I often hear criticism about the literature of the self. “Current authors only know how to talk about themselves,” “hardly anyone does real exercises in fiction,” “there is too much egocentrism,” etcetera. When I hear these comments, the first thing I think is that I agree, of course. It may even be that I myself have said it out loud: “I’m fed up with reading stories about people who only talk about themselves!”. In recent years, autofiction has occupied many shelves in bookstores. Perhaps too many. Perhaps it is a fad and perhaps we have tired of it, it is true.