What Do Fact-Checkers and Anesthesiologists Have in Common?

Understanding why some people choose professions where accomplishments go unheralded

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If you're even just a light reader of highbrow periodicals and you've managed to miss seeing a review of The Lifespan of a Fact by John D'Agata and Jim Fingal, you've accomplished the equivalent of standing in a blizzard without one flake of snow landing on your shoulder. With coverage in the New York Times book review and magazine, Harper's, the New Yorker blog, Salon, and Slate, "The Lifespan of a Fact" has managed one of those periodic book release PR juggernauts that writers privately fantasize about. The book is a reprint of an essay about a suicide in Las Vegas that D'Agata submitted to the Believer along with text from the wildly extended and heated argument that then ensued between him and Fingal, his fact checker at the magazine. Things started off poorly. The now-infamous first sentence alone was riddled with errors. Here's just one of them: D'Agata writes that there were "34 licensed strip clubs" in Vegas at the time of the suicide. Fingal's research suggests there were only 31, and he asks D'Agata how he got 34. "Because the rhythm of '34' works better in that sentence than the rhythm of '31,'" D'Agata replies, as if this were a fiction workshop. Things degenerate from there.

As a former fact checker for a variety of Conde Nast magazines, including around four years at Vogue, and a stint as the Research Chief at the now-defunct Radar, I took an immediate interest in the book and its coverage. While D'Agata's extraordinary and often blithe defense of purposefully printing errors and flat-out fabrications in a non fiction essay is compelling, as is his obnoxious tone with his fact checker - villains of course often make for exciting characters - I found myself thinking more about the underdog, Fingal. Specifically, how does his role as the fact checker fit, or not, within our society?

IN A CULTURE that favors sensation, the fact checker is an anomaly, perhaps even anathema. He is the brakes on editors and writers racing toward deadline intent on dazzling readers at the expense of edifying them. He is the schoolmarm tsk tsking. He is the public defender for the unrepresented, the downtrodden, the forgotten—the facts.

As we drudge through yet another election season, half-truths, out-of-context claims, and blatant lies befall us daily in political ads and speeches, and through the media outlets that recirculate them. While we get occasionally furious, mostly, it seems as a culture we've accepted that we're being lied to. To survive one must be a cynic. And not just in the political sphere, of course. With so much content in sensational blogs and dubious sites, where the veracity of the text (and photos for that matter) can't be trusted, with corporate spin doctors obscuring the truth about every scandal, most of us are left wondering what to believe. In this environment, highly regarded national magazines are one of the last bastions of rest for a mind perpetually on guard for BS, for they employ fact checkers. Yes, errors big and small* leak through, but in practice every fact—from a Russian dissident's age, to the driving time from Montpellier to Paris, to a Madonna quote, to the proper oven temperature for baking a famous chef's bread—is checked. (And when I say last bastion, I mean it. An excerpt from a version of D'Agata's essay still bursting with errors is on the website of the NEA, which awarded D'Agata a writing fellowship. I hate to give Republicans ammo for their mission to defund the arts, but this is disappointing to say the least.)

YET FACT CHECKERS' unfortunately rare position in our current climate is not what is most noteworthy about them. What's most interesting about fact checkers is the circumstances they work under and the traits they must possess to perform their job. Generally speaking, fact checking is a largely thankless job where the person is invisible if he does his job perfectly and is only noticed for his work when things go wrong. He must work confidently, meticulously, and take accuracy as its own reward. If he makes an error the stakes can be enormous—a loss of his job, a lawsuit, the damaged reputation of a writer, editors, and a publication. He will receive no byline. This requires essentially a reverse skill set, hell, a reverse attitude about life in a culture that seeks endless pats on the back, where everyone in Little League gets a trophy—even the backup right fielder on the last place team. Where we collectively are in a mad panic to have our thoughts and actions known via lengthy blog posts, and in nugget form on Facebook and Twitter, our every mediocre photo shared on Flickr. Where we are willing to debase ourselves to have our personal dramas on reality TV. Where ads are increasingly tailored to us specifically (thanks to all those aforementioned Facebook posts). The American ethos screams YOU, the individual, are important, you must be counted, you must make yourself noticed! What type of person, in a society with these values, goes the other way and chooses anonymity?

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David Zweig is a writer and lecturer based in Brooklyn, New York. He is the author of the novel Swimming Inside the Sun.

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