The Art of Fact

The Art of Fact: A Historical Anthology of Literary Journalism by Kevin Kerrane

My rating: 1 of 5 stars


There is disappointment after having finished a book that didn’t live up to one’s expectations, nay, hope. And then there is whatever I’m feeling right now, which is probably the cause for that big blue vein inside my head throbbing with increasing pain. It isn’t even noon yet, but I have had my day’s share of caffeine, been prowling the kitchen for more chocolate and I think I’m starting to get heartburn. Enough stereotypes for you yet? Well, let me take you on a journey of even greater gender stereotypes, lack of diversity in writing and the general idea that journalistic writing can only be published in The New Yorker or The New York Times.

This anthology is required reading for my creative nonfiction course and rest assured, the issues I am outlining here I have also brought to the attention of my fellow students and professor.

I am quite aware that the subtitle of this anthology reads “a historical anthology of literary journalism”, but I can assure you that women have learned to write nonfiction much longer than 20 years ago. At first I was intrigued by the historical articles that were included by Defoe, Dickens, Whitman and London, but by the beginning of “Telling Tales” on page 93 I grew weary and tired of the constant glorification of male writers, their great education and courage to “go undercover to report real life” and the general representation of women only as prostitutes or madams, which stretches throughout the remainder of the anthology.

Each article begins with a short biography of the author’s life and work, written by one of the two editors and I have noticed differences in the style and depth of information provided with respect to the male and very few female writers they have included. Regarding the biographies of the male writers, the reader obtains a quick, yet thorough overview of the author’s credentials, educational and professional, as well as a few snippets about the author’s personality. In contrast, the female authors’ biographies contain generic information such as “after college” (252) without any indication of divulging which college the author, in this case, Marvel Cooke, attended. The editor makes a point of mentioning that she worked for Du Bois and her writing is compared to another male author in this anthology, just like the rest of the female authors included.

As I mentioned above, the representation of women within the articles include that of prostitutes, madams, women who have fallen from grace and rather strong commentary on a woman as a professional in the world of journalism:

We were in company with Margaret Dixon, editor of the Baton Rouge
Morning Advocate, one of the few people in Louisiana who could
usually get along with Earl. She is the kind of woman motherless
drunks turn to instinctively to tell their troubles with their wives. (259)

What exactly does that have to do with the fact that a female fellow journalist/editor is among them? Later on, starting at page 367, so relatively far into the historical examination of the chronological order of literary journalism, a chapter written by a female author is included, which once again, deals with prostitution, “Whoredom in Kimmage: Irish Women Coming of Age”. Not much of relevance is mentioned in the author’s dismally short biography section and quite frankly after having to read about women only with respect to the oldest service industry in human history, even a well written chapter on women’s roles in society in the early 1990’s, asked too much patience of the reader. Plainly put: what about the letters, memoirs and diaries that were written by women through the ages that tell of their struggles to deal with a society and expectations that put them in social isolation and from achieving their full potentials in a world dominated by the other sex?

One thing I haven’t mentioned yet, but is equally important is the fact that from what I can tell, there was only one article written by a woman of colour; there was no ethnic or racial diversity whatsoever. In that respect it represents history probably quite accurately: it is dictated by white men.

Overall, call me a feminist; call this a rant. Call me a ranting feminist, I really do not care. It is 2019 and it is about time we stop accepting the dangerous mantra of “we have always done it this way” and re-evaluate textbooks assigned at all levels of education to portray an accurate overview of the skill, talent, issues and struggles that were faced by all, not just a certain demographic and not just a certain portion of what is called creative nonfiction in academic circles.