WHAM, SLAM, THANK YOU, MA’AM! SELF-REPRESENTATION IN

THE AUTOBIOGRAPHIES OF FEMALE PROFESSIONAL WRESTLERS

By

ROXANNE GARSTAD

Integrated Studies Final Project Essay (MAIS 700)

submitted to Dr. Nanci Langford

in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of

Master of Arts – Integrated Studies

Athabasca, Alberta

April 2014

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ABSTRACT

The representation of the self within autobiography is explored through an examination of three memoirs written by female professional wrestlers. The nature of self-representation is especially problematic due to the performance aspect of professional wrestling, in which professional wrestlers develop complex characters that carry out predetermined verbal and physical encounters. Determining voice and external influences in the texts becomes difficult when three potential selves converge: the real self, the wrestling character, and the autobiographical character. The reader is challenged to ascertain the authentic narrative voice and to determine if the real self is represented within the text, as the three memoirists alternate between the voices of their true selves and those of their characters. This compounds unsolved issues of legitimacy and authority within the genre of autobiography.

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Wham, Slam, Thank you, Ma’am! Self-Representation in the Autobiographies of

Female Professional Wrestlers

Although the celebrity autobiographical craze has reached the realm of

professional wrestling, few works have been written by women. Of those, three in

particular emerge as illustrative of the struggle within self-representative writing to

engage in complete candour (Gilmore ix). In a comparison of these three autobiographies

written by female professional wrestlers, Lillian Ellison, Amy Dumas, and Alexandra

Whitney, otherwise known to pro-wrestling fans as The Fabulous Moolah, Lita, and

Blakwidow, one central question must be asked: how do issues with self-representation

and autobiography as method manifest themselves? Although these accounts might very

well be of interest only to pro-wrestling fans, a close reading and textual analysis of the

three memoirs serves to highlight a key problem scholars struggle to solve within

autobiography studies: whether the true self is represented within the text.

Both autobiography and pro-wrestling are performances whereby characters are

created, storylines are advanced, and universal themes are played out in titillating fashion.

When studying either autobiography or pro-wrestling, the reader must constantly ask,

what is real? When are liberties being taken? Is this a truthful representation of facts?

And, critically, has the real person written his or her true thoughts and self into the text?

Another complication is whether or not the self-representative writing can be

labelled “autobiography” or “memoir.” Some scholars use the terms interchangeably,

whereas others distinguish between them. Rak acknowledges the shifting definition of

memoir, pinpointing it as a “popular textual product . . . [that is] the hallmark of personal

vanity, not literary quality” (“Are Memoirs Autobiography?” 306, 311-312). A memoir is

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a “certain kind of life narrative” (emphasis added, Couser, Memoir 3), rich in ordinary

human stories that might not meet the literary appetites of professional critics or

academics (Pinsker 320). Accessible to wannabe writers and their fans, memoir holds a

great deal of appeal to the celebrity set. Memoir is more available to amateur writers –

the non-academic, that is – than literary autobiography (Couser, Memoir 26) and is

considered to be less sophisticated (Rak, “Are Memoirs Autobiography?” 310). Thus, it is

the perfect venue for celebrities (often with the aid of ghostwriters) to tell their life

stories.

Memoir’s sophisticated big brother is, of course, autobiography. Scholars hold

the autobiographical canon in high esteem, including, as it does, the works of Augustine,

Rousseau, and other accomplished male scholars or literary figures of the past

millennium. Women have largely been excluded from this self-reflexive discourse (Rak,

“Are Memoirs Autobiography?” 310). Stanton argues that “autobiography [is] wielded as

a weapon to denigrate female texts and exclude them from the canon” (4). For much of

the twentieth century, it was not socially acceptable for women autobiographers to write

of their achievements, ambition, or accomplishments without citing the help of others

(Heilbrun 24). Since the 1970s, women’s autobiography has been considered complex

enough to be worth critical reflection (Smith and Watson, “Introduction” 4-5), although

some scholars argue that autobiographical works are still mostly written by men (Pinsker

312). Memoir has been set up as an easier-to-write, more accessible and straightforward

form of life writing for writers and readers alike, one that seems to allow the participation

of women. Gilmore argues that women’s writing is often viewed as “homelier” and not

deserving of categorization within the masculine world of literary autobiography. She

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contends that “women’s autobiography cannot be recognized as ‘autobiography’ when it

is written against the dominant representations of identity and authority as masculine” (1-

2). It is often assumed that female autobiographers are really just making up the facts

(Gilmore 8). The reader is therefore left wondering about the truthfulness of the

memoir’s content.

