"It's a beautiful story, and it's a lie."

Today one of my colleagues sent me a link to this story: "Is Three Cups of Tea writer Greg Mortenson a fraud?"

I rolled my eyes before I even read it, assuming it would be some ridiculous media witch hunt (and, in fact, some people are calling it that). I certainly didn't think it would be anything to take remotely seriously. But then I read the article, and it troubled me. So I looked up some more articles -- they're hitting the news like crazy today -- and read those. And most of them were equally troubling. Here is another one. (I do think the difference between the stories published in my hometown -- where Mortenson currently resides -- and the stories published pretty much everywhere else are interesting. I wonder if that will change at all as this story develops.)

I read Three Cups of Tea back in 2007, and I loved it. At least, I loved the ideas, and Greg Mortenson became one of my personal heroes. (I have to admit right now that the writing was only okay, if that. Which should tell you right there that I feel pretty strongly about the story, about the work itself, because -- snob that I am -- I can have a hard time looking past clunky writing and overwrought metaphors, and Three Cups of Tea is heavy on both). I think it is (was? is? I don't know right now) an extremely important book. I championed that book all over the place. A few months after I read it, my friend Kyanne and I heard Mortenson speak at Town Hall in Seattle. We met him afterwards, and when we told him we were teachers, he immediately hooked us up with 120 free hardcover copies of his book for our school. They were delivered within the week.

I did not find him to be a particularly charismatic person. He's not a natural public speaker. (He makes no secret of this; he really played up the whole "I hate wasting all my time at events like this, I'd rather be out doing all this important work, but I have to promote all my very important work so I can continue to do it" aspect of his personality.) I've read several accounts by people who find him "difficult" to work with, and frankly, he and David Oliver Relin -- who actually wrote Three Cups of Tea -- have never really seemed to like each other that much. I'm not sure any of these things are faults; they're simply my impressions, based on meeting him one time and based on things I've read, so take them with a grain of salt. But also, keep in mind that until today, I was still firmly inspired by this man.

And look, I'm not waving a pitchfork here. Many of the responses to his alleged deceit have been pretty vitriolic (although to be fair, it seems that most people who comment on stories online are working out some of their own unresolved issues. Sheesh. There's a reason I try to avoid reading comments). I'm not boiling over with righteous indignation just yet because I just don't know enough, and I'm waiting for more to be revealed; for now, I've landed somewhere between unsettled and disheartened. I haven't paid too much attention to the "inconsistencies" in some of the stories, because truth in memoir, in story, is not always the same as fact. If it is, I'm in a lot of hot water with this blog, because my husband would pick through it and be all, "THAT IS NOT EXACTLY WHAT I SAID." However, I think it is totally reasonable to be troubled by the implications of some of the accusations.

When I read that first article, after I'd let it sink in for a bit, I thought about one of the novels I deeply loved when I was about thirteen: A House Like a Lotus, by Madeleine L'Engle. One of the things I remember as though I read it yesterday is the idea that when you put someone on a pedestal, you have to be careful to get out of the way when their clay feet come crashing down. I think that I was far more likely to do this when I was younger, and I'm sure I experienced the pain of not getting out of the way more than once. I'm not thirteen anymore, but a part of me still feels that sense of -- dare I say it? -- betrayal. It's absolutely silly for me to say I trusted Greg Mortenson, because I don't know him. Meeting him at a public event, reading his work, and sharing his hometown make for interesting anecdotes, but it's arrogant to claim that any of those things mean I can really say anything about his character. So maybe I shouldn't feel so disillusioned.

And maybe, as more of the story develops, I won't have reason to be. For now, I can say this: I still believe that the work he has done, or at least the work he began, is extremely important. I believe he has done real good in the world. Even Jon Krakauer -- once a fervent supporter himself (and, interestingly enough, no stranger to criticism of this sort) -- concedes that point. So it really is a shame that this -- whatever this turns out to be -- will undoubtedly cast a pall upon his efforts. Because I know it's going to be difficult for me to recommend his books with such wholehearted enthusiasm anymore, and I'd certainly think twice before sending any money to the Central Asia Institute.

Do intentions matter more than ethics? (There's a loaded question, eh?)