This is the fourth in a series of posts about Jodi Picoult’s use of false rape allegations as a plot device. The first is here, the second is here and the third is here. In this post, I attempt to draw the discussion to some kind of conclusion.
In the second post and the third one I’ve outlined some of the messages which I think come out of Picoult’s books. I’ve also alluded to the reasons why I find some of them troubling. In my first post on this topic, I also noted that I perceived two main problems: (1) it suggests that false allegations are common and problematic; and (2) it hides the horrendous way in which many complainants of rape are actually treated.
In today’s post, I’m going to talk about some of the many other real ethical problems surrounding the way complaints and charges of rape are treated in our society – and how I think the stories Picoult wrote could have been tweaked a bit to explore these issues, rather than the fake issue of false rape allegations.
First, here’s a list of some of these real ethical problems surrounding the reporting of rape and the criminal process which may follow:
– many complainants who report rape are simply not believed
– many complainants of rape will be re-victimised during the investigation and criminal process
– consent is often assumed where the opposite should be assumed (for example, where the complainant was drunk)
– most rapes are committed by someone known to the complainant
– in particular, most rapes of children are committed by a family member or someone else known and trusted by the parents
– our squeamishness about teaching our children about sex in an age-appropriate manner from a young age leaves them more vulnerable to abuse (in particular, lack of sex ed leaves children more likely to not tell anybody if they are abused, thus leaving them more vulnerable to a course of abuse, which is more harmful than just one incident)
– it must be absolutely horrendous to discover that someone you love and trusted is in fact a rapist
I also think that, in The Tenth Circle, Picoult could have used the issue of the drugs quite differently.
As I said before, in the situation she described (Tracy acquired the drugs, had at least some consensual sexual contact with the guy she accused, and then had sexual contact where consent was disputed), it is likely that no charges would be brought, and that would be because the legal process would see the problem as being proving consent. From a philosophical point of view, if Tracy was affected by drugs to the point where she couldn’t consent, there was no consent, so the issue should not be whether or not consent should be proved but whether the offender’s mental state – also due to drugs – was such that he could not be held criminally responsible. That’s how it works with every other crime, and I think that would make a pretty interesting ethico-legal issue to write about.
Salem Falls provides a lot more to work with, but I’m going to try not to make this too long.
In this book, ultimately, the elephant in the room is this: Gillian is being raped by her father. This has clearly been going on for years. Hello? Jodi Picoult? Looking for ethical issues? Because HERE’S ONE! It’s a REAL one. RIGHT HERE IN FRONT OF YOU WHERE YOU CAN’T SEE IT.
As I said in the third post, I think she did include this as an acknowledgement that it’s often the people we know and trust that we have to look out for, not the strangers. But as I also said, I think that she covered it up with so much fake ambiguity and overdone subtlety that I think it’s possible to overlook the importance of that message.
If she had made Gillian’s father’s abuse of Gillian the central ethical issue in the book, she could still have had the sex-crime-convicted Jack come into town as a side story, she could have made her point about how everyone was afraid of the stranger but not of the people they knew. She could have done this without any false rape allegations. For example, she could have built up the vigilantism that Jack is subjected to – perhaps actually have had him report the beating he took, and have the people who did it charged. I’m sure that would cause considerable controversy in a small town, and it certainly provides some very real ethico-legal issues. Like: no matter how “bad” someone is, surely it’s enough once they’ve finished the penalty set for them by the State? So should they have to be on a register? On the other hand, people who have committed sex crimes (especially against children) are “generally known” to be likely to repeat their crimes (although recidivism is a general problem in the criminal justice system, and I don’t know if there’s evidence that recidivism rates are higher for people convicted of sex crimes than for people convicted of other crimes – having said that, I really don’t think that someone convicted of pedophilia should be allowed to spend unsupervised time around children).
Similarly, if Jack had actually raped his student (even if it was a “consensual” “relationship”), or if it had been left ambiguous (with him denying it but the facts pointing towards guilt), then Abby would have had to come to terms with the fact that the guy she’d fallen for was (or was probably) a rapist – and decided whether or not to support him (for example, to stick with the storyline I suggested above, if he pressed charges for being beaten up). That would have been a nice, juicy, emotional ethical issue.
You could possibly compound this by having Jack have consensual sex with one of the coven-members (who are all seventeen, which I understand is over the age of consent in most US states) – which would be legal, but creepy, and rife with ethical issues (especially if you’d left it ambiguous whether or not Jack was actually guilty of the crime he’d been convicted of).
