Autobios are thick as thieves, escapees from autocratic fact-checking prison
The Truth About David Sedaris
https://www.nytimes.com/2020/11/02/books/review/david-sedaris-the-best-of-me.html
Autobios are thick as thieves, escapees from autocratic fact-checking prison and editorial best not do that, no, nor that, and certainly not that, might need a break, collect your wits, play a self-regard to your heart's content.
Give us a call when you get the me, me, me out of your bowels, re-enlist objectivity for the whining readers who really don't want yourself in the way.
Karl Ove Knausgaard hit it big with navel-gazing, followed by a stampede to write about oneself, leaving the hardships of novel formulaics, food, sex, animals, infidelities, conquests, for the candidly narcissistic musings of trivia exalted.
Right now a bevy of my lifes, debuts and long-toothed, are best selling and substacking, egos blaring about the thises and thats prohibited by "reputable fact-checkers."
Free at last to ramble about friends and pee on shoes of foes, plagiarize stylistics slyly and give credit promiscuously, semaphoring to other cowed authors here is the way to value yourself as worth more than creepy benefactors buying their own needy self-regard with prizes and loads of moola.
Auto-bio has elevated itself to the aerie level of fanciful bio to suck readers and critics into black holes like spaghetti of exploding nova.
Imaginary to the maximum, proferring to jaded incarcerals escape from editorial and authorial domination with exemplary self-gratifying vicariousness: I could have written that, painted that, danced that, sang that, orated that, ruled a nation like this and that.