As a blogger and a memoirist, I’ve been thinking a lot about memory recently in light of the renewed allegations of molestation by Dylan Farrow against her adoptive father. Woody Allen and his team of apologists have successfully planted enough doubt in the public’s mind that people either don’t want to look any more or are chiming like some numbed Greek chorus, “Nobody will ever know the truth but Woody and Dylan.”
What nonsense.
The notion that Mia Farrow is this preternaturally nefarious, super-accomplished mesmerist who so effectively implanted false memories in her seven-year-old daughter