Is it Truth or is it Memorex?

If fable and romance have long amused the world and attracted its notice, why shall not plain truth and real fact, though clad in plebian habiliments, elicit subordinate attention? One property of truth is, whether it illustrate virtue or depict vice, to afford matter from which some inference may be drawn or moral extracted, conducted to the use and benefit of mankind. A virtuous action is for the imitation of others, a vicious one for this avoidance; the former should serve as an example, the latter as a warning [. . . . ] the vicious, affords, also, instruction, by showing the effects of vice and immortality (Tufts vii).

In the above quote, Tufts contributes his opinions to the never-ending debate, “What is literature?” Without a doubt Tufts understands the pre-requisite elements that make good fiction by first establishing himself as hero—an “infamous” hero nonetheless, within the first paragraph of the “Preface.” Then cinches the reader’s curiosity by revealing that there is an air of “mystery lurk[ing] under the procedure.” He argues that “if fable and romance have long amused the world and attracted its notice, why shall not plain truth and real fact.” Indeed, this argument could as easily appear in Terry Eagleton’s book on literary theory. In this simple argument, Tufts simultaneously argues that his narrative contains as much excitement as “fable and romance,” and, when one reads his narrative, one wonders how much is fable and romance. But he addresses that argument as well. Since he is old, he explains, and his memory tends to fail him, he found it necessary to, “permit [him] to say,” insert material facts in areas of “less moment.” In more “important concerns” of his life, he argues, his narrative exhibits more copious details. Despite Tufts claims to veracity in the more “important concerns,” one cannot resist comparing Tufts’ narrative with Stephen Burroughs’: He burns down the jailhouse, uses the phrase “Sweets of Liberty,” complains about leg irons, is accused on crimes he did not commit (stealing Oxen yoke), escapes to Canada, etc. Moreover, Tufts addresses with explicit frankness the moral application typically required in eighteenth and early nineteenth century reading material. He states that he “trust it may be useful, in some measure, as a caveat to others, to shun such pursuits” as have made his life “truly miserable.”

For such reasons, I find Tufts' Preface interesting.  It is almost like he "protests too much"; whereas Stephen Burroughs' narrative is more subversive.  Burroughs' makes the same arguments, but they are blended within the narrative.