Truth, Lies, and Memoir

Image: Justice may be blind - but should readers? (Source: Google)

I loved reading Raynor Winn’s 'The Salt Path'. It’s a compelling account of a 630‑mile (1013 km) walk along the Cornish coastline undertaken by Winn and her husband Moth. Their journey is framed by personal catastrophe—homelessness, terminal illness, and the search for meaning through the healing power of nature. It’s raw, redemptive, and well written. I drew on the book as inspiration for my own 625-mile (1005 km) walk on Western Australia’s Bibbulmun Track in October 2024.

My praise for 'The Salt Path' wasn't unique. The book struck a chord with millions. It sold over 2 million copies and was adapted into a film starring Gillian Anderson (The X-Files) and Jason Isaacs (The White Lotus, Harry Potter). I went on to read Winn’s follow-up books, 'The Wild Silence' and 'Landlines'. But partway through reading 'The Wild Silence', an article in The Observer (July 2025) stopped me in my tracks.

Image: Moth and Raynor Winn and the movie promotion poster for 'The Salt Path'with Gillian Andreson and Jason Issacs (Source: The Observer)

The report cast doubt on the truth of Winn’s narrative. According to The Observer, the story of financial ruin caused by a friend’s betrayal was misleading. In fact, the couple allegedly lost their home due to defaulting on a loan Raynor Winn had taken out to repay funds she’d (allegedly) embezzled from a former employer. Their supposed homelessness is also complicated by the reported existence of a property they own in France. Even Moth’s fatal diagnosis at the heart of the book is now being questioned. Of lesser concern is that ‘Raynor’ and ‘Moth’ are pseudonyms—real names Sally Ann and Timothy Walker.

Image: The spectacular Cornish Coast (Source: The Happy Hiker)

Winn has since refuted all of the allegations, arguing that her books represent the ‘authentic spiritual and physical truth’ of the journey, even if ‘some factual details were mis-remembered or omitted’ (AP News). But to me, her arguments ring hollow.

And so we come to the heart of the matter: truth, lies, and memoir.

There’s an old journalism adage: ‘Don’t let the facts get in the way of a good story.’ Winn may have taken this a little too literally. The problem arises when memoirs are marketed—and consumed—as truth. If a work is presented as factual, then readers have a right to expect that it is. The moment an author blurs those lines, especially for dramatic or commercial gain, they undermine trust. And trust is the currency of memoir.

Image: The Blackwood Hut, almost half way on my Bibbulmun Track journey (Source: Pete Mitchell)

Imagine the reception ‘The Salt Path’ might have had if readers knew the story was only ‘based on true events’ but not entirely accurate. Would it have sold two million copies? Probably not. The emotional pull of the story—our empathy for their supposed unjust downfall—was central to its appeal.

This tension between ‘emotional truth’ and ‘verifiable fact’ is not new. As The Financial Times recently noted, we live in an era of ‘truthiness’—stories that feel true, even when the facts don’t check out. In an age of AI distortion, deepfakes, and confessional media, we’re more susceptible than ever to narratives that manipulate fact for feeling.

Publishers, too, bear responsibility. Penguin insisted it conducted standard due diligence before releasing ‘The Salt Path’, but the revelations surrounding Winn echo earlier scandals—such as the infamous Belle Gibson’s health fraud.

Image: Belle Gibson - story of a fraud (Source: YouTube)

Gibson, as you may recall, falsely claimed to have survived multiple cancers thanks to alternative therapies. She monetised her fabricated illness through a bestselling cookbook ('The Whole Pantry'), an app, and media appearances. She even claimed to donate profits to charity—claims later proven false. In 2017, she was fined $410,000, which as of March 2025, she still hadn’t paid.

Even after that saga, Gibson wasn’t done. In 2020, she resurfaced, pretending to be part of Melbourne’s Ethiopian community—calling herself ‘Sabontu,’ speaking in broken Oromo, and referring to Ethiopia as ‘back home.’ Members of the local Oromo community were baffled, nobody knew her and they requested that she refrained from claiming any association.

Then there’s the Helen Demidenko (Helen Darville, aka Helen Dale) controversy. Her 1994 debut novel ‘The Hand That Signed the Paper’ told the tale of Ukrainian collaborators during WWII and won the Miles Franklin Award in 1995. It was later revealed that Darville had faked her Ukrainian family history solely to lend her story credibility. The backlash was fierce. The literary world was forced to reckon with how much an author’s claimed identity influences the reception of their work.

And yet, not all pseudonyms are fraudulent. Some of the greatest authors in history—George Eliot (Mary Ann Evans), George Orwell (Eric Blair), Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens)—wrote under assumed names for a variety of valid reasons. Even Miles Franklin herself published under a pseudonym to avoid the misogyny of her time. Later, she used a whole catalogue of pseudonyms, including the delightfully odd Silence Dogood, Caelia Shortface and Polly Baker, to allow her work to be judged on its own merits and avoid persecution.

Image: Miles Frankllin author of 'My Brilliant Career' who the Miles Franklin literary Award (and Stella Award) is named after (Source: State Library of NSW)

The big difference? These pseudonyms weren’t used to conceal deception or wrongdoing. Even I publish under the pseudonym of Pete Mitchell.

Raynor Winn may have written a beautiful first book (not a memoir). She may have even believed in the deeper, emotional truths she conveyed. But once you enter the world of memoir—where readers expect a pact of honesty—truth matters. Emotional truth cannot come at the expense of factual integrity. Once that line is crossed, readers rightfully become sceptics, and genuine voices risk being drowned out by doubt.

Memoir invites us into the most intimate spaces of other people’s live. It’s a genre that thrives on vulnerability, reflection, and trust. When authors distort the facts or embellishes their suffering for a better story, they betray that trust—not just with readers, but with those who share similar struggles in real life.

If ‘The Salt Path’ moved you (as it did me), that’s real. But the revelations about Winn’s story urge us to read more critically, to question what we’re being told—and understand why. In an age of curated personas, manufactured stories, fake news and AI-generated authenticity, truth is more important than ever.

So my call to action is: support stories that are honest and touch you emotionally —even if they’re messy or (potentially) less dramatic. Share the works that strive for truth, and challenge the ones that don’t. Let’s honour the courage it takes to tell a real story, not just a good one.

Image: Trust is built on blocks of truth (Source: Google)