Should've Seen THAT Comin' Trivia Quiz

Answer: Howard Hughes

The life of Hughes was ripe for the telling. A career as a record-breaking pilot, billionaire businessman and movie mogul had been augmented with affairs with fascinating women such as Ginger Rogers and Katharine Hepburn. Add to that the mystery of his retreat from public life amid rumours of a nervous breakdown and crippling obsessive-compulsive disorder and you had the recipe for a bestselling biography. The problem Irving had was that Hughes' reclusive existence meant that any telling of his story had to be authorised by Hughes himself for anyone to take it seriously.

So Irving concocted a plan. With his friend Richard Suskind, he thoroughly researched Hughes' life and presented a proposal to publishers. With the help of forged letters (written by Irving himself), he told publishers that Hughes had granted him a series of interviews and exclusive access to archive documents with which to ghost-write his autobiography. The publishers Hills-McGraw bought the tale and were persuaded to part with over US$750,000 to gain the rights to publish; $100,000 for Hughes and the rest for Irving.

All was going well for Irving until Hughes got wind of the idea. He had already paid off one unauthorised biographer in order to maintain his privacy and Irving hoped that he would be similarly reticent to go public about his efforts too. Sadly for Irving, he misjudged the situation. Hughes set up a conference phone call with the publishers and denounced Irving. Though Irving tried to ride it out, he cooked his goose when his wife was caught trying to deposit the $100,000 cheque into a Swiss bank account set up in the name of H. Hughes.

Irving was jailed and served 17 months of his sentence. However, he was still to profit from the venture when he wrote his version of events in the 1981 book, "The Hoax". It proved to be a bestseller and, in 2008, was made into a film with Irving played by Richard Gere.

Answer: Sophocles

Being a leading Stoic you wouldn't think that Dionysius the Renegade would bother with such wasteful emotions as joy but his hoax on his rival Heraclides was revealed with gleeful pleasure. Unfortunately, Heraclides had not noticed a series of acrostics that Dionysius had inserted into the text. One of them read, "Heraclides is ignorant of letters and is not ashamed of his ignorance."

A similar hoax was undertaken in the early 21st century. Biographer Bevis Hillier was close to completing his third volume of the life of British poet John Betjeman, when he discovered that another writer, A.N. Wilson, was undertaking a single volume biography of his own. Hillier's first two volumes had been very well received critically, except for poor reviews in current affairs journal, "The Spectator", the journal for which Wilson was a contributor.

Sensing that Wilson was likely to borrow from his own work, Hillier anonymously let it be known that a letter had been unearthed that shed new light on Betjeman's love life. Lo and behold, Wilson found the letter and published it in his biography, thinking he had one up on his rival. Sadly for him, he failed to notice that the first letter of each of the sentences within the letter read "A N Wilson is a [rude word]". The letter was removed from the second edition of Wilson's book.

Answer: The Protocols of the Elders of Zion

"The Protocols of the Elders of Zion" were supposedly the minutes of a meeting held between the leaders of the worldwide Jewish community. The result of this meeting was a 25-point plan for establishing a Jewish world hegemony. Among the items on this to-do list was the widespread distribution of pornography, the destruction of the two other major Abrahamic religions and the arranging of attacks against the Jewish people in order to justify retaliation.

The original pamphlet, which has since been extended into book form alongside the commentary of several far right ideologues, is believed to have originated in turn of the 20th century Russia. In that unstable arena, the Russian secret police felt that they had a need to discredit the Jewish people, from whom they feared a well-organised and country-wide rebellion. One of the police's number was Rachovsky, who had a well-earned reputation as a master forger. To him, it is believed, was given the task of producing the propaganda document.

It was indisputably discredited as a hoax by "The Times" in London in 1921, a year after its first publication in the UK. Despite this, the "truth" of the protocols lived on for some considerable time in the minds of those who wanted to believe in it. One such believer was Adolf Hitler, who used the pamphlet as propaganda in his rise to power in Germany in the 1930s.

Answer: Thomas Chatterton

Having come from a relatively impoverished background and being a low achiever at his school, Chatterton had suspected that any work produced in his own name would be immediately disregarded. He produced his first medieval poem at the age of 11 and presented it to his schoolmaster as an ancient work he had discovered in the local parish church where his uncle was rector. The praise it received spurred him on to write more and to concoct the tale of Rowley.

After an unhappy period as a lawyer's apprentice, Chatterton started writing full time, both satires and straight pieces for literary journals. But his writing career never brought him riches and his poverty inspired him to seek solace in the joy of writing as Rowley. He continued to write the faux-medieval poems until he was unable to survive his lack of income any more. He took arsenic in his lodgings just off Chancery Lane in London and was discovered days later, with scraps of writing all around his body.

