[warning: swear words follow, beware beware]

So I read this knowing it was a total work of fiction, but I think I would have gotten it even if I hadn't known. It was just such utter crap -- oh, look at me, I'm so fucked up I can't even look myself in the eyes, in fact I'm more fucked up than EVERYONE else around me at this drug rehab facility, and yet somehow everyone just instinctively loves me -- and look how tough I am, I can undergo dental surgery without anesthesia, because I AM HARD-CORE and also DETERMINED TO KICK MY DRUG HABIT ALL ON MY OWN (you know, except for the help of all those people around me who inexplicably love me at first sight and will do anything to help me because they can sense my INNER NOBILITY). Oh, and look what a big strong tough brave chivalrous man I am for saving a woman who is, well, not as fucked up as me (because face it, nobody in the history of the world has EVER BEEN as fucked up as me), but who is delicate and pretty and totally incapable of HANDLING HER SHIT like I am, because I am MADE OF STEEL.

Yeah, I really hated this book.

Original Review - 2007 edited slightly (mostly for grammar) in 2011.

I got into a discussion about this book yesterday with some fellow goodreads friends and thought I should add my two cents here. I must start, as is customary with this one, by saying I read the book after it was picked to be in Oprah's book club, but before the scandal occurred.

I enjoyed the book. I attempted to rate it based on the way I felt upon completing it, and without the perspective I now have which is likely affected by the scandal.

When I finished the book, I was exhausted and emotionally drained. This was one of the first recovery books I read. I found the author's writing style to be unique, brisk, and concise in ways I had not previously experienced. Much of this had to do with the nature of the sentences, and paragraphs, and what the pages looked like.

I realize in retrospect that much of the book was made up, but it did seem to be a novel/story that helped other addicts, which leads me to believe the fictionalized events were not necessarily unique and outlandish. I believe one of the reasons I (or the global "we") read books or listen to music is because those people that work/create in those mediums are able to put to words feelings and emotions that "we" all feel, but sometimes can not articulate. The author of A Million Little Pieces made me feel something, and, that, is why I gave it 4 stars.

I read MLP in the spring of 2004 after it was recommended to me by an internship supervisor-turned-friend when I shared with her a story I wrote about a man addicted to cocaine, inspired by true life events. Her life had also been touched by addiction and when she learned that mine was, she lent me the book. I was pulled in by it, chewed up, and spit out with everything put back together differently. Together, we dissected it at length, comparing battle scars reopened by Frey's raw-edged prose. We were the only ones we knew who had read it, and we didn't dare recommend it to just anyone. It was too weighty, the subject material cut too deep. No, MLP was like a secret club, something to be shared prefaced with a disclaimer of "It's really intense, and kind of gory at parts, impossible to read at others, but you might like it ..."

Then, Oprah happened. Dear, sweet, well-meaning Oprah departed from her usual selections and took her book club down a more gnarled, jagged path. Before long, suburban housewives were gasping when Frey vomited for the twelfth time, themselves gagging on lunch when he got his root canal with only tennis balls to squeeze to control the pain until his nails shattered, discussing his every relapse over coffee, weeping when he found the redemption he had fought so hard against.

Then, The Smoking Gun happened. They broke open his story, exposing alleged embellishments and outright fabrications. They vilified him, putting him down in a fiery pit with the likes of Stephen Glass and Jayson Blair. The millions of sheep Oprah shepherded Frey's way responded in kind, guided by a new messiah with a new message: Frey was a dirty, rotten man who should be spit upon if you run into him on the street. And certainly don't waste your tears and pity on such a despicable individual.

They feel betrayed. They welcomed this man into their hearts, they prayed for him, and parts of him never existed. That's all this book is to them-- the tragic story of a reluctant an unlikely hero. A bit less palatable than, say, Macbeth, but the archetype is still the same.

The Smoking Gun does have some hard evidence, I'm not going to lie. I don't know Frey personally, I don't know anything about him beyond what he has written. However, it doesn't diminish how I feel about the book. There are those of us, like my friend and I, with whom the book resonated due to an association with addiction, can appreciate it for what it is, however true or fabricated it may be.

I'm still haunted by things I read in that book. I keep going back to the root canal scene. That's one of the parts of the book that's under suspicion. Whether it happened or not, it's still captivating. My own mother is in recovery with over a decade of sobriety. She has to be very careful with what medications they use, no matter how much pain they're in, or how detatched they'd like to be. She's been clean and sober for over a decade, yet there are choices she to make every day with regards to keeping that sobriety. No, it's not as intense as the root canal scene. Both, however, serve as examples of how that one drink after work can turn into 4 drinks and then passing out can turn into something that will direct the rest of your life.

The fact of the matter remains, the writing is solid and the story is compelling. Frey is no Janet Cooke and MLP is no Jimmy's World.

If you read the book and you got a glimmer of hope from it, whether it be about your own addiction or the demons a loved one has faced, then it's still a worthwhile read.