This is where the likeness between the worlds of memoir and pro-wrestling meet,

for they are both threats to their parent disciplines – pro-wrestling undermines the

credibility of the “real” sport of Olympic-style wrestling (Leng et al. 45) and memoir

highlights the deficiencies within the genre of autobiography. Rak claims that “in

autobiography criticism memoir presents itself as a threat to autobiography because it

points out that there is a lack in the genre in the first place” (Rak, “Are Memoirs

Autobiography” 317). Pro-wrestling and memoir are the bottom-feeders of the sport and

literary worlds. And when these two worlds come together, the reader should expect to

be intrigued and entertained, with their base appetites satisfied (Rak, “Are Memoirs

Autobiography” 315). Ellison, Dumas, and Whitney (or Moolah, Lita, and Blakwidow,

whoever is speaking at a given moment) seek to gratify these appetites.

It is worthwhile to examine the nature of women’s professional wrestling in order

to obtain a sense of how the construction of female characters in wrestling is problematic.

Pro-wrestling began as an “honest” sport, although it is estimated that by at least 1910,

orchestrated wrestling – that is, wrestling with pre-arranged motions, fixed endings, and

actor-like contenders – replaced real wrestling (Barthes 16, Maguire 155). In the early

decades of the twentieth-century, women’s pro-wrestling was seen as immoral. To

circumvent this, by the 1940s women were cast as valets or managers (Oppliger 125).

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Slave Girl Moolah, later The Fabulous Moolah, was one of the pioneering female

managers. In her memoir, The Fabulous Moolah: First Goddess of the Squared Circle,

she remembers this time well:

When I was coming up, it was unheard of for a lady wrestler to be strong

and independent. We were the valets for the men stars, and we had men –

promoters, other wrestlers, husbands or boyfriends – telling us exactly

what to do. Well, I never did listen to any of them. I did what I wanted to

do, ever since I was a little girl and defied my dear daddy’s wishes by

entering the ring (Ellison 11).

During the 1980s and 1990s, the world of wrestling changed for women.

Violence was combined with sexual imagery (Mazer 115), with female wrestlers

especially becoming increasingly sexualized (Oppliger 125). While male pro-wrestlers

tend to fill a number of different stereotypical roles, such as “the millionaire”, “the surfer

dude”, and “the biker,” “the characterization of women in wrestling remains for the most

part abstract.” Instead of taking on roles that women normally have in day-to-day life, in

modern pro-wrestling, there continues to be a virgin/whore binary in their

characterization (Mazer 123). Oppliger, in her discussion of modern types of female pro-

wrestlers – two of which she characterizes as “the powerful” and “the masculine” –

remains more optimistic regarding the roles that modern female pro-wrestlers can take

on. The powerful type most approaches the situation enjoyed by male wrestlers, in that

the female has a voice, both behind the scenes, in the development of plotlines, and on

the wrestling “stage”. In addition, this newly powerful female is more than just “eye-

candy,” although, admittedly, she can use her sexuality as a distraction tool (126). Fitting

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into this category is the character of Lita, who admits in her memoir, Lita: The Less

Traveled R.O.A.D.: The Reality of Amy Dumas, that “the only sex symbols in wrestling

had been these blonde Barbie doll types, which I most definitely was not” (Dumas 177).

