Published: Fri, Feb. 10, 2006 12:00AM

Modified Fri, Feb. 10, 2006 03:10PM

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I told "Nasdijj" that he was not helping himself with these postings, but he charged ahead. As his rage mounted -- and he began illustrating it on his Web site with pornographic images -- I feared he had lost control.

The jig is up

Which brings me to Jan. 26. A friend's e-mail greeted me that morning with a link to a story in the LA Weekly claiming that this writer whom I had championed and published was a fraud. I was shocked, but the piece seemed persuasive.

I immediately alerted my editors, hoping against hope that there had been some mistake. As N&O reporter Craig Jarvis investigated the allegations, I e-mailed "Nasdijj," asking for a response. "Nasdijj is traveling and not available at this time," read the reply. I knew then that the jig was up. This bulldog would back down only if he were cornered. Later that day, Jarvis found several smoking guns, including the fact that "Nasdijj's" Social Security number belonged to Timothy Patrick Barrus.

I was chagrined but not angry. I felt no sense of betrayal. I knew it wasn't personal. Barrus hadn't conned me; I had just drifted into the black hole of his life, which sucked the trust out of everything within reach.

He reminded me of the three-card monte mob I had written about during the winter of 1989. The mechanics of the con were fascinating -- the honed set of verbal and nonverbal cues used to fleece the people of New York City out of their Christmas money. But that's not what made them successful swindlers. Instead, it was remorseless, pitiless selfishness that allowed them to bilk their poor marks without conscience or contrition. For con artists like them, there are only two types of people: themselves and everyone else, whom they lump together as "vics." It must be very lonely.

I can't say what demons drove Barrus -- until Jan. 26, I thought he was a Navajo. However, what I do know about him is harrowing and poignant.

The LA Weekly and The N&O reported that Barrus was born in 1950 and reared in middle-class comfort in Lansing. He married, had a daughter, and divorced. Sometime after 1975, he moved to San Francisco and then Key West. He wrote articles for gay publications and gay erotic novels, including "The Mineshaft," which sold poorly. The LA Weekly said Barrus falsely suggested that one of his books, "Anywhere, Anywhere," was "a novelized account of his service in the Vietnam War."

Then, in the early 1990s, Barrus disappeared. He annihilated himself and adopted a new identity, living and writing as "Nasdijj" -- married to a woman I met, named Tina Giovanni. His tremendous writing talents found their outlet as he spun brilliant lies about a life he'd never led.

His first book was his best, and his best-selling. Yet, he all but assured himself a minuscule audience for his subsequent "memoirs" by including graphic "recollections" of incestuous rape and other intimate violations.

The charade lasted almost a decade. But he had lived so long as Barrus and had earned such acclaim as "Nasdijj" that he must have known that some day he would be exposed, that his identity would be annihilated once again.

The celebrated Native American writer Sherman Alexie says he "suspected that ["Nasdijj"] was a literary thief and a liar" when he first read the Esquire essay in 1999. Writing in the Feb. 6 issue of Time magazine, he says he told "Nasdijj's" publisher about his concerns.

"They took me seriously," he writes, "but they didn't believe me."

Once rebuffed, Alexie did not air his misgivings publicly. The LA Weekly quoted other Native Americans who say they long doubted "Nasdijj," but kept their doubts to themselves.

Fact check

We know now that a simple check of "Nasdijj's" Social Security number would have raised serious questions about his identity. Clearly, Houghton Mifflin made little or no effort to investigate Alexie's claims.

Houghton Mifflin's inaction is especially troubling because it echoes the current kerfuffle over James Frey's fabrications in his memoir, "A Million Little Pieces." The Frey case has shown that publishers do not much care if their nonfiction authors write fiction. Until publishers -- who say they can afford high-priced libel lawyers but not low-wage fact checkers -- put safeguards in place, it's caveat lector.

As a book critic, I'm tempted to swear off all memoirs until their truth is vouchsafed. But that would only punish honest authors. I will see what steps we might take to protect ourselves and readers. I'll get back to you on that.

In the meantime we are left with the smell test, the reviewer's gut feeling about whether a work is tainted or pure. Unfortunately, as Barrus showed, sometimes a pile of manure can smell like a bed of roses.