However, as I mentioned in the first post, I have a feeling that, had Picoult used a storyline that was more “true to life” (ie not including a false rape allegation), she would not have made it as central to the plot as the false (or, in The Tenth Circle, “false”) rape allegations in the books discussed in this series. Why do I think this? Well, rape is such a political issue. When you write a book – when you write two books – where you make a big deal out of false rape allegations – it’s like you’re saying that you believe that is a real problem. And I find it hard to believe that you can simultaneously think that false rape allegations are a real problem AND that the way our society deals with (real) rape allegations is a problem. Sure, you might make exceptions in specific circumstances, but I find it difficult to believe that the two positions can be reconciled.
In other words, I think that Picoult’s choice of subject matter suggests that she believes that there’s nothing wrong with the way our societies treat complainants of rape – and, further, it suggests to me that she has no issue with the way rape is conceptualised by our legal systems. Rather, if anything, she thinks it’s “too easy” to make false rape allegations, “too easy” to be a complainant in that situation – and conversely, that it’s tough being the poor defendant, falsely accused of a crime he didn’t commit.
I think Picoult must be aware of the paradigms, because I think her writing proves that she’s not unintelligent, that she’s not thoughtless about these sorts of issues.
As a result, I think she has very little excuse for dealing with these subjects in the way that she does.
And the thing is, even if I’m wrong about what Picoult, herself, actually believes to be the real ethico-legal problem(s) about how our societies and legal systems deal with rape, the real point of this series of posts is in the title: writers – even writers of fiction – have a duty to tell the truth. No matter what Picoult actually thinks about the issue, the fact is that she’s written two books which suggest her views are as I’ve described.
That gives some legitimacy to those views. It helps to bolster the myth that false rape allegations are a real, serious problem; that everyone automatically believes someone who complains of rape.
And that is irresponsible.
Final note: something I discovered before this blog series was published to the web – but after I’d written the majority of it – is that there is a session at the Sydney Writers’ Festival on Saturday called “Truth in Fiction and Non-fiction” on Saturday 23 May, 4 pm. It’s free. I expect that the speakers will have far more insight into the subject than I have expressed here.
Wallaby 
I have really enjoyed this series, and you’ve done a good job at analysing the various threads of the two novels. ( I have only read one JP book “my Sister’s Keeper”, which I didn’t like). It sounds like her style is the same from book to book, multiple points of view employed to provide different perspectives.
I agree with your point, writing two novel on false rape certainly furthers the cultural construct that it is really common, especially when its clear that other plot devices could be employed to explore the various issues that she is trying to deal with.
Thanks, rayedish!
This series of articles was very thought-provoking. I’m a writer — sometimes fiction — and a friend recommended them to me by basically saying, “Chew on this.”
You said that one of the purposes of literature was “to tell the truth about life, without necessarily telling the reality of life” and I think you’re partly right. Writers who set their books in an accessible reality — something that mimics real life — have a duty to tell a truthful story, even if they’re not re-telling history.
I’m acutely conscious of this when I write. At the moment I’m writing a medical drama. Oh, if only I could bend the rules of modern medicine a little, and let my wicked doctor do things that aren’t quite medically possible!
But the fact is, truthful stories are _more interesting_. When Jodi Picoult (or any other author) tells us a story that isn’t truthful, they deny us the opportunity to apply that book to our own lives. We cannot learn from it; we cannot mull over it. In fact, we might come away from it misunderstanding the way the world works.
So I have to work around some medically thorny problems to get my wicked doctor up and running. But eventually I’ll create a story that is compelling because it is _plausible_. Jodi Picoult, in her future books about false rape accusations, should consider doing the same.
Thanks Caroline. Good luck with your work!
Two slightly more substantive responses:
(1) “in her future books about false rape accusations” – well, I’d rather she left the issue alone completely, but anyway ;)
(2) somehow, your comments made me realise that I probably should have referred to RaceFail in these posts somewhere. I didn’t follow it all very closely, but I was aware of the issues involved, and it probably informed my thoughts on truth in fiction to some extent.
If you don’t know what I mean by RaceFail, I think this is a pretty good place to start:
http://vectoreditors.wordpress.com/2009/03/08/reasons-to-care-about-racefail/
This is the part of the whole thing which I think is the most closely related to my series here:
“It has been, at various times, a discussion about race and culture as explored in science fiction and fantasy” (that quote is taken from the post linked above).
As I understand it, RaceFail started (but did NOT end) with questions about white authors writing characters of colour (specifically in SF/F) and their (perhaps unintended) racism in doing so.
It’s a little different from the genre I’ve written about, and which you write – ie realistic fiction (I like the way you put it, “in an accessible reality – something that mimics real life”). However, I think that similar arguments apply, and if you’re wanting to think more around this topic generally, it might be worth having a look at some of the RaceFail discussions.