A ‘TRUE’ STORY ABOUT INSPIRATION 

November 14, 2024 | By | Reply More

by Josje Weusten

‘We shouldn’t be reading this!’ the student sitting across from me on the first row interjects before I have even properly started my introduction. 

The lecture I’m giving is part of an undergraduate course on the European history of the novel. Having ironed out the main kinks years ago, I am used to teaching it off the cuff. As usual, I haven’t dimmed the lights in the lecture theatre. I like to connect with my students; to see them as well as they can see me. 

The young woman who raised her voice is holding the novel we are reading up in front of her chest, the cheap Penguin pocket partially covering the picture of an immaculate Taylor Swift on her T-shirt. Her green eyes blaze behind her curtain bangs. It is not uncommon for students to interrupt me, to ask questions, to initiate a discussion. In fact, I urge them to. But what happened just now is something different. 

‘Ok, well, why’s that?’ I smile at her encouragingly, my curiosity being stronger than my desire to dodge the challenge. 

She slowly places the book in her lap, the cover facing down. ‘Well, it’s…I googled him…the writer I mean, people say he’s a misogynist.’ 

I have read the accusations against this author too, which are either false or have taken what he said or wrote out of context. I only know this because I have extensively researched his life and work. But what if it was true? Should we no longer read this work then? 

I look at the lecture notes in my hands. Nothing that can’t wait. Besides, I’m curious to hear what my students think. I put down my notes, walk over to the whiteboard and pick up the black felt-tipped marker to write down the key discussion point:

Truth and Imagination

In the next two hours, we touch on numerous topics, from the bearing of an author’s identity on their writing to assessing the trustworthiness of sources and the problem of fake news. Opinions vary and sometimes clash, but in the end, most students seem to leave with a regained eagerness to read the novel and continue our exchange of thoughts; unified despite their differences in opinion. Something inside me has changed too: the seed of a story has been planted. I rush out of the lecture hall, keen to get to my office and write it down.

***

It’s been six months since I had my first idea for a novel about fake news, cancel culture and fiction. The coronavirus is in full swing and social life has come to a halt. I sit at our oak kitchen table and stare into the blue-black light of my laptop. My husband has taken the kids out for a game of catch to give me some space and time to write, but the essence of the story keeps slipping away from me. Frustrated, I get up and grab the car keys from their usual place on the kitchen counter on my way out.

I back our estate out of its parking space and turn on the radio. The song is old and familiar, Rebellion (Lies). Turning the car down the field road, I hum along with the chorus. Whipped up by the music, I set course to the university. It’s only a few miles away but located in the Netherlands rather than Belgium, where I live. The regulations are a lot less strict over there than here. My students are allowed to go to campus again and I long to join them.

The green and golden colours of the corn and wheat fields flashing by turn liquid as the car picks up speed. When I reach the border, which I never considered a real border, I am however forced to slow down. There is a shipping container in the middle of the road. I could sneak by it. However, rumour has that someone—a friend of a friend or was it my sister?— got fined, maybe even arrested for doing so. And even if I could squeeze my car between the bulky lime tree and the container, I would get stuck in the muddy field, I lie to myself, unwilling to admit that I am actually a coward. 

I wonder what Jo would have done. She used to be my friend until she got caught up in the conspiracy theories spreading in the wake of COVID. Bill Gates was supposedly in on it. And it had something to do with child abuse, pizza and lizards. It was the lizards that finally pulled us apart. But it may also have been my unwillingness to simply listen to her and vice versa. Does one have to agree to be friends? I never thought so but in a world consisting of algorithm-driven confirmation bubbles empathy is under strain. What results is a dangerous breeding ground for fake news and cancel culture. 

It is there at the border dividing the two countries I hold so dearly that the crux of the story I am aiming to tell sinks in. What if these currents get stronger?  What if fake news takes over to the point that nothing can be trusted? And no one can tell lies and reality apart any longer?
What are we willing to sacrifice for the truth then? 

Josje Weusten (PHD) is a literary scholar, creative writing teacher and author at the Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences of Maastricht University. She is the founder of Telling Stories Magazine and a regular essayist for The Independent Publishing Magazine. Her short stories have appeared in numerous magazines (Litbreak Magazine, Burningword Literary Journal, Flash Fiction Magazine) and her work has been nominated for Best Small Fictions. Fake Fish is her first novel. Follow Josje on Instagram or contact her via her website.   

Fake Fish 

Unraveling Truth in an Age of Deceit 

A varied group of characters in an increasingly dystopian world have to deal with ‘deep fakes’ distorting their very sense of reality. In a world drowning in a deluge of falsehoods, “Fake Fish” confronts the insidious rise of false news, and unmasks the far-reaching consequences that extend beyond mere headlines. With an unflinching gaze, this novel exposes the alarming impact of deceit on a global scale, as personal and national reputations crumble, and the very fabric of truth is torn apart. As the story unfolds, the characters navigate the treacherous landscape of a society where nothing can be trusted. “Fake Fish” is a timely exploration of the fragility of reality in an age where truth is being swallowed by technology.

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