JT Leroy

Dear Ms. Albert,

I was so glad to see you mentioned in Leah Garchik yesterday. And the French aren’t the only ones who get it. I always admired your work, and when the “revelation” occurred I laughed out loud, thrilled that this boy-wonder was actually someone more fascinating to me; an artist closer to my age who struggled to achieve her success. (BTW: Pierre Louys performed a similar feat about 100 years earlier, in France of course. Maybe that’s why they are so receptive. And he, too, was received over there more as a literary celebrity… not a leper)

I wanted to write you ever since you were introduced to the world. I think you handled the events of the JT phenomenon with real finesse. It was obvious the perception of others formed this mass illusion, and you just rolled with it.

I think the JT myth offended so many here in America because he was like a mirror held up revealing their own false pretenses to why they were fans. I believe the majority of these critics were originally just hanger-on types, intrigued by the boy hustler, and the revelation called them out on it. They were suddenly faced with the question “why do you like the work?” after having spent months or years talking of JT LeRoy. They felt phony because the were actually dilettantes.

So while most of these type of fans were more interested in going to readings of JT’s work by celebrities (JT not even present), I was intrigued by the massive amount of published work JT was getting in magazines (no one speaks of this!). When I happened to notice yet another story/interview/etc for the third straight month, it became a pastime of mine to go to the newsstand religiously to look for the next article by JT LeRoy. It was phenomenal, fourteen months straight I found his/your work (before my leisure time was rudely interrupted by an eviction I had to fight), and there may have been more. Once I was re-settled, the story broke, and it was the end of an era…

Personally, I was looking forward to you receiving your much deserved success. I was saddened at the way you were crucified (Where the fuck were all the fans of your WORK?).

So what I wanted to say to you most, and this is no exaggeration, I consider you the greatest living writer. I don’t know if I have any supporters on this, those most qualified to judge such a thing would do so on your written work alone (and you may have tough competition from a few stuffy academic Nobel Prize winners). But I have my own method of measuring this. I would also take into account you as an artist and a person. In these areas you would far surpass all others. Yes, some of the very same qualities many of your turn-coat fans nullified you for, I recognize as virtues. I see true genius personified.

I was in desperate need of a new source of artistic inspiration when you came along. I’ve clung to poor Henry Miller for way too long. The eighty year gap would sometimes cast doubt (Is he still relevant? Would he make it today?). But you demonstrated a real tenacity for carving out a place in today’s world.

I can’t believe anybody had the nerve to criticize you. Especially in these insipid times when people exist like a large herd of cattle. And they don’t even have the decency to applaud when someone levitates above them and does a minuet on a cloud.

You, Ms. Albert, motivate me to continue my own work (screenwriting — I don’t do novels), and I look forward to seeing more of yours in the future.

-Joe Braden