lifespan of a fact opinion report

In The Lifespan of a Fact, John D’Agata and Jim Fingal become an entertaining team to observe from the outside, clashing with one another over their views of a rather precarious essay on the topic of the suicide of Levi Presley that took place at the Stratosphere in Las Vegas in two-thousand-two. D’Agata weaves in information about the suicide rates in Las Vegas, logistics about the Stratosphere, his own time spent working a suicide hotline in the city, and ends the essay with a complete detailed outline of Levi Presley’s hours before jumping off of the Stratosphere. This essay not only discusses the rather obvious and infuriating mistakes and misconceptions D’Agata so casually implements into his writing, but it also debates with itself on what it means to write creative non-fiction, and the undiscussed boundaries that should or should not be crossed in the name of art. Jim argues there should be rules, while D’Agata’s arrogant retorts all but scream his need for creative non-fiction having no limitations at all.

Creative non-fiction has no true definition, yet many perceive it as factually accurate narratives meant to entertain with a creative prose style. In the case of John D’Agata’s essay, some would question his venture into creative non-fiction, as most of his information was fact-checked by Jim Fingal, and shown to be inaccurate, no matter how minor. In one case, D’Agata changed the color of a van: “I needed two beats in ‘purple,’ so I changed the color.” (39) or in another instance, talked about his mother beading jewelry in the other room to make some extra cash, to which Fingal could not confirm because D’Agata “[would] not give [him] her contact information.” (42). While D’Agata talking about his mother probably falls under simple creative prose in order to add more colorful description and background to the essay, his need for changing the color of dog grooming vans earlier on in the essay acknowledges his sense of attaining to a certain rhythm which was slightly unexpected. “We lengthen, shorten, and slur syllables in order to please our sense of rhythm” according to Abram Lipsky’s Rhythm in Prose, (278). With this in mind, I can understand D’Agata’s creativity in this essay, yet, one has to ask, is it truly appropriate with such a topic as suicide? Why not simply write a formal research essay about this topic without trying to implement himself into the story, or have to give almost three full pages on the history of Tae Kwon Do to honor, if you will, Levi? (Which by the way, as a black belt in Tae Kwon Do myself, Levi’s master might teach it differently than my own did, but the number nine held no significance in my dojo…it seemed odd in this part as well as the next chapter to spin the story to fit that number into such a controversial one.)

With D’Agata’s colorful prose (and responses to Fingal’s fact-checking), as well as his increasing amount of misinformation as the essay reads on, how important are the facts? As discussed in class, some students are encyclopedic readers – looking up the facts written to see their sources, or even if they are true at all, while some simply read for engaging fun and are more gullible to the print, trusting the writer and editors entirely. Neither are frowned upon, but because there are different kinds of readers, D’Agata should have kept both in mind, not just the gullible ones. On page 111, Fingal questions the need for truthful writing that readers can expect to be factual, while D’Agata says, “Just because there are some parts of our culture in which we need to demand honesty and expect reliable intentions doesn’t mean that its appropriate for us to expect that from every experience we have in the world.” (111). I can understand John D’agata’s viewpoint on this to an extent. I believe there are some parts to our culture that should not need honesty and reliability for sake of inventiveness, but in the case of a heavily research-based essay that involves facts of a real place, real people, and a real event, how far can you really stretch blanketed lies? Because you will have the readers that will want to know more, or fact-check themselves, and realize the writer is not reliable, or will not fact-check at all and believe the writer entirely, to their own demise at realizing sooner or later that information is incorrect. And earlier on, D’Agata says, “sometimes we misplace knowledge in pursuit of information” (99). In class we discussed what this could mean, but I see it as a dig to readers: sometimes we lack the intelligence to fact-check ourselves for the simple act of trusting the information that is already in front of us. In the case of creative non-fiction, he has the right mindset with supporting the lack of boundaries for the type of art, but I cannot get around him casually using this mindset for such a serious and heart-wrenching subject, even if it is so minor as changing names, colors, times, dates, or fiscal figures.

Finally, though on a lighter note, in the end of the essay, Jim Fingal writes his admission of believing he spent too much time nit-picking the small things and should have only focused on the more serious matters. However, at the beginning of the novel, a note from the editor shows that they tell whoever takes the job to fact-check “anything and everything you can confirm is true, as well as whatever you think is questionable.” From an employee’s standpoint, I would take that as doing my absolute best work, especially if the editor themselves acknowledged John D’Agata has “taken some liberties”. Upon hearing that, I would comb through every single word just like Fingal did to make sure that the essay was factually and ethically correct. Is he slightly overbearing in terms of creative descriptions? Maybe. But in an essay with such a topic as this one I think it does come down to the editors own ethics in how much should be allowed. However, in the last line of the remarks, Jim Fingal asks even if he completely calculates the exact time Levi Presley jumped, and the exact weather and what kind of stone the pavement below was among other things, “[he’d] have done [his] job. But wouldn’t [Levi Presley] still be dead?” (123). Because in the end, you do have to ask, even with all the correct information in the world to write a perfect research essay, what difference would it truly make? That is where the ethics lie – as some would regard there should be no care, while others might say it is in bad taste to twist reality for one’s own entertainment.

Overall, John D’agata and Jim Fingal make an amusing pair in regard to their back and forth of editing commentary in The Lifespan of a Fact. However, this has shown a light on the amount of effort that goes into fact-checking generally, and also the absolute disregard some writers have for correct information – no matter if it messes with the rhythm of the prose. John D’Agata proved time and time again through his edits that he is unreliable in some cases; completely disregarding responsible notetaking and changing some major and some minor details to fit his narrative of creativity. Some may argue he has every right to do so within the bounds of creative non-fiction, however I believe there should be boundaries in the case of such a widely ranging genre because there are heavy topics such as the suicide of Levi Presley that have no business being made creative. What spurred D’Agata into this subject? What did he believe could become creative out of this? As I said before, creative non-fiction has a wide range to its genre, and no real definition on what it should or should not be, but I do not believe that should allow writers a free pass for controversial topics.