I was so captivated by this book. For the first 100 pages or so, the narrator has his front four teeth knocked out and I kept having the sensation of no front teeth either! I kept attempting to run my tounge along my barren gums and was "surprised" to find my teeth there instead. It was a completely strange experience, but I mention it just to illustrate how this book immediately transported me to another time and place. Although there were parts where I felt he was too repetitive (no more vomiting details, please!), overall the effect was phenomenal.

I knew about the controversy over the difference between 'memoir' versus 'fiction-based-on-reality' that James Frey sparked with this book, and it was actually part of the reason that I was intrigued enough to buy it and read it myself. I read his forward first (along with a note from the publisher, both added to new editions to respond to the controversy) and was in agreement with him. A memoir is allowed to be somewhat subjective as it is a person's personal recounting of their life and is open to their interpretations and potentially faulty memory. What counts is the sum total of the story.

As I said before, I was completely taken by the book while reading it. Knowing that he "embellished a little bit here and a little bit there" I was frequently curious if it was this part that he altered, or was it this experience that he enhanced, or what details about this person were changed, or did this episode really happen exactly like this? But as I was under the impression that it was only slightly tweaked and just minor details rearranged, it didn't affect my love of the book. I was just smitten.

So then when I breathlessly finished the book and took to the internet to do a little research, I was so disappointed to learn that it was much more than minor details he changed. And I surprised myself by how much it upset me. I had thought that Oprah was over-reacting and being righteous and a stickler for inconsequential academic rules. But now I understand. I was willing to allow a bit of creative freedom on Frey's part, but when it seemed that there was more fabrication than truth, I felt lied to and conned to a certain extent.

But that doesn't change the fact that it was a spectacular read. Labeling it fiction or non-fiction doesn't make the story any less compelling.

My Book Club chose to read this Book for the month of June.
I had owned it for years and never gotten around to reading it.
Then I read it.
The Book.
A Million Little Pieces.
It is the allegedly true but probably not story of a Man who smokes a lot of crack and huffs gas and drinks and drinks and drinks until he is so sick he blacks out and he worries his friends and his family until he is sent to a Clinic. He has no front teeth and his cheek has a gash. He is hurt from smoking crack and huffing gas and drinking and drinking and drinking.
He is a mess.
He needs help.
He is a mess and he needs help.
He does not want to be at the Clinic and fights all the Rules for the first 200 pages. But the Man meets some Friends who help him through the tough times, a Girl who he falls in love with, and a hard-nosed psychologist who does not give up on him. The Man is sure he can kick his habit without the help of God or Twelve Steps.
This is his story.
Allegedly.
I like this book, I thought, when I first started reading it, even though I knew it was probably 80% bull. I will read it anyway, I thought. It is a fast read. Look at how fast I am reading this book! What a fast read.
And then the Book started to annoy me.
Why aren't there quotation marks? It is not like a Cormac McCarthy book that eschews punctuation for the sake of sparse, beautiful writing. It is just eschewing for the sake of eschewing. This is ridiculous.
Why does the Man who writes the book capitalize some Nouns but not other nouns? Is the Man doing it because he thinks it's artsy? I don't think a memoir should be artsy as much as it should be factual.
Why are there no paragraph breaks or margins? Is it because the Man is a Rule-breaker and Hard-nosed and because he has a Devil May Care attitude? I think the Man just thinks he's cool, and Cool Guys don't need margins or paragraph breaks.
Why does the Man keep repeating things? He eats eggs. He eats cheese. He eats eggs and cheese. He vomits and vomits and vomits and vomits. He is scared and heartbroken and worried and mad and facing his anger and wanting to drink and do drugs and hurt himself. He is scared and heartbroken and worried and mad and facing his anger and wanting to drink and do drugs and hurt himself. I want to hurt him for writing lists instead of sentences. I also want to hurt him
For
Doing.
Things.
Like.
This.
But there's something about the book that made me want to read more.
And I read it.
I didn't throw it across the room in a fit of Rage.
It made me not want to do Crack.
But I've never wanted to do Crack.
And maybe that's why my Million Pieces are still together.

In his much-debated book, Frey offers the reader a significant glimpse into his life as an addict and the time he spent in a treatment centre addressing these demons. Opening in dramatic fashion, the reader is immediately treated to Frey circling the drain as he lands in Chicago and is shipped off to an unnamed facility in Minnesota. His arrival garners much confusion and pushback, as Frey expresses feeling that he did not belong or fit in amongst others who are at various stages of addiction. The reader discovers, through Frey's own narrative, how withdrawn he feels about the process and how, while being frank about the depths to which his addiction overtook his life, he does not feel that a counselling and Twelve Step approach will reunite the million pieces into which his life has shattered over the thirteen years since addiction formally reared its ugly head. Bridging acquaintances with numerous others at the facility, Frey is able to compare his life against those of others who have also had to battle addiction. With first-hand accounts of withdrawal symptoms, despair, and refusing to engage in therapeutic intervention, Frey seems well on his way to burning the money spent on his time in treatment. It is only when his parents arrive for Family Counselling, an intense program whereby the addict and those closest to him tear off all the scabs related to the addiction, that Frey begins to synthesise the pain and devastation that his life has become. The reader is able to see the insights that Frey offers, as well as the reactions of his parents, coupled with a better understanding of the addiction's nexus. These insightful sections begin the first steps in the long road to recovery and Frey's ability to find some semblance of order in his shattered life. However, a fellow addict, Lilly, plays a key role in his life at this point in time and their connection proves an addiction in and of itself, as well as contravening the Cardinal Rule of the facility. A wonderful story that pulls no punches about the horrendous nature of addiction, the struggles an addict faces in coming to the realisation of their powerlessness, and the crux of the recovery process. Told in as raw a format as many readers will have encountered, Frey presents the reader with much food for thought as they explore this poignant narrative.