Though some literary figures had articulated doubts about the Rowley poems, only in Chatterton's death was the truth finally revealed. Despite the fake nature of the back story to the poems, they were nevertheless still considered works of poetic art. Both the poems and the poet were revered by the English Romantic poets such as Keats and Coleridge.

Answer: Vortigern and Rowena

Ireland's father, Samuel, was a vendor of antiquities with a particular fondness for Shakespeare. This fondness was far greater than that he had for his son. Knowing this, young William hatched his plan and revelled in the attention it brought him.

He had long had an interest in artifice, gaining his greatest enjoyment by working with set designers at his local theatre in East London. He utilised the skills learned there to produce a series of documents using some specially mixed ink supplied by a local bookbinder. His first effort was a Shakespeare signature that he wrote into a book of prayer and presented to his father as a special presentation copy given to Queen Elizabeth I. His father was taken in and so were the experts to whom he sent his son's finds to verify their authenticity.

Emboldened by his early successes and by his father's new found status as a collector of Shakespearean artefacts, William's ambition grew. He continued to produce a series of documents that built up his father's collection, each a more remarkable find than its predecessor, until he finally pushed his luck too far.

When he felt it was time to launch a new Shakespeare play upon the public, his lack of skills as a writer became painfully apparent. Not blessed with great intelligence, William's efforts had begun to be mocked by certain sectors of literary London. His spelling was particularly atrocious. The play he produced lacked enough merit to even pass as decent parody and when it was staged by the company at the Drury Lane theatre, cast, audience and critics alike all mocked it as the work of a charlatan.

William took this as the opportune time to confess all to his father. Samuel, doubting that William had the intelligence to pull off such a hoax, refused to believe him and went to his grave a few years later still doubting it. William published his "Confessions" in 1805 and went on to publish "Vortigern and Rowena" as his own original work in 1832.

Answer: The Education of Little Tree

When Governor George Wallace delivered his mantra, "Segregation today. Segregation tomorrow. Segregation forever" he was uttering the words of Asa (Forrest) Carter. As Wallace's ambitions moved towards running for the US presidency, he ditched Carter, as he was deemed as too extreme a figure to be associated with. Given that Carter had left the Ku Klux Klan as he deemed it to be too soft, he may have had a point.

As badly damaged goods, Carter left Alabama knowing his career in politics was almost certainly over. Therefore a degree of re-invention was required. However, few would have foreseen the leap from right wing doggerel to the homely wisdom of "Little Tree". It was not a direct leap; there was a step in between. Carter's first work of fiction was "Gone To Texas", a novel about a confederate soldier who evaded capture at the end of the US civil war by living on the move and using Indian survival skills to get by. The book was later filmed as the Clint Eastwood classic, "The Outlaw Josey Wales" (1976).

The success that Carter achieved with his first novel convinced him that there was money to be made from a memoir of a Native American childhood. "The Education of Little Tree" proved that hunch right. It flew off the shelves and became a favourite of school libraries across the country. However, no sooner had it made Carter famous than it brought his new world crashing down around him. Invited to publicise his book, his interviews for the print and broadcast media brought his face to millions. Immediately, he was recognised by previous cohorts and outed. He never achieved success with his writing again and eventually died after an alcohol-fuelled fight in his home in 1981.

Answer: Late Night Radio DJ

Shepherd believed that there were two kinds of people, day people and night people. Day people were responsible for the venal list-obsessed media culture that existed on the east coast of the USA in the 1950s. Night people were the kind of people who listened to his show and Shepherd suggested it was their duty to subvert that culture.

Railing against bestseller lists and how they were artificial constructs created to serve the purposes of booksellers, Shepherd came up with the idea for "I, Libertine". He told his listeners that they should all go to their local bookshop and ask for a book that didn't exist. It was important to produce a back story for the book so, taking on board suggestions from listeners to his show, an author was created by the name of Frederick Ewing, an English academic, whose runaway success with "I, Libertine" had surprised both himself and literary England.

The success of the hoax was spectacular. Listeners reported how booksellers had told them that they had always thought that the time was ripe for Ewing to crack America; students submitted papers on his work that received good grades; and the press cottoned on to the buzz surrounding the non-existent book. The hoax was helped by authors and journalists who listened to Shepherd's show and arranged for PR pieces to appear in journals and newspapers, establishing Ewing's back story.

The hoax's success was so great that Shepherd feared for his sanity. He soon accepted an offer to come clean and the truth behind Ewing's novel was printed in the Wall Street Journal. This story was picked up, with great amusement, by newspapers in the UK and Soviet Union. The interest of one publisher was also piqued.

