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Memoir Writing: Truth, Ownership, and the Ethics of Telling Your Story

What happens when a bestselling memoir turns out not to be entirely true?

The storm surrounding The Salt Path by Raynor Winn has highlighted a central problem in memoir writing:  what counts as the truth—and who gets to tell it?

The Salt Path, by Raynor Winn, is a hugely successful book (and now film) about a middle-aged couple, Raynor and Moth Winn, who lose their home and livelihood and choose to walk the 630-mile South West Coast Path in England, finding healing and a renewed sense of purpose in nature. Recently, an article in the Observer cast doubt on the truthfulness of some aspects of the story: The real Salt Path: how a blockbuster book and film were … and there’s been controversy, fallout and a subsequent delay in the author’s next book.

This debate comes down to two questions at the heart of memoir writing:

What’s the truth?

Who owns that truth?

As someone who works closely with memoir writers, I grapple with these questions all the time. The Salt Path debate highlights two of the biggest challenges any memoirist faces: what is your truth, and how do you honour it, while acknowledging that your version might not be how others see the same story?

Let’s take each question in turn.

What’s the Truth? Why Memoirs Are Always Subjective

Memoir isn’t journalism. It’s closer to storytelling—and sometimes, to fiction.

Memoir is always filtered—by memory, personality, life experiences, beliefs and perspective. That makes it inherently subjective. Two people can live through the same event and tell two very different stories. Memoir isn’t journalism. It’s closer to storytelling, and sometimes, to fiction.

In fact, all accounts of what happened in the past are fictional to a degree.  You might be able to say that a battle happened on a specific date, in a specific place – but understanding what happened will depend on if you’re listening to the winners or losers, to a front-line soldier, a general, or the person doing the laundry afterwards.

The same is true of memoir. We’re all guilty of telling a story in a way that makes ourselves look good. We might wax indignant about how a friend stood us up but not include our failure to confirm the meeting. In arguments, we’re always (in our own minds) on the side of the angels. And it’s a rare memoir that doesn’t operate on the same principle. Even the ones that are brutally honest tend to be more brutal about other people than themselves.

Of course, none of us can write a fully objective account of our lives – and we shouldn’t try. But we can aim for emotional truth and write with care for the people involved.

Moreover, I think that a memoir writer has a moral responsibility to honesty – and this is, it sounds like, where Raynor Winn has gone wrong. Critics have suggested that parts of The Salt Path—such as the reasons for their homelessness and the severity of her husband’s diagnosis —may have been exaggerated. If that’s true, it’s not just a creative choice—it’s a breach of trust with readers: she’s abrogated her responsibility as a memoirist.

This responsibility comes with teeth as soon as you publish – and particularly, of course, when your book takes off. It’s one thing to tell your truth as you see it – but it’s quite another to lie about events in your past.

Which brings me to my second question:

Who Owns Your Story – and What You Need to Consider Before Writing About Others

As soon as you write about your own life, you’re also writing about the lives of other people.

It doesn’t really matter if you’re writing for your grandchildren or to make money, there are other people in your story. So…what rights and responsibilities do you have to those people, as they appear in your story? Let’s consider some specifics:

  • What if you reveal wrongdoing?

What if you’re revealing wrongdoing about someone you know? What if, for example, they did wrong by you, but are otherwise a good citizen? A good father/grandfather/business owner. You’d be wrong if you didn’t at least consider the impact of your words on the people who love them. In his book Just Ignore Him, Alan Davies speaks openly about a close family member – but also acknowledges that this disclosure has meant other relationships have suffered as a result.

  • What if your story affects innocent people?

What if you’re revealing a scandal that has ramifications for other people? What if there’s a tale of an illegitimate birth or a crime? What responsibilities do you have to the child, or the victim?

In This Boy’s Life, Tobias Wolff writes about his troubled childhood, including his involvement in theft and scams, and the emotional and sometimes violent abuse he suffered from his stepfather. He describes real, damaging behaviour by his mother’s partner and others, some of whom were alive at publication.

  • What if you’re sharing negative opinions about people who, for whatever reason, don’t have a right of reply?

What if the stories you’re telling simply cast other people in a bad light? What if those people are well known? Do you have a right to make allegations that they can’t address? In his memoir Spare, Prince Harry makes the decision to write about his (very famous) family, presumably aware that protocol will dictate they don’t respond to what he says. Should he have?

  • What’s your responsibility to the descendants of people you discuss?

In her excellent biography of Sylvia Plath, the Silent Woman, Janet Malcolm asks if she has the rights to Plath’s story – or if any biographer does – when there are children who are directly affected by that story. Even when discussing an ancestor several generations removed, others may have a personal stake in how that person’s story is portrayed.

Writing memoir means walking a fine line between truth and story, honesty and care. It’s not an easy process, but you don’t have to wrestle with it alone.

Write with awareness. Reflect before you publish. Make choices, not just confessions. And ideally, get support from someone who can help you clarify what matters.

If you’re working on a memoir—or even just thinking about it—I’d love to help you shape your story with honesty, empathy, and craft. These are complex questions, but you don’t have to answer them alone.

 

 

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