02.11.2010
Last Seen... Between Fact and Fiction —
How much do we need to tell the truth in travel writing?
This is a question I discussed last week with Ramona Koval on the ABC Radio National Bookshow and again at the Australian Festival of Travel Writers (AFTW) in Melbourne. I was on a panel asking ‘What is travel writing?’ with journalist Tom Neal Tacker, who admitted that in one of his recent articles, one of the characters was a composite. His view, to paraphrase, was that it’s the writer’s privilege to be able to colour the story. That said, he remains rigorous in his fact-checking and in portraying an accurate view of the places he visits. His new ezine Naked Hungry Traveller captures this notion of being transparent in travel writing.
In a candid interview, Sara Wheeler, author of Travels in a Thin Country admits that she made up the character, a Chilean refugee, who opens her book. She also invented his family. She said that while she met refugees like him in London, he was a composite. She added that she sees travel writing not as reportage but as ‘poetic truth’.
(This interview is in an interesting book by Michael Shapiro, A Sense of Place: Great Travel Writers talk about their Craft, Lives and Inspiration. Once I’ve finished it, I’ll post a review.)
Well, Shapiro seemed genuinely surprised by Wheeler’s admission, and so was I. I remember also being rather dismayed when I heard that Bruce Chatwin insisted that Songlines was a novel, not a travel memoir. I’m a bit of a stickler with facts. I’m in Colin Thubron’s camp, who told me, he can’t make it up. ‘It just wouldn’t work.’
Of course, travel writers have always embellished. Look at Marco Polo or Sir John Mandeville’s fantastical travel accounts written in the fourteenth-century. Mandeville himself didn’t even exist and is believed to have been a physician from Liège. Many of the eighteenth-century explorers who wrote about their travels made up great big porkies to impress their readers back home. Jacqueline Dutton, AFTW director, said that one early European explorer to Australia described how blood-sucking animals leapt down from trees and gouged themselves on his party.
These days travel writer as explorer might seem outdated. We can’t invent fantastical beasts any longer, or places, as the world is covered by Google Maps. But what about embroidering the truth… is that allowed?
My view is this. When I am writing as a travel journalist, I am reporting. I try to be as accurate as I can, both with facts and with how I describe a place. Inevitably everything I write is filtered through me, but I aim for Thubron’s ‘clear mirror approach.’
When I came to write Last Seen in Lhasa I found it a real challenge to fit seven journeys to Tibet over nine years into one coherent narrative. I kept trying to fit everything in and the first draft was more like a diary, very long and unreadable. As I whittled the text down, I realised that in literary travel writing, you do have more flexibility.
You also have to tell a story and have a strong narrative drive. This means, inevitably, lots of things get cut. You have to keep asking yourself, does this add to my story, and if it doesn’t, it has to go.
For me what’s most important is being accurate in how I portray the people and the place. More than any other comments about my book, I valued when Tibetans told me they felt it was a truthful account. Then I felt I’d done my job.
Now over to you, what do you think?
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Comments
Joanna Maxwell — 03 November at 04:57PM
Claire, what a refreshing take on this issue. As a writer myself, I think about this quite often...when is it OK to tidy up quotes, for example, or how far can you go in condensing long narratives. In the end, I think it comes down to the underlying ethics of the writer, don't you? There's an inner sense of accuracy - where, as you say, the subject would regard it as a truthful account.
Madi Dale — 04 November at 12:26AM
Claire, what an interesting article. I too am a travel writer. I choose to adhere to the truth with events and characters, but I invariably swap the time frame of events and change names in the interests of privacy. Invention is the novelist's forum. Non-fiction should be the truth as we see it rather than composite characters and events that did not occur.
Claire Scobie — 04 November at 10:06AM
Joanna,
I think ethics is crucial here. It's definitely about being faithful to a place or person. The issue is in literary travel writing that line can blur, especially if the writer is very opinionated (take Paul Theroux for example). I like your description of an 'inner sense of accuracy'. That works for me too.
Claire Scobie — 04 November at 10:10AM
Madi,
Thanks for posting. I'm certainly in your camp here. You're right about moving time frame for the sake of the narrative, I found I had to do that that in Last Seen in Lhasa, although in shorter pieces, it isn't necessary. As I said in my reply to Joanna, it's become an issue because so many novelist techniques are now used in travel writing. For me, it's better to stick to what actually happened.
Victoria Bergesen — 11 November at 01:35AM
I am VERY glad to read about your approach to truthfulness in travel writing, because since reading Last Seen in Lhasa while in Pokhara in May, I have been determined to circumambulate Mt. Kailash. Following that I made my second journey to Tibet, but my permits only allowed me to go so far as Shigatse.
Tom Neal Tacker — 25 November at 06:33PM
Hi Claire,
It was a pleasure sharing the stage with you at the recent AFTW weekend in Melbourne.
I like your wit, honesty and enthusiasm, all three essential personality traits for truth in travel-telling.
To reiterate, travelling is a composite of continual life events, some kaleidoscopic, some plain dull and some boring, to me anyway. I don't want to be boring in Paris though I occasionally feel that way. I'm not boring in Dijon however. Robert Dessaix touched on this concept while he spoke at the ASTW conference in Sydney last weekend. Robert wasn't boring in Palmyra but he's boring in New York. Of the innumerable travel experiences we have, what can we do but condense them to suit the purpose of the story? If I parrot, I squawk. If I interpret, I'm more like a lyrebird. Truth is often mundane, don't you think? What isn't mundane is the (rosy?) coloured telling of the truth. This may get me in trouble with revisionists but I can live with it. I'll certainly travel better for it.