When I got home last night, I read a couple of chapters each of Sarah and The Heart Is Deceitful Above All Things. My biggest fear was that after all of this hullabaloo the words themselves would lose all efficacy.
Much to my joy, once I got into the prose all of the issues just eroded away. What was before me was some great pieces of writing so far this decade. And I think that is what matters in the end. Not who wrote it, but how the work affects the reader.
Which is why this Leroy fraud scandal is much less vicious than the James Frey debacle.