For example, John Steinbeck had some contact with poor people as a reporter. But as he wrote about migrant camps for “The Grapes of Wrath,” he relied heavily on the notes of Sanora Babb – herself poor and formerly homeless – who traveled to migrant camps throughout California for the Farm Security Administration. Babb’s boss – a friend of Steinbeck’s – had secretly shown the author her notes, without her permission.

Babb would go on to also write a novel based on her experiences, which was bought by Random House. But the publishing house killed it after “Grapes of Wrath” came out, and it wasn’t published until 2004, when the author was 97 years old. That year, she told the Chicago Tribune – correctly, I might add – that Steinbeck’s work “isn’t as accurate as mine.”

Jesus Christ, that's scummy. The book in question is Whose Names Are Unknown