Ian Ballantine contacted Shepherd and asked if he could buy the paperback rights to the book. Shepherd granted his request and together with his friend, the sci-fi author Ted Sturgeon, wrote Ewing's bawdy tale of life in 18th century England. Mirroring the success of the hoax, the book hit New York's bestseller lists.

Answer: The Da Vinci Code

Pierre Plantard was a religious fanatic who believed in creating a France run by French Catholics for French Catholics. It was with this in mind that he established the Priory of Sion as a religious retreat near the Swiss border. The long-term aim was to grow the community and develop a political movement that would eventually change the governance of France.

As the community grew so did Plantard's ambitions. He began to let it be known that he believed he was a direct descendent of Dagobert II, a Merovingian king who had been assassinated in 679 AD. Through them, the possibility of Plantard being descended from Jesus and Mary Magdalene was also posited. To establish a factual basis for these claims, Plantard devised a plan to fake a series of documents on ancient parchment that would provide "proof" of his heritage. These documents were then inserted into books of appropriate vintage in the Bibliotheque National de France.

As he continued to publicise his claims, significant interest began to develop. A book by French surrealist Gérard de Sède, in 1962, was the first to publish part of the imagined history of the Priory of Sion. In turn, this provoked interest from English TV producer, Henry Lincoln, who made a series of documentaries about Plantard and the Merovingians.

When Lincoln decided to follow his series up with a book, his researchers discovered the planted documents. The basis for the book, "The Holy Blood and the Holy Grail" had been unearthed. Though this book has given Plantard's tale a lasting legacy, as it was the major influence for Dan Brown's startlingly successful novel, it also proved his undoing. It publicised the list of notables that were claimed to have been Priory members throughout history. These included such names as Leonardo da Vinci and, the very last name on the list, Roger-Patrice Pelat. Pelat, supposedly the Priory's last Grand Master, was a close associate of French President Francois Mitterand.

Pelat had died in 1989 whilst on trial for corruption. Unbeknownst to Plantard, despite his death, the investigation into Pelat was continuing. The investigating judge obtained a warrant to search the Priory (which was in fact Plantard's house) and found the materials Plantard had used to create his fake documents. Plantard was arrested, tried and imprisoned for his forgeries.

Answer: James Frey

"A Million Little Pieces" was published in 2003. It had already achieved considerable success, as the market loved a good misery memoir. What propelled Frey into the wider public consciousness, however, was being chosen as book of the month by the Oprah Winfrey book club. Oprah herself tearfully recommended the book on her show, claiming it was a vital read for anyone who had someone close to them who was dealing with addiction issues.

However, as the website The Smoking Gun uncovered, Frey's most serious addiction appeared to be to fiction. The criminal past he claimed for himself in the book was at best exaggerated and at worst completely falsified. He claimed to have been involved in a fatal car and train crash but the victims' families denied he had any involvement. A claimed three month prison stay turned out to have been for no more than a few hours and his questioning by the FBI about a drugs ring was in fact a telling off by local police over possession of marijuana as a student.

Oprah was not happy. She invited her hitherto favourite author onto her show alongside his editor and tore strips off the pair of them, on behalf of the people to whom she had recommended the book. Frey later claimed that he had intended the book to be a work of fiction but his editor had insisted on marketing it as fact in order to increase sales.

Frey returned to fiction for his next book and surprisingly, given the very public nature of his exposure, it sold very well.

Answer: Adolf Hitler

The architect of the hoax was East German forger, Konrad Kujau. Kujau had sold his first Hitler fakes to collector Fritz Stiebel in the 1970s and his output remained low key for several years. That changed when Heidemann came to him with bucketloads of "Stern" money after being shown the diaries by Stiebel. Kujau was asked to deliver all the diaries that he had, so he concocted a story of how they had to be smuggled out of then-Communist East Germany, in order to give himself time to create them.

When his work was authenticated by British historian Sir Hugh Trevor-Roper, "The Sunday Times" in London joined Stern in declaring that they had won the scoop of the century. Trevor-Roper soon had doubts about his earlier proclamation of authenticity and tried to backtrack but The Sunday Times had already published his original article. However, his doubts started the process of the diaries being thoroughly debunked and the two publications, their proprietors, journalists and editors all ended up with a large amount of egg on their faces.

Kujau, meanwhile, did quite well out of the whole scandal, notwithstanding a spell in jail for his troubles. As well as being paid a fortune for the diaries, on his release from prison, Kujau was suddenly in demand for his forgery skills. His "honest fakes" became such strong sellers that after his death, his daughter was sent to prison for trying to sell fake versions of her father's own fakes!