
My question would be: does who they are show in their work? I wouldn’t want to read work that required such behavior to ‘happen.’ At least not knowingly.
And another question: how much more likely is it to be a man than a woman (which makes several prominent cases against women stick out in the collective memory)? Any case is bad, but it seems we live in a world in which it is MUCH more common for women to be victims – citing both kinds of examples can easily give a ‘false equivalency’ which is not true. I know of a couple of cases involving women (often with some kind of male partner), and thousands of cases involving men.
I choose my own reading carefully. I don’t care how well it is written, or whether it is based on reality or just aspirations and imagination, I will never read ‘Lolita.’ I have trouble getting images out of my mind once they get in there – I don’t need to feed the images my imagination makes out of words into my memory.
I’m already struggling with something I’m writing right now – How much is necessary? How detailed does it have to be to have the effect I want? What do I base it on, what knowledge, acquired how, to be true to the story? It’s a big responsibility.
Everyone’s reaction will be based on who THEY are.
I agree. Like you, I feel that it’s a very personal thing, and the types of literature and the authors we choose to read are indicative of that. If someone were to browse through my bookshelves or reading lists, I think they would be able to get a good idea of who I am and how I view the world. With the recent revelations regarding Neil Gaiman and Alice Munro, I’ve been looking at their titles lined up on my shelves and seeing them so differently. I definitely don’t think I’ll stop appreciating their writing, but I know that I need to learn how to detach my perceptions of the authors with the works that they’ve created. You’re right, storytelling can be a huge responsibility.
My honest answer today is that I really don’t know. I have such mixed feelings about it. When I studied literature in college, I was taught to separate the art from the artist, although the author’s bio was important context. But the art had to be approached on its own terms. Then grad school disabused me of that notion. So here I am sitting on the fence!
And it can be so hard to accept that the creators of such beautiful pieces of work may not be the people we expect them to be. Although, I find it so interesting that the relationship between art and artist can be viewed differently, depending on which stage of education we’re in. I wonder why? Thank you for sharing, Liz!
You’re welcome, Damyanti! You asked a very thought-provoking question.
We believe in a litany of freedoms here in the US so I try to let people lead their lives as they will, as long as I too enjoy that right, but I have to say, my list grows exponentially of creators who seem rotten from within. Some I’ve had to turn my back on because they seem to think their popularity means they must remake me in their image. Sigh.
Thankfully, there are so many excellent creators to fill those abandoned shoes!
That’s so sad to hear, I’m very sorry, Jacqui. Unfortunately, my list seems to be growing ever longer, too, and I can’t help the feelings of shock and disappointment which the bad news brings. I definitely need to learn how to detach my expectations and ideals from my literary heroes, and to simply appreciate the beauty of their work. And yes, I’m so grateful for all the wonderful creators still out there!
Hey Damyanti! As an English professor, I have been running into these discussions for a long while. Can we separate the art from the artist? Should we? Should we remove works from shelves because the creators did something we don’t agree with? Do I stop loving Harry Potter because of Rowling? Do I discard all Lovecraftian horror because of Lovecraft? Do I vet every writer I like so they fit in my ideal writerly lifestyle? I know my answer for myself: no.
I want to know what the writer stands for, for sure. I’ll never touch Ayn Rand again (although I’ve read Atlas Shrugged). I don’t want to pass judgment on a messy life lived: they can take care of their own stuff without me reading hot takes about private lives. I would want the same if I became that famous.
Great topic. Thank you for posting!
Thanks for stopping by and sharing your perspective. Personally, I’ll read their work, but with the added knowledge of their lives, and I’ll no longer be able to unequivocally recommend them without also mentioning their life/ failings in the same breath.
This is so difficult. As admirers of the work, we will inevitably feel bad – almost as though we are guilty by association. And it’s difficult not to let the author’s wrong doings tarnish their work for us.
So hard. I’ve been feeling unmoored. I’ve grown up reading Munro, and she was part of my literary sky.