Even though we are all entitled to our own righteous opinions, most of us were not inside that theatrical Italian courtroom, and have no clue—beyond media-sifted tidbits—of what really happened during the Amanda Knox trial.

So I can’t sit here and claim that Amanda Knox is innocent, but I can wholeheartedly and unapologetically say that we all have a right to tell our side of the story. “I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it.”[1] 

What do we have if we don’t have our voice, our stories, our art? What are we without them? Without them the carnage is meaningless furthermore, the dead stay dead indefinitely.

In fact, it is part of art’s intrinsic purpose to remake the horrors and unbearable weight of this often-sick world into something of use, into beauty even. And even in the most atrocious of instances the aftermath can be educational, or even a quiet reminder that life goes on—a battlefield overgrown with wild flowers. At the very least, our struggles need to be documented to avoid making the same mistakes, to know we are not the first ones to make them, or to never forget. . .

The ancient Greeks believed in catharsis: the idea that if you “experienced” an emotion through art, then you would be purged of those emotions, and not necessarily have or want to experience them firsthand. This is why so many of their plays deal with such extreme and grotesque ideas like murdering your children or sleeping with your mother (i.e. Medea and Oedipus Rex).

Of course what pisses everyone off is that Amanda Knox’s story is worth its weight in gold. But that’s scandal for you—it comes with a hefty price (and you can read that any way you want).

Her gender was a factor during her trail in Italy where the jurors were not sequestered and therefore exposed to the salacious media. If her gender can be used against her, why shouldn’t she use it for her now? People are up in arms because she’s capitalizing on it, and being a good businesswoman: she didn’t give out any interviews when she was acquitted; she knows what her voice is worth.

Get pissed off that freaking Snooki has a book. Get ragingly mad that freaking O.J. Simpson has a book called If I Did It. Get mad about this too, but at least this is warranted. Everyone seems to forget that before this whole ordeal Amanda Knox was a university student studying creative writing. Her goal in life may very well have been to write a book. Ever her sophomoric short stories on her MySpace page got crucified on theme and writing style (everyone’s a critic!) during her trail.

Every good English teacher will tell you to write what you know. Well, coming home to bloodshed, character assaults, lengthy trails, and years in a foreign prison are what Amanda Knox knows. She has a right to tell us about it, and you don’t have to listen, but I dare you to turn away. 

And that’s why she got such a hefty sum for her story: because her adversaries want to hear just as much as her supports do.

In a perfect world, all art—especially non-controversial art, and universally appreciated art—would be rewarded so handsomely. But we don’t live in that world. Amanda Knox knows that, and so does Meredith Kercher—who’ll never get to tell her story.

[1] Often attributed to Voltaire, this quote was actually written by Voltaire biographer Evelyn Beatrice Hall as an illustration of Voltaire’s beliefs

Nicole Trilivas, author of Pretty Girls Make Graves.

Originally featured on Sadie Magazine 
(First photo credit: Kevin Casey/AFP/Getty Images; alterned by Nicole Trilivas. Second photo by Nicole Trilivas)