In September 2020, fans of US author Susan Meachen were met with a tragic announcement. Meachen's daughter posted on Facebook that the writer had taken her own life, blaming bullying from other members of the book community.

Meachen was not exactly a global name. Her books were mostly self-published romances that sold for around $3. (£2.47) But she had a small, devoted fanbase that loved discussing her books in a Facebook group, and they were devastated to hear the news.

Then, last week, Meachen suddenly resurfaced in the group. She claimed her family had invented the story about her death, refused to explain herself, and suggested everyone move on.

Fans were in uproar. Many of them had bought extra copies of Meachen's books to support her family. Some had volunteered their time to proofread her last work so it could be published posthumouslyAfter death. It derives from two Latin words meaning after and ground.. A handful had even written an anthologyA collection, usually of writing. It derives from a Greek word for a collection of flowers. in her memory.

Most importantly, many had felt guilty about Meachen's apparent tragedy. So to find she had manipulated them was a body blow.

Tales like this are nothing new. In one famous case from 15th-Century France, a man named Martin Guerre left his wife and children and disappeared for several years. Then one day, he returned without warning. His wife took him back and he began living with her again.

But after a few years, Martin's brother Pierre became suspicious. He claimed that the man who had returned was an imposterSomeone who pretends to be somebody else, often for personal gain. .

A public trial was held to find out the truth, and just when it seemed that the man claiming to be Martin would be exonerated, the real Guerre burst into the courtroom. The imposter was found guilty and executed.¹

But stories like Meachen's have become more frequent in recent times. Instances of strange and erraticUnpredictable and uncontrolled. behaviour have skyrocketed. There are more cases of people having tantrums on planes and in shops. The rate of car accidents and violent crimes has gone up.²

Some think this is because of the pandemic. They say that being isolated all the time does weird things to the brain. A lot of our morality comes from the experience of living alongside other people: we avoid doing things that others will find disruptive. Without enough human contact, we start doing unusual things.

But others think there is a broader problem. The distinction between truth and fiction, they warn, is breaking down thanks to social media.

On social media, we present the world with a carefully-crafted, fictional version of ourselves and our lives. We carefully manage what the rest of the world sees of us. So it is no surprise that some people go a step further and invent details about their lives.

But online platforms also encourage us to see other people as fictional characters. Because we cannot see the human being behind the account, we are tempted to treat them like secondary characters in our own story.

That, some say, is how an author ends up manipulating her own fans into believing she is dead - and then behaving like nothing happened.

Yes: Living as a human being means constantly inventing oneself. When people make things up, about their own lives or other people's, we should see this as a valid form of self-expression.

No: We need common standards of truth so that we can trust each other. If everyone is just constantly living out their chosen fiction, then we will be unable to co-operate and having meaningful relationships.

Or... We should not see truth and fiction as opposites. All truth contains a bit of fiction, and all fiction contains a bit of truth. We should embrace the fact that our lives are often based on half-truths.