If you had twenty dollars and a few hours to spare during the fall of 1970, you could learn about 'The Art of Womanhood' from Mrs. Beatrice Sparks. A Mormon housewife, Sparks was the author of a book called 'Key to Happiness,' which offered advice on grooming, comportment, voice, and self-discipline for high-school and college-aged girls; her seminar dispensed that same advice on Wednesdays on the campus of Brigham Young University, a school from which she’d later claim to have earned a doctorate, sometimes in psychiatry, other times in psychology or human behavior...Such an understanding seems to have been elusive for Sparks, who was then calling herself a lecturer, although she would soon enough identify as a therapist and occasionally as a counsellor or a social worker or even an adolescent psychologist, substituting the University of Utah or the University of California, Los Angeles, for her alma mater, or declining to say where she had trained...Although her book on womanhood was a flop, she went on to sell millions of copies of another book, one that even today does not acknowledge her authorship, going into printing after printing without so much as a pseudonym for its author...'Go Ask Alice,' the supposedly real diary of a teen-age drug addict, was really the work of a straitlaced stay-at-home mom...Emerson unfortunately mimics some of Sparks’s tics, compulsively dating chapters and sections as if history itself were a diary, dramatizing scenes and what he calls 'inner monologues' without clear editorial markers or consistent sourcing...Most unsettlingly, in the final, hurried chapters of 'Unmask Alice' he insists that he has found the girl who inspired the diary, a teen-ager whom Sparks met while working as a counsellor at a Mormon summer camp—and then, for privacy reasons, declines to identify her...'I know how that sounds, especially after three hundred pages explaining why truth is fiction, war is peace, there is no spoon, etc. If you choose to doubt, I won’t blame you,' he writes, in a tone representative of the book over all, somehow simultaneously too serious and too unserious to be taken seriously..