Commenting on the sexualized nature of a photography shoot, Lita writes that “at the

same time as I was pioneering what a female could do in the wrestling ring, I was also

being used for cheesecake” (Dumas 181). Although a step in the right direction toward

female empowerment, the powerful type of woman pro-wrestler cannot escape from

sexualized characterization.

Oppliger’s masculine type of female wrestler takes the cheesecake out of the

equation. The masculine type rejects typically female characteristics, such as a nurturing

and caring attitude, and is physically brutal to her opponents. Oppliger identifies Moolah

as the prototype, especially with her reputation as a “dirty fighter” (128). Moolah

concurs:

Well, I had learned that you can entertain people a whole lot better by

being bad. You know by now that if nothing else, I tell it like it is. I’m a

straight shooter, darlin’, and I let the chips fall where they may. So how’s

this for not trying to run away from the way things happened: I have no

qualms whatsoever telling you, I was a dirty wrestler. And the fans loved

it (Ellison 126).

In describing the function of her character “The Blakwidow” Amanda Storm,

Alexandra Whitney writes in her memoir, Blakwidow: My First Year as a Professional

Wrestler, that her job “boils down to making the people hate you” and acting like one of

the guys (Storm 81, 122). In entering a male space, female pro-wrestlers often take on

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masculine characteristics and, to survive, all three of our autobiographers describe having

to do so. For instance, Ellison stresses her physical toughness, acquired in her youth as

the only girl in a family of boys, and capitalized upon in her career (27). In her opinion,

wrestling is a “manly thing” (225). To establish her place in this masculine world,

Dumas becomes “one of the guys” (179). And Storm admits to hiding her “maternal

side” (195). But that original question remains – is it the real person taking on those

characteristics (Ellison, Dumas, and Whitney) or is it the character (Moolah, Lita, and

Blakwidow)? In this situation, the issues regarding self-representation within

autobiography are especially problematic.

Self-representational writing is “writing that emphasizes the autobiographical I,”

of which autobiography/memoir is a form (Gilmore 42). That these three works are

autobiographical is not in question. Rather, it is the representation of the self in these

three texts that turns out to be problematic, in two specific ways. Firstly,

autobiographical writing is, by nature, not always truthful and, on occasion, contains

fictional elements (Stanton 9). Thus, the reader should expect that the writers are not

always representing themselves and their experiences truthfully. Secondly, the world of

pro-wrestling is one based on falsehoods and misrepresentation. When these two

circumstances combine, the reader is left with an uneasy feeling that he or she is being

doubly duped.

The issue of truthfulness within autobiography/memoir has been examined at

length. Autobiography scholars admit that it can be difficult to distinguish between

biography and fiction (Anderson 2). The self, Brosman confesses, is a mirage and,

quoting Lahr, proposes that a person’s history, as depicted through autobiographical

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writing, is fable-like (97). Brosman goes on to argue that self-narratives are “derived

from others or arbitrarily and falsely constructed, thus inauthentic, or as the

postmodernists say, problematic” (97). The narrator and subject of the autobiography has

little to do with the real person and their experiences (Goozé 412). It is almost as if a

character is created within the autobiography or memoir, loosely based on a real person.

Lesk sees this type of self-representational writing being “literary self-creation as

performance” (173) or, as Fox calls it, a “performativity of identity” (237). It would

appear that the best memoirists know that they are transforming themselves into

characters (Pinsker 313). What, then, is the consequence when a writer’s public persona

is already represented by a character? If a character’s writing produces another character,

where is the real self represented?

An autobiography or memoir, by its very nature, is focused on revealing the

identity of the narrator; how the narrator can “negotiate fictions of identity and

resistances to the constraints of a given identity” comes to be of central importance

(Smith and Watson, Reading Autobiography 168). The question of identity within the

three pro-wrestling memoirs is a key concern, as it is often unclear which persona is

narrating – the authentic Mary Lillian Ellison, born in Tookiedoo, South Carolina in 1923

(Ellison 26), or her highly sexualized character, the Fabulous Moolah; the real Amy

Dumas, born in 1975 in Florida, or Lita, the daring, high-flying wrestler (Dumas 8-9); or

the genuine Alexandra Whitney, born in 1966 in California, or the small-time wrestler

and troublemaker, Amanda Storm, a.k.a. Blakwidow?

