Belle de Jour unmasked?

Wow. So good you posted twice.

From the Times article:

There is growing evidence that Belle may be a fictional character who has never been a prostitute.

We need to Release the Weathersons on that sentence.

I hope Mr. Foster gets on to you next, Chris. I’ve always had a sneaking suspicion that Chris Bertram was in actual fact the nom de blog of Paul Johnson. We have a right to know.

It’s Sarah Champion, not Sam Champion, actually.

Reading the article, I remembered that I own a copy of one of the books she’s edited, which also includes an introduction written by her. There’s a similarity between the two, but not enough there to convict on. Still, if you want to read some of it, I’ve got a sample of it here on my blog.

[Oops. Thanks for the correction Nick – post now amended. CB]

That’s because an anonymous News International employee “outed” Belle as Sarah Champion in a comment box on my blog yesterday afternoon. Having edited the comment to remove the name, I contacted Belle to tip her off, in case the same person was outing her on other blogs. Belle denied being Sarah to me in an e-mail, then made a posting on her site a few minutes later.

The Times article shows a distinctive style of reasoning, what might be called reductio ad non-absurdum. One assumes what is to be proved, argues from it to a non-absurd conclusion and then claims QED. In this case, the Times assumed BdJ was an established writer under a pseudonym, Don Foster showed that if she was, then Sarah Champion was the most likely candidate. Since this clearly isn’t absurd, it must be so.

There’s been a lot of reasoning like this about, lately.

Of course, BdJ may be Sarah Champion. As the Times noted, Champion didn’t deny it. But you can’t prove it this way.

Sam Champion, the NYC ABC weather guy?

I know you corrected the typo, but that’s still hilarious.

C.

I’d be impressed with a good writer able to write poorly without giving the game away. But I don’t doubt that there are a few people able to do this, as well as there being people whose writing resists (consistent) forensic analysis.

I don’t really see the appeal of BdJ and its ilk. It’s not pornographically satisfying, unless you’ve lived a sheltered life. It’s not voyeuristically satisfying because its credibility is deeply questionable. The writing isn’t that enjoyable in itself. I guess that leaves juvenile peurilism sumblimated into ironic detachment. Or something.

Of course, BdJ may be Sarah Champion. As the Times noted, Champion didn’t deny it.

But if Belle did deny it, isn’t the Times begging the question? Unless Belle’s denials are fictional rather than real denials–then it would seem that Belle isn’t Champion, but a character of Champion’s creation–and you may have noticed that the bicyclist in the Triplets of Belleville was named Champion–are they trying to tell us something? The mind reels.

If Belle denied it, and Belle is Champion, then Champion denied it.
So for the Times to say that Champion didn’t deny it is to assume that Champion is not Belle–thus begging the question of whether Champion is Belle.
(Of course what they meant is presumably that Champion did not deny it in her own persona–that’s why the post was intended as a joke.)

As a follow-up…I recognize that I should have been aware that you are a philosopher and know exactly what “begging the question” means. I also recognize that my response might be thought to be a little presumptuous.

But there’s something going on here that is an example of something that has baffled me for a long time. My complaint about your observation is that you applied a rigorous analysis at an inappropriate level. A rigorous analysis of such language usage might be appropriate, but it would first require identifying and comprehending all relevant nuances. Much analytical philosophy that I’ve seen strikes me as failing to do this—instead it treats language as an oversimplified formal system version of itself and then, Plato-like, attempts to discover interesting things by subjecting these statements to rigorous logical analysis.

The end result is that I feel like I’m talking to, or reading, an autistic person’s attempt to analyze what people mean when they write and speak.

I say this with a more critical tone than I’d like, but it’s only because I’ve been experiencing a mounting bafflement and frustration about this for some time.

Are we not losing track of the main point? Is it or isn’t it – no matter what everyone says.

Here is the book review that proved so conclusive for Don Foster. Does it sound like Belle? I’m not so sure.

“Tony Hawks’ debut book, Round Ireland with a Fridge, was an irreverent satire. The topic of the sequel is even more absurd. Like Round Ireland, it supposedly originates from an obscure bet. This time, Hawks bets he can’t track-down the Moldovan football team and beat them all at tennis. The loser must perform the Moldovan national anthem naked on Balham High Road. However, knowledge of tennis and/or football isn’t required to enjoy the book.
Hawks’ Irish trip was characterised by willing accomplices who joined in the fun. In Moldova, Hawks also expects a good laugh. Instead, he discovers a grey, dour people, ground down by decades of poverty. He describes Moldova’s “total lack of anything whatsoever to offer the tourist”. Despite the rarity of visitors, he receives an apathetic welcome as his mission provokes little more than weak smiles. Tracking down the footballers and persuading them to play turns becomes almost impossible.

The book treads a fine line between brilliant and juvenile, between Jeremy Beadle and the genuinely witty. Hawks’ sixth-form joke of presenting a round table to Moldova’s new King Arthur is especially cringe-worthy. His experience as a second-division stand-up leads to innumerable trite quips. Still, overall Playing The Moldovans At Tennis is an entertaining, easy read that will make you chuckle. It provides an interesting view of Eastern Europe’s post-Communist life, while keeping you in suspense: Will he? Won’t he? Suffice to say that, yes, at the end of the book someone does end up naked and singing outside a South London Woolworths. –Sarah Champion”

Belle is not Sarah Champion
Belle is not Lisa Hilton
Belle is not Chris Hart
Belle is not a writer
Belle is, actually, a real person and a call girl.
*taps nose*

Agreed with the first sentence, and on my spring break too.

I think the solution you come up with may be the most plausible; if there’s an issue with it, it comes from the fact that Belle is not presented as a fictional character (as Jenkins, I suppose, is). If every word written on Belle’s site turns out to be true, then we would say that Belle is identical with the person who wrote it.

I’m idly curious as to whether you could run a similar case with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, were they real–it seems as though you could say “Dr. Jekyll denied that he and Mr. Hyde were the same person, but Mr. Hyde did not deny it,” and communicate something similar to what gets communicated in this case.

(And go lodge your complaints on my blog, why don’t you? This is the sort of comment I’d love to have.)