Reading the Prologue: A Quest for Truth

So, like Charles Dickens, in this book of “fiction” I will hide myself away behind a false name, and live in fake places, and I will pray to God that those who should will hurt when they read what I have to say. Certainly God in his infinite mercy will see that some understanding publisher will put my words in a book, and help grind the knife that I hope to wield.

The prologue to our fair tome breaks the literary fourth wall, addresses the reader, and acknowledges the rather boorish nature of the prose to come. As my fingers eagerly turned the pages of my hot pink volume, I was left to wonder about the purpose of this pseudo realistic prologue; the fictional acknowledgment that the lovely Chris, Cathy, Cory, and Carrie had actually been locked in an attic by their evil grandmother and left to sexually awaken in each other’s arms. Was the hope that a prologue claiming realism would elevate the status of the familial bodice ripper to the great literature of orphans, underdogs, and scoundrels? Was it meant to legitimize the enterprise of writing and reading about four children of incest, two of whom are drawn to one another by the alluring thrall of puberty mixed with claustrophobia?

Armed with these questions, and a slightly dirty feeling left over from the passage that I read earlier today, I asked the internet. Into my Google search box I typed, “Flowers in the Attic True Story?” The Wikipedia article was practically useless, but it did provide useful links. The Fantastic Fiction link brought me to a photograph of V.C. Andrews. With great haste, I noted that she was blonde. A clue! The over exposed boy and girl touching noses on the cover of my book were blonde. And the novel itself acknowledged this particular Caucasian leaning saying, “…we were all blond, flaxen haired with fair complexions (except Daddy with his perpetual tan.” Check in the column of the prologue clearly indicating that Flowers in the Attic was based on a true story.

I then clinked on the link to The Complete VC Andrews, which provided, among other things, a Frequently Asked Question section. I quote, “Is Flowers in the Attic based on a true story?” The author of the FAQ section answered the question in rather explicit detail, citing Ms. Andrew’s acknowledgment that elements of her stories (undisclosed) were based on life, as well as her own dreams and fantasies. Slightly harshly they remind the reader that while only Ms. Andrew’s could truly answer this question, she is quite dead and has been since 1986. (Despite the fact that her next book is due out in September.) Further, the author of the FAQ indicates that just because you read something doesn’t mean it’s true. I nodded my head in somber agreement, and then I began to read possible theories put forth to explain the root of the true story rumors. Snidely putting aside my own reading of the prologue which clearly stated that it was a true story, I quote again: “The story itself is so realistic, why couldn't it happen for real?” and “There was a similar news story around the same time that the book came out, and it was assumed that the two were related.” Word. The true story rumors got told. (Yes, I am in the process of searching for the allusive "similar news story.")

I am a diligent Googler though, and clicked on one more website, Snopes.com, which is devoted to getting to the bottom of rumors and urban legends. On January 28, 2004, CJ inquired as to the validity of the true story rumors. I tried reading through the three pages of answers, but the conversation pretty much devolved to a general discussion of the incestuous nature of the book and how odd it is that it’s mostly read by adolescent girls. As that is the intended topic of this blog, I didn’t want to feel redundant, so I pretended I hadn’t read it.

The fact that the discussion immediately went where it did was telling though. Sure, we can speculate about whether or not VC Andrews spent her youth boinking her blonde brother in an attic and that the biographical information regarding a crippling accident and commercial artistry is all a bunch of hooey. But, the fact of the matter is, the cultural significance of Flowers in the Attic has nothing to do with truth or fiction. Rather it has to do with the reality of the naughty feeling that so many of us had as we laid on our couch at eleven, eyeing our parents and siblings suspiciously, while thinking, “They did that? With their sibling? I didn’t even know you could do that,” and then took a cold, cold shower.