The importance of the secrecy within pro-wrestling is so immense that there is a

term dedicated to describing it: that is, “kayfabe”. The term kayfabe was first used in

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carnival shows in the nineteenth century and refers to a con or deception (Mazer 22). To

“break kayfabe” is to reveal pro-wrestling’s inner secrets, specifically that the matches

are predetermined at the outset and that the wrestlers are playing characters (“Kayfabe”).

Ellison appears to find it difficult to break kayfabe, as she alternates between

asserting the authenticity of pro-wrestling, to hinting or even revealing that it is not real:

for instance, claiming that she “won” the championship belt in 1956 (3). The victory is

claimed in Moolah’s voice, but stories of what occurred behind the scenes (214) are,

presumably, in Ellison’s voice. Smith and Watson refer to this tactic as the alternation of

identities within the narrative text (Reading Autobiography, 168). Ellison acknowledges

that this alternation of identities occurs throughout her memoirs when she writes that

“there are really two people talking to you here” (11) or when she refers to her character

in the third person (169), which is a style also embraced by Dumas and Whitney.

Ellison’s supposedly “real” voice occasionally comes through, especially when she

admits that wrestling is entertainment and is comprised of characters, which exhibit “ring

showmanship” (58-9). Here, she is not keeping kayfabe, not pretending to maintain the

farce of professional wrestling, as her character must do. Of the three memoirs, Ellison

struggles most with distinguishing between her voice and that of her character, although

the texts of Dumas and Whitney are also problematic in this regard.

The autobiographical writing of Dumas is the longest of the three, containing

many anecdotes from her childhood and early, pre-professional wrestling adulthood.

Those that she chooses to share with her readers involve her experiences with acquiring

tattoos (37) and playing in a band (53), highlighting her love of the punk rock lifestyle

and music (24). These work to establish early on key features of the character of Lita.

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However, it is difficult to ascertain when the voice in the text is Dumas or when it

is Lita. On one hand, she readily admits that wrestling was not what it appeared to be

when she writes about her early encounters with it: “To me, wrestling was just a bunch of

rednecks fake-punching each other, . . . a lot of overweight guys in speedos being really

bad actors” (Dumas 73). She quickly changes her view upon seeing the high-flying,

daredevil Mexican wrestlers called luchadors (73) – and they inspire her to become a

wrestler herself. In doing so, she writes about “that special feeling of being in this secret

world that most people don’t know about” (83). That secret world is revealed in her text,

at least most of the time. In describing one of her early matches, Dumas writes about

how she and her opponent “mapped it all out in advance and I had [the match] completely

memorized, from start to finish” (97). However, when she recalls another match, she is

much less honest about its true nature: “We put on a serious wrestling match – we did a

lot of moves and just beat the hell out of each other” (106). This type of serious wrestling

also extended to the afterhours, when wrestlers would engage in “shoot” (real) fighting in

hotel rooms (113). Dumas describes how “I misjudged my opponents on more than one

occasion,” which is a confusing statement, for it implies that she is not in control of the

match after all (but the savvy reader/fan knows that she is). Later, she describes another

match where despite the referee “warning” her, she hit her opponent anyway (152). She

writes as if this incident was not planned beforehand. Describing a move performed by

another wrestler, called the “3D,” Dumas writes that “no one gets up from [it]” (238).

In these instances, Dumas clearly finds it difficult to break kayfabe, which causes

confusion in the reader. On one hand, she will readily admit that wrestling is “show

business” (131) and that there is a “performance aspect of wrestling [which] works two

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ways. Sometimes you exaggerate how much something hurts, then other times you play

it down” (208). However, her writing reveals that she is an inherent promoter of that

business, leading the reader to guess what is a show and what is real. Dumas constantly

differentiates herself from other female pro-wrestlers, writing that the “realism to my

character that people responded to” was opposed to responses to other women wrestlers,

who were more like “cartoon characters” (176). She claims that Lita is “basically a more

extroverted, flamboyant version of myself” (149). While insisting that she is “still Amy”

(144), the examples above demonstrate that she is a willing participant in the con of pro-

wrestling. The reader cannot know for certain which voice is speaking in the text.

