To Be Honest

April 1, 2020
An obsessive search for honesty that becomes an emotional minefield. In this uneven but oddly absorbing book, Leviton unapologetically reveals what raw honesty looks and feels like. The author was raised in a household he dubs "a little honesty cult," in which he was encouraged by his parents to always tell the truth, no matter how painful or embarrassing the circumstances. "My parents...argued that children are born honest," he writes, "that we revel in self-expression until parents, teachers, and friends punish or shame our honesty away." Leviton divides his journey into three distinct parts, starting with the inevitable conflicts he inspired in other schoolchildren and the rather bizarre "family therapy camp" that would result in his parents' divorce. Armed with a creative spark, a flair for the ukulele, and an arch sense of humor often misunderstood by others, the author landed in New York City trying to find work as a writer. This middle part is poignant but also quite painful to read, as the author describes his experiences in a relationship with the love of his life at the time, a graphic artist who regularly broke up with him. Eventually, Leviton decided that the only way to break the poisonous cycle of truth that handicapped him in many ways was to learn to lie. "My early lies," he writes, "were simple attempts to misrepresent myself as normal," merely pieces of his "experimentation with dishonesty." Add to these experiences some peculiar drama on the side--e.g., Leviton philosophically arguing with an armed mugger or accidentally inspiring an orgy--and readers will get the literary equivalent of a radio program they stumbled across but can't turn off, albeit with the edited parts left in this time. A memoir that shows that while truth doesn't always mean beauty, there's something to be said for beautiful liars, too.

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Starred review from May 25, 2020
Musician and screenwriter Leviton brings great wit and irony to his debut memoir about the pros and cons of being honest, at all costs, all of the time. In his late 30s, after ending a seven-year relationship with Eve, a fellow musician, he recalls his eccentric Southern California upbringing. Leviton’s emotionally distant father told the then-four-year-old Leviton to respect people by “trusting them to handle the truth,” even if it may hurt them. “It made most people want to strangle me,” he writes. In grade school, he accuses a teacher of being a racist after she unjustly punishes a Latino classmate; Leviton also scares away a group of bullies after challenging them to reveal their feelings about themselves. In his early 20s, Leviton moves to New York City, where he meets Eve, his people-pleasing foil. She helps him recognize the traits of his upbringing (“Silence was suffering, confession was connection, and criticism was love,” he writes). Then, convinced that lying will make him and others happier, he becomes lost in untruths, wrestling with the pleasant white lies of small talk, such as saying “I’m fine” when asked “How are you?” He eventually stops lying, realizing that he’s unmoved by “being liked or making people happy,” and vows to “read whether a person wants honesty or not.” Honestly, this thoroughly enjoyable, wry narrative is a winner.