At this point, I'm pretty inured to the daily stream of fakoirs being revealed. At first I was shocked by every revelation: OMG, you mean the woman didn't really escape the Nazis to dance with wolves?
I'm a little sister; I fall for everything.
Now my skeptical glasses are on at all times though, and I just assume that everyone's fakin'. But I'm finding the most recent "I faked my life -- wrote a book about it -- and no one figured it out for a really long time" scenario somewhat shocking. To catchup: a woman wrote a memoir about her life in South Central, dealing drugs with the bloods. Totes believable, right? You too can go from drug dealer to published novelist in a decade; I should switch my career path stat.
The fakoir got rave reviews...and then was revealed to be a total invention.
What gets me here isn't the faking, but that it was her sister that busted her. What kind of sibling loyalty is that? Maybe what we need here is a memoir -- fake or not -- from the sister. (I'd also read one by David Kaczynski.)