Which isn’t to say that truth has the same redolence, or hue, no matter the author or creator whose work it is to be found in. The truth of Cervantes is slightly different than, say, the truth of Tolstoy, which in turn is slightly different from the truth of Charlotte Bronte, and so on. But that is not because truth is ever different, but because the voice and personality and sense of humor of the purveyors through which it is being filtered are different.