Do I care to know who’s the real-life person behind the pen name Elena Ferrante? Not one bit. I intend to read the novels. I intend to buy them from the real-life bookstore opening soon on the street behind the one where I live. But the real-life author, where she lives, with whom and how much she pays or doesn’t for her living accommodations? Couldn’t care less.

Nor do I much care about literary theories, except as a passing interest among several others. But I did latch on to a distinguo in the Mediapart article dealing with Elena Ferrante’s real identity. The one made by Michel Foucault, concerning the “writer function” as distinguished from the search for real-life signs of the real-life writer in his or her work.

I use real-life events in my writing all the time. I even use the names of real-life people – hard to avoid doing so unless you create names out of nowhere about a race of beings on a distant planet. And, yes, I’ve had my share of hero-worship and of searching analysis of writers’ published photographs. But most of my attention is elsewhere these days.

Real life : Is Pilar leaving for Colombia despite the referendum results opposing the peace settlement with the FARC, for instance. Has she left already? What will she find there in terms of acknowledgement for her own struggles and those of others who died defending human rights? How will living arrangements work out for real-life people I know who are battling both political and financial insecurity plus a not-so subtle form of social discrimination? Not one of ours, not the right sort, not the right shade of whatever makes for bonding.

Real life. Capturing some of it in writing. Who gives a damn if the writer’s name on the cover also  appears on her birth certificate or not?