Defending the ghost

I was listening to a radio interview with former Queensland chief magistrate Di Fingleton this morning. Fingleton’s memoir, Nothing to do with justice, has just been released.  Hers is a remarkable story: she was jailed for six months in 2003 after being convicted of threatening a subordinate – a conviction later deemed wrongful. Woman in jail, judge turned inmate – what a story.

The interviewer complimented Fingleton on the writing and she replied proudly, ‘it was all me.’

‘No ghostwriter?’

‘No ghost.’

I suspect this is a book that would have benefited from a ghost … or at the least, a strong editor/co-writer. I’ve only read an extract so far, but the writing seems to have a slightly awkward, self-conscious air, lacking a sense of drama and an awareness of what the reader really wants to know. It’s a common flaw in memoirs by people whose core pursuit in life is not writing.

What’s the problem with ghosts?

I can’t believe that Andre Agassi’s book Open would have been anything much without the contribution of Pulitzer Prize-winning writer J.R. Moehringer. He is uncredited on the cover but warmly acknowledged by Agassi at the back of the book. It’s a sizzling memoir that makes you feel you’re inside the shoes of an elite athlete – from boy to man.

In other times and other cultures, there was prestige attached to the ability to write. In Western culture these days, I’ve got to tell you it’s pretty common. Having a co-writer or ghost doesn’t mean you’re illiterate, it just means you recognise that professional support might help you create something that you could not have created on your own.

I understand that many people dream of writing a book. I also have a dream. I would like to be a back-up singer in a band, up on stage in a little black dress. I fervently pray my friends will stop me before I actually try to do it.