"Chanrithy Him loved to watch her father work the magic.
It happened when the tight fingers of asthma would grip
her lungs. Despite her frantic gasps, the air was stuck.
Quickly, her father would open his drawer of medicine,
grab a vial, a syringe. The magic worked. She could breathe
again. Nothing was more amazing to her--one minute taking
her last breath, the next minute running to play...."
--from a Register-Guard
story by Kimber Williams, Nov. 27, 1994
"My father knew magic. I felt him work his magic when
the heavy fingers of asthma clutched my lungs. I would
sit up and gasp for air, but everything was stuck. Quickly,
my father would open his drawer of French medicine, grab
a vial and a syringe. Then the magic worked, it always
did. It was amazing to me. One minute I was taking my
last breath, the next minute I was running off to play."
--from When Broken Glass Floats
by Chanrithy Him
Chanrithy Him arrived in Portland in 1981 an orphaned 16-year-old
refugee from Cambodia. Today, she's the celebrated author
of a poignant memoir chronicling her brutal childhood under
the Khmer Rouge. Now on bookstore shelves,
When Broken
Glass Floats has been named a "Discover Great New Authors"
title by Barnes & Noble and has earned the praise of
National Book Award winner Ha Jin and Pulitzer Prize-winning
journalist Sydney Schanberg, whose
New York Times Magazine
article about Cambodia inspired the movie
The Killing
Fields.
Despite all this national attention, the book is generating
controversy in Him's home state--both in Portland, where
she attended Cleveland High School and later worked at
Oregon Health Sciences University, and in Eugene, where
she currently lives and works. That's because a Eugene
journalist is threatening to take Him to court. Kimber
Williams claims she co-authored the book and was not given
any credit.
The disputed authorship of When Broken Glass Floats
is creating a lot of discomfort in a state that loves
to support its local writers. Last month, a reading by
Him at the Barnes & Noble store in Eugene was dominated
by protesters. The University of Oregon bookstore in Eugene
has postponed orders of the book until "the dispute is
resolved," and a feminist bookstore in Eugene, Mother
Kali's, recently canceled a Him reading scheduled there.
The flap has received less attention in Portland, but
those who've caught wind of it are leery. Roberta Dyer,
co-owner of Broadway Books, says she'd normally "buy a
stack of books by a local author and put them up near
the door," but she's also decided to wait until the dispute
is settled. "I'm uncomfortable about the accusation,"
Dyer adds. "With an accusation like that looming over
a book, I'd be sorry to have it in the store if it turned
out to be true."
Williams says she once thought the publication of Him's
book would mean satisfaction for both women and the sealing
of a friendship between the two. But seeing the book in
print has only brought regret and bitterness.
A reporter for the Eugene Register-Guard, Williams
says she wrote much of the prose in When Broken Glass
Floats based on a long series of interviews with Him
in 1998. For about 10 months, Williams claims, she and
Him met several times a week at Him's Eugene home.
As Him recounted specifics from her life in Cambodia,
Williams sat at the keyboard and composed, having been
assured, she says, of shared credit. But after a prologue
and 12 chapters were finished, with another eight chapters
outlined in detail, Him suddenly presented Williams with
a contract naming her "copy editor" and establishing Him
as sole author.
"I was shocked," says Williams, who refused to sign the
contract and rejected a subsequent $500 check from Him.
"I tried to explain the difference between writing and
editing, tried to get her to understand what we'd done
together, but she said she'd heard at a conference that
if you co-authored a book you weren't taken seriously
as a writer."
Williams says she informed the publisher, W.W. Norton
& Co., of the authorship dispute in advance of publication,
but her complaints (never responded to by Norton's New
York office) only seemed to hustle up the printing of
the book. Copies hit store shelves weeks before the scheduled
publication date, with Him's name alone splashed across
the cover.
"I'm very surprised at Norton," says Williams' New York
attorney, Neal I. Gantcher. "As yet, I have not received
a satisfactory explanation about why neither the publisher
nor Him's agent have contacted Kimber about her complaint."