Whitney’s memoirs depict her first year training and performing as a professional

wrestler. She is candid about the truth of pro-wrestling, beginning her text with a

glossary of terminology exclusively used by wrestlers (and savvy fans) in the business.

She readily admits that the matches are “pre-determined” and that the “winner and loser

is decided in the locker room before the show” (Storm xi-xii). She reveals much of the

secret world of pro-wrestling, writing about the functions of the different types of

characters (81), what is involved in a typical training session (90), how difficult it is for

women to achieve training, to say nothing of success and celebrity status within the

business (26), and how independent wrestlers acquire new jobs with wrestling

promotions (73). So it is with great surprise that the reader encounters instances of deceit

within the text, as it inevitably occurs in Whitney’s writing. She writes about losing

wrestling matches as if the end result was a great surprise to her (and the savvy fan/reader

knows it is not), about giving real punches “in the guts” (Storm 13, 14). In fact,

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Unlike some wrestlers, I didn’t really set out to create an artificial persona

for the ring. Heck, except for my boots my costumes are basically just

workout gear or bathing suits. And how I act is more Amanda the person

cutting loose and just acting crazy and uninhibited, whether as a face or

heel, than is me portraying some character (emphasis added, Storm 187).

The problem here is that there is no “Amanda the person.” Amanda is a character –

Alexandra is the real person. Yet, Whitney mentions her real name only once in the text

(46) and for the remainder of her memoirs, refers to her true self as “Amanda Storm.”

The self that is represented throughout the text is fundamentally untrue.

While Ellison, Dumas, and Whitney make an attempt to reveal their true selves

within their memoirs, they all fall prey to the untruths inherent in their profession. These

texts are an extension of their characters and are avenues for their performances. This

type of writing is not isolated to the world of pro-wrestling. In his piece on singer Carole

Pope and figure skater Toller Cranston, Andrew Lesk asserts that autographical writing is

a “performative act” (173). Pope and Cranston, just like the three pro-wrestlers discussed

here, use autobiography “to situate and define their respective positions as public

performers” in order “to reaffirm their status as cultural icons” (Lesk 174). Fox

discovered that this was also the case in her examination of five county music stars’

autobiographies, concluding that country music autobiography is its own performance

(260). The memoirs of celebrities are an extension of the characters they create for

themselves.

Adding to the problem of self-representation is the discovery that two of the three

memoirs (Ellison’s and Dumas’s) were co-written by professional writers. Using a

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collaborator in the writing process is a concern of Smith and Watson, who advise the

reader to examine whether or not there are “problems or inequities in the collaborative

relationship” (Reading Autobiography, 178). Reading the texts closely shows that the

collaborative voice does not often reveal itself in either of the affected texts. Ellison’s,

for example, is full of colloquial and everyday language, pro-wrestling lingo,

inappropriate grammar, and profanity, just enough to lend authenticity, not to suggest that

they were added by the collaborator. Numerous examples abound throughout the text.

Ellison’s honky-tonk, casual language is evident in sentences such as, “I reckon I’ve done

something . . . to every bone in my body” (16) to the inelegant “Like a lot of the girls, [a

fellow pro wrestler] had idolized me and kind of wanted to be me” (116). Her usage of

pro-wrestling jargon is appropriate; she uses terminology well-known to pro-wrestling

fans, such as the “squared circle” (4) but does not use other words such as “kayfabe” that

might only be known to pro-wrestling insiders and analysts; here, she is telling her story

for the common person. And perhaps that is why she (or her collaborator) writes with

incorrect grammar, for it emphasizes her humble beginnings and reminds the reader that

no matter her fortune, Ellison will remain “one of the boys.” The inclusion of mild

profanity, somewhat stereotypically, should come as no surprise, hinting at the violence

and aggression that Soulliere claims is tied to the promotion of hegemonic masculinity in

the pro-wrestling world (3). These are elements necessary to the cultivation of Ellison’s

image – and to the image accepted and expected by fans of pro-wrestling – and thus must

be from Ellison’s, not her collaborator’s voice. She is successful in hiding his voice.

