it’s *fiction*, people

I’m still receiving occasional emails about Circus Philosophicus that either (a) challenge its veracity, or (b) accuse me of dramatizing my life history before the public.

It’s fiction, people. None of that stuff happened. A few of the characters and places are real, but almost none of the events are– or if they are, then they are in a form exaggerated beyond recognition.

It’s still puzzling to me how anyone can think a book is autobiography when it begins with a 3-mile diameter ferris wheel and ends with an obvious farce that parodies a famous dirty vaudeville joke.