Memory, accuracy and literature

When can the author of an autobiography be considered an unreliable narrator?

That thought kept going through my mind as I read Loung Ung's First They Killed My Father.

Ung uses the voice of a child narrator -- alternately petulant, unsophisticated and angry -- to tell her story. I had difficulty believing she could remember with such vividness situations and conversations that occured when she was just a child. It's not just the details of her memories as a five-year-old, but her mature observations ("I know we are middle-class because of our apartment and the possessions we have") that make them suspect.

Also, there is very little context or background to Ung's story. Rather, she uses dialogue as an explanatory device which sounds awkward and forced. It also puts the history of Cambodia and the conflict in the mouths of her parents -- hardly unobjective commentators.

There's also a strain of ethnic stereotyping that runs through her book, particularly the way she describes the differences between the Chinese and Khmer. The way she goes on and on about her mother's white skin you start to wonder just where Ung's biases lie.

I think what's most compelling about this book is how it brings up the problem of how to criticize the literature of survivorship. Can you say, this isn't very good writing without diminishing the importance of the story? Can you find fault with its details but still appreciate its overarching truths?

Lillian Helman's Pentimento has been shown to be primarily a figment of her imagination (I hope she doesn't come back from the grave to sue me for saying that!) but it so wonderfully written that you can overlook the veracity for the craft.

Ung's young life was is harrowing and so very tragic. I really wanted this book to be much better than it is. I think her story deserves better.