The Dumas text is also carefully written as to keep the collaborator from

encroaching on her voice. She, too, uses wrestling terminology only known to insiders,

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to an even greater extent than Ellison, such as putting someone “over” in the ring (i.e. she

will help her opponent’s win look authentic) and how wrestlers come up with spots (i.e.

they practice moves) in the ring (Dumas 123). Her writing style is casual, sometimes

lowbrow, as when she writes about getting her “boobs done” or giving a “nut shot” to a

male wrestler (152, 181). It is probable that her collaborator was more involved in

molding together the anecdotes from her youth with her experiences as a wrestler. For

instance, much of the early portion of her memoirs is seemingly unconnected to the

wrestling world. However, a closer examination reveals that the anecdotes from her

formative years actually shaped her character – for instance, her interest in punk music

(45) formed the basis for her “rock and roll” character (157). Dumas, too, successfully

hides the voice of her collaborator. Whitney’s text does not encounter this particular

problem because she writes early on that her baccalaureate English degree provided her

with sufficient writing skills, obviating the need for a collaborator.

Some scholars do not find the use of ghostwriters or collaborators problematic.

Lejeune finds it acceptable for memoirists to employ ghostwriters, for it highlights their

“authenticity” and allows common people to write their life stories, as they do not have

the proper skills as writers (185, 197). The roots of memoir need not be literary, for it is

intended to be an inclusive, democratic genre, one that embraces the ordinary stories from

people’s lives (Couser, Memoir 26). Celebrity autobiographies/memoirs are not intended

to have the most sophisticated writing, for “they are the hallmark of personal vanity, not

literary quality” (Rak, “Are Memoirs Autobiography?” 312). The reader/fan expects

vernacular speech. On occasion, celebrity memoirs reveal a struggle between the subject

aspiring to write his or her own story versus relying on a ghost writer (Fox 240-242). In

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the end, however, the text must sell and if it requires a collaborator to make it readable,

then the reader/fan has no choice but to accept the dubious representation of self that

might ensue – and probably does not care to even notice.

Where the three memoirs share a common problem is in regard to their publishers,

where the ultimate control of the content of the text lies. The memoirs by Ellison and

Dumas were published by their employer, World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE), and

Whitney’s work was published by another wrestling company, Extreme Championship

Wrestling (ECW). Ellison’s text is especially notable for its positive attitude toward the

WWE. Nary is an ill word written about the WWE, whereas Ellison’s ranting and raving

about other, subpar wrestling organizations is notable in the text. She speaks in a loving

tone about “Daddy Vince,” referring to Vince McMahon Sr., who controlled the company

that would one day become the WWE. Ellison is extremely complimentary toward the

entire McMahon family (92), so much so that her discourse is suspect. Daddy Vince, and

his son, Vince McMahon Jr. (the current Chairman and CEO of the WWE), can do

nothing wrong. For instance, McMahon Jr. “single-handedly put wrestling over the top

and made it into blockbuster American entertainment” (Ellison 180). Where has the

reader heard this before? On WWE television programs, of course. It is statements like

these that show the underlying influence of the WWE brand on the writing of her

memoir. It is this subtly coercive influence, as explained by Couser (“Making, Taking,

and Faking Lives” par. 14), that calls into question the authenticity of the text.

