The Story Factor (How to lie to people you think are dumb)

When I read books, I like to read them from the inside out. I start at some point in the middle of the book and if the book really grabs me I might read the rest of it. If the book really grabs me I will finish it and might even read it again from front to back as intended. That works well for non-fiction or reference books, but not so well for other genres, so if I do read a novel I won’t even attempt it unless I am fully committed and determined to read it from left to right.

I picked up a copy of “The Story Factor” by Annette Simmons after reading about it on a blog. The title of this book suggested to me that I should read it from cover to cover so that’s what I intended to do when I opened it up, flipped past the title pages, the dedication, the table of contents, the acknowledgments, and the foreword. Normally I would skip the introduction as well but three capital letters “NRA” in the middle of the page caught my eye and compelled me to read it. I’m glad I did. 

The author opens up with this:

In 1992 , I sat in a cool October breeze, surrounded by 400 others in a tent in Jonesborough, Tennessee, waiting to hear the next storyteller. The group ranged from rich to poor, city types to country folk, professors to sixth grade graduates.

Not bad! I wanted to know why 400 people would gather in a tent in Tennessee to hear stories told by strangers. I’m from the south so I know what a holy ghost tent revival is. That is not what Mrs. Simmons described. She left out, or edited out, any olfactory references to the tent’s canvas and the hemp ropes that in my mind’s nose had that smell that stored items like canvas and natural fiber ropes develop in a very short period of time. You can smell it can’t you? I suppose a good story gives you just enough detail to encourage your mind to wander about such things, so I’m liking this about now. I read on.

Next to me was a gray-bearded farmer-type in overalls with an “NRA” button on his cap. As an African American man got up to speak, this man turned to his wife and whispered something in an irritated tone that included the word “nigra.” I mentally dared him to say it again. Instead he folded his arms and started examining the construction of the tent’s roof. 

Some things troubled me a bit here. I was a bit puzzled by the author’s selective use of hyphenation. I also raised an eyebrow when the only word she could make out from the gray-bearded farmer-type’s sentence was derogatory. She’s obviously very observant, but maybe she sees better than she hears, and maybe I’m reading too much into the words. I’m still intrigued so I keep reading. 

The African American storyteller began to tell us his story of a lonely night during the 1960′s deep in the heart of Mississippi. He and the six other activists feared the dangers they would face by marching the next morning. He described how they stared into the campfire, as one of them began to sing. The singing calmed their fears. His story was so real we could feel the fear and see the light of the campfire. Then he asked us to sing with him. We did. “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” vibrated out of our throats like a big 400-pipe organ. Next to me, the farmer man sang too. I saw a tear roll down his rough red cheek. I had just witnessed the power of story. If a radical African American activist could touch the heart of an ultraconservative racist farmer- well, I wanted to know how to do that too. 

Swing Low, Sweet Chariot huh? Maybe it was a holy ghost tent revival after all. No, but I do have a pretty good idea of what it is finally; bullshit. It was now clear to me why something just didn’t feel right while I was reading. It’s completely fabricated. If I had wanted to read a work of fiction, I would have purchased Dianetics or maybe a coloring book.

It’s not the author’s fault that I’m not a fan of fiction books and I’m not blaming her at all for that. In fact, I am thankful that she chose to insult the intelligence of the reader early with her “White-conservative-southern farmer-NRA members are racists” bunch of crap.

I realize that I’m in the minority with my take on this book. Most reviews of it are very favorable. I won’t be wasting any more of my time with it. 

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