Norton editor Amy Cherry declined to answer questions
about the publisher's position, but Gantcher maintains
that since the giant publisher knew of the dispute before
the book came out, it now has a responsibility to Williams
to correct the mistake.
At a Eugene reading in early May, Him repeatedly described
the book--and the writing of it--as her own. Otherwise,
however, she has declined to speak to media about the
dispute, instead relying on Portland lawyer Michael Ratoza
to defend her position as sole author. He says Williams
was hired as an editor, not co-author, and that Him maintained
creative control over the book--from beginning to end.
"Kimber Williams has bad feelings; she has sour grapes,"
he says. "She hasn't written a book in her life but would
like to, so she's riding on Chanrithy Him's coattails."
Ratoza says it was Him's original draft--one that won
her an Oregon Literary Fellowship before she ever met
Williams--that provided the basis for the book. "Williams
merely assisted my client in editing portions of an already-existing
manuscript," he says. "Kimber Williams never lived in
Southeast Asia; she never experienced the tragedies my
client experienced. She did some tinkering on a few chapters,
that's all."
But Williams says Him approached her specifically because
that first draft had been roundly rejected by agents and
publishers who said her story, while compelling, suffered
from weak writing. This version of events seems to be
supported by other Oregon writers.
Corvallis author Linda Crew says Him approached her in
early 1998 for help on the book, saying no top publisher
would accept it unless she found another writer to help
"enhance her voice." Crew says she has several e-mail
messages documenting Him's urgent feeling that she couldn't
submit another manuscript without such help--help that
Crew was unwilling to provide.
"She obviously had an important story, but it was so
intensely personal, I was wary. I could picture arguing
every word with her," Crew says. "Besides, I'm not a collaborator.
I just don't work that way."
At least three University of Oregon writing professors,
including award-winning journalist Lauren Kessler, also
declined to get involved in Him's project. Williams herself
initially declined. She later changed her mind, however,
consenting to "co-author" Him's story, but only if they
started from scratch on a whole new manuscript.
"I made it very clear to her that I believed her story
was important and that I wanted to help get it published,"
Williams says. "I told her I didn't want money, but that
I did want credit for my role in writing the book." The
two women, Williams says, made a verbal deal--no written
contract was ever signed.
Even Him lends credence to Williams' version of events.
In an unpublished article by Chris Weber titled "Getting
Your Book Published," she's quoted as saying, "I resisted
the idea of a co-author. I wanted so much for the book
to be mine. Then I got more phone calls from agents suggesting
the same thing.... Eventually I decided to take their
advice and agreed to talk to potential co-authors.
"I was adamant that if I worked with a co-author, I would
have the final say. I asked Kimber Williams, a news reporter
who write [sic] an article about me, if she would like
to work with me. She suggested that we work with each
other,
and see how it worked out."
Local writers are hesitant to take sides in the dispute,
but some clearly believe the book would not have come
into being without the direct influence of Williams. "Chanrithy
had an unpublishable manuscript and then she had one that
was publishable," says Crew. "Something happened in that
time period to make a difference. It seems clear to me
it was working with Kimber Williams."
As Him makes her way around the Northwest, reading in
bookstores willing to overlook the controversy, Williams
is waiting for an unnamed outside reviewer--who has volunteered
to look at the materials--to finish looking over the evidence
she's compiled and make a report to the publisher.
Meanwhile, her attorney has demanded that Norton make
good with a cash settlement. Williams says she originally
meant for her share of the cash advance for the book and
the royalties to go to Him--all she wanted was to have
her name on the cover. Now that that is no longer possible,
Gantcher says, he'll strongly pursue financial restitution.
"I'd like Norton to do the honorable thing here," he says.
"But if they can't settle this honorably, then Kimber
will soon be faced with a hard decision about filing a
lawsuit."
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Willamette Week | originally
published May 10,
2000