While much has been made of the validity of the text, those who choose to sit on their pedestals and lob blame or scorn do nothing for the message found within its pages. Frey tells an extremely naked story about the addict and the struggle to climb out of the hole in which they dig themselves. Be it drugs, alcohol, sex, gambling, or other vices, Frey's narrative can touch the heart of the attentive and non-judgmental reader. As Frey says in his own words, “There is no excitement, no glamour, no fun. There are no good times, there is no joy, there is no happiness. There is no future and no escape. There is only an obsession. An all-encompassing, fully enveloping, completely overwhelming obsession.” As soon as the reader can come to terms with this and sees the message at the root of the story, that of the horrors of addiction, there is a chance to synthesise all that is told in this story. Passing judgment or trying to vilify the author because of factual irregularities serves only to demonstrate how said critic misses the point of this book and lacks of ability to comprehend the deeper message. Addiction is horrid, it is a struggle each and every day. We can sit in our ivory towers and bemoan those who drink or smoke crack, but that will not solve the problem, it only seeks to push it under the rug. While the early chapters were hard for me to digest, not only for their content but also the jagged nature of the writing style, I grew to accept that Frey sought to present the reader with the perspective of the addict, as though it were a written at the time of the events. Choppy, repetitive, and even nonsensical at times, Frey portrays the struggles that the addict must face while also presenting a lifestyle that, for some readers, is entirely foreign. Add to that, the text is free from any quotation marks, allowing him to recollect things as he did, rather than shackling himself into anything binding. Frey tries to shine light on it and offer a degree of compassion for those who struggle by personalising the suffering. For that, he is owed a debt of gratitude.

Thank you, Rae Eddy, for opening my eyes to this book and to the inner struggles with which I could relate on many levels. You have touched my life in ways that I cannot clearly elucidate, but I think you know precisely what I mean, even without the written word.

Kudos, Mr. Frey for putting forth this frank account of the struggles an addict faces. Some may be too wrapped up in their own soap box speeches as they dole out praise and the public rushes to guzzle their 'Kool-Aid'. You steer clear of this and the drama of talk-show blather.

Like/hate the review? An ever-growing collection of others appears at:
http://pecheyponderings.wordpress.com/

I don't know how to shelve this book. Non-fiction? Nope. Fiction? Kinda. Memoir? Sort of.

This book is one of the greatest scandals in the literary world. A memoir that makes it big on Oprah only to discover portions were made up and exaggerated. Add in a live, televised confrontation between the author and Oprah, and the book's dramatic content pales in comparison to the drama it caused in the media.

For those interested, here's an NYT article on the scandal: Author is Kicked Out of Oprah Winfrey's Book Club

Full review to come.

Gary's right about this dude. He's a bigger pumpkin fucker than Steinbeck.

Man, this was an absolutely terrible book. When I worked in a book store, long long ago, I was instantly put off by the description on the back. "The most lacerating tale of drug addiction since William S. Burroughs' Junky." I am not sure it is fair to compare a first time novelist with one of the best writers of our time. This feeling was exaggerated once talk of deception on the part of Frey founds its way to my ears. I didn't have much interest in EVER reading this, but it was recommended as a great work of FICTION by a very trusted friend, and my brother won it in a raffle.

I really should have skipped to the last page, and avoided all of the mucky, icky content. Maybe the worst book I have ever read. I can't believe so many people were touched by it. It is especially hard for me to imagine Oprah and her fans being so drawn in. For me, I didn't really care if the entire thing was a lie, it was horribly written. I didn't care for any of the characters, didn't feel like his time in rehab was very awful, didn't like the general theme of the book. Definitely seemed like some chump ass hat bragging about what a badass he was in college. Good thing mommy and daddums saved him, and continue to defend his lame ass book. Whoops, I got angry there, and strayed from the original point of this review. Not in ANY WAY a significant contribution to literature, ideas, life, culture, etc. Simply horrible to read, did not enjoy, reader beware!

Leave out the Oprah fiasco for a moment, and think about the book on it's merits (however dubious they may be). Is it well written? Does it ring true (different to actual, factual legitimacy, I'm referring more to an air of authenticity that ALL good books have, fiction or non)? Are the characters realistic, living in situations that are not, say, the cliched, onanistic daydreams of a *cough