While Ellison and Dumas had the same employer, Dumas sometimes takes a more

critical view of the WWE. For instance, she admits that she did not feel comfortable with

being called a “WWE Diva,” or with the way in which women wrestlers/valets were

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portrayed in general (181). She also expresses displeasure with storylines, pointing out

their inconsistencies (227). She is mindful of the faults of the organization, including a

tendency to repeat successful storylines until they become meaningless (233). In one

instance, she is critical of her boss, writing on the failure of Vince McMahon Jr. to keep a

promise (271). On the other hand, her writing can be respectful of and complimentary

toward the WWE, for instance, when she writes about being cautious of signing deals

with other wrestling companies since this “might upset the balance of my relationship

with WWE” (212). Other than the one comment mentioned earlier, she is, in general,

kind toward her boss, Vince McMahon Jr., who “has a real way of rallying the troops”

(235). Like Ellison, she writes of her good rapport with the McMahon family, that her

relationship with them is “cordial and professional” (243).

This problem is not apparent within Whitney’s text, for she was not employed by

her publisher, Extreme Championship Wrestling (ECW), during the time that her

memoirs were published by that company. However, it is clear that her ultimate goal is

to obtain employment with the WWE, for her final chapter is entitled, “Subliminal

Message #13: Hire Me Vince!” She is, indeed, careful of her criticisms of the larger

wrestling companies within her book. However, since her memoirs address only the first

year of her life as a pro-wrestler, working for small, independent companies, she would

not have much opportunity to be critical toward ECW. She has “learned how to play the

game” behind the scenes and, also, within her memoir (124). The other two memoirists

are also playing a game. It is possible that Ellison and Dumas have cultivated and

maintained great relationships with their employers, but when the employer is also the

publisher of their books, the truthfulness of their statements is questionable. The reader

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must ask him- or herself whether or not the writers are representing their true selves or if

they are bending the truth in order to comply with the wishes of those who have power

over them.

Autobiography already suffers from unsolved issues of legitimacy and authority

(Cosslett, Lury and Summerfield 1) and these are perhaps even more apparent within the

subgenre of celebrity memoir. Memoir is often labeled as a “passive form for passive

writers” and as an “inferior discourse” to literary autobiography (Rak, “Are Memoirs

Autobiography?” 310). Memoir thus invites the participation of women, who are shut out

from the masculine world of autobiography, and less-skilled writers, who require

substantial help via collaborators or ghostwriters. Autonomous and authentic self-

representation is seemingly impossible, in either case.

The difficulties of ascertaining truth in the world of pro-wrestling are even

greater, due to the sport’s desire to conceal the real happenings of the business. This does

not detract from the value of a pro-wrestling memoir, but the reader must keep one thing

in mind. In reading these texts, it is difficult – nearly impossible – to ascertain the true

narrative voice, to find the self within the text. The three writers we have examined tend

to alternate between the voices of their true selves and those of their characters. This is

acknowledged openly and honestly by Ellison, when she writes that “there are really two

people talking to you here” (11). And, if autobiography scholars are correct in their

assertion that autobiographers create characters on the page, then there are potentially

three selves to examine, in this situation: the true self, the pro-wrestling character, and the

character on the page. In addition, the memoirs by Ellison and Dumas were written with

collaborators, potentially introducing a fourth voice into the texts. The reader must

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decipher which parts of the text are written in a voice other than that of the primary

author, and are therefore tantamount to forgery (Couser, “Making, Taking, and Faking

Lives” par. 25), and which parts contain the authentic voice.

Unlike other celebrity circles, the world of pro-wrestling is rife with deception,

with the goal of conning the fan into believing farcical situations are actually real. The

extension of this world into the printed page brings these problems into the consideration

of autobiography scholars. Already contentious issues of truthfulness within

autobiography must be re-examined. While it is widely acknowledged that professional

wrestling is a con, perhaps one must consider whether autobiographical works are also

cons.

Acknowledgements

Acquiring this degree was truly a group effort. My deepest love and thanks are

directed toward my husband – thank you for your words of support and faith in me. I am

also grateful to my young children for understanding that mum had to study a lot over the

past five years! Thank you, as well, to my parents for providing child care, along with

your words of encouragement. My sister, friends, my MA-IS professors, various

libraries, and my place of employment also provided meaningful support.

This paper is dedicated to my husband.

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