[matchup #52 in Tournament of Bookshit]

The main thing about celebrity fiction is that it seems unfair. Writers are writing to get famous. If we had some other way of getting famous, we would probably being doing that, right? But most of us don’t have any other real choices, in the getting-famous-category. Most of us are bad at sports and can’t sing well and don’t have, you know, like personalities and shit. Most of us enjoy sitting in rooms by ourselves and making stuff up about people who don’t exist. If that’s what you spend your time doing, writing is pretty much your only shot, in terms of famous.

But already-famous people who write, what are they doing? Trying to get respect? The fuck is respect going to get you that being famous doesn’t? Maybe you feel a little better about yourself, being respected? Can you buy a sandwich, with that feeling-a-little-better-about-yourself? Can you pay rent with that?

Fact is, already-famous people got no problem paying rent or buying sandwiches. And you know what else? Famous people who got famous for good reasons, reasons they can be proud of, you don’t see them writing books. George Clooney, okay, his career’s had some ups and downs, but he was fucking good in those Cohen brothers movies he was in, he doesn’t need to write any damn books to feel better about himself. Brad Pitt, none of us thought he was that great, then Twelve Monkeys came along and BOOM. Maybe we had hoped for more from Terry Gilliam in terms of the movie overall, but damned if Brad Pitt didn’t show that he had some chops.

Those are my two examples.

Contrariwise, Britney Spears, she writes a novel with her mom, okay, first of all, none of us believe that those two actually wrote it, but even if they did, it’s pretty clear that Britney Spears is just putting out a book because even though she’s all famous and shit, and never has any problem buying a sandwich or paying rent, she knows deep down that no one really respects her. Same goes for Jewel.

This makes them feel sad, for some reason. Whatever.

And meanwhile those of us who aren’t famous, who are on the hustle, we get a little pissed off because Britney and Jewel and Jesse the Body Ventura, all of whom already have what we want—fame and the money and the sexual escapades and so forth that come with it—these already-famous a-holes are making some half-ass attempt to grab up the one thing that we’re hoping might get us a little fame of our own, ie, respect. As if respect means a damn thing by itself, without money and sexual escapades.

Anyhow. The point is, if you’re famous and you’ve already got respect, you don’t feel any great need to put out a book. Famous people who already got respect, when they put out a book, it’s not “Celebrity Fiction.” It’s just a damn book. Maybe contains some insight, who knows.

So fuck some celebrity fiction.

“Short shorts referring to whiskey consumption,” on the other hand, seems much less fun to bitch about. Celeb fiction wins.

– James Tadd Adcox

– – –

WINNER: Celebrity Fiction