The recent revelation of thriller writer Freida McFadden's true identity has me contemplating the value of anonymity. In a culture as fame-hungry as the one precipitating from reality television and social media, I'm charmed by authors who manage to nudge work into the spotlight while remaining hidden themselves. Chuck Tingle wears a cheeky pink bag over his head at public appearances. Thomas Pynchon is nearly as renowned for being withdrawn as he is for his fiction. Elena Ferrante, too, of course--despite an alleged unmasking a decade ago, the details of that case left me with enough doubts that I prefer to carry on as if it never happened. And now debut author Liadan Ní Chuinn follows in their footsteps.
McFadden, a doctor, stated that she chose a pseudonym out of concern that literary fame could impact her medical practice. Eventually, though, her pen name's secrecy overshadowed its utility. Alas, despite my own misgivings about one more of life's little mysteries being solved, I do think it's fitting that fans of her psychological thrillers would eventually get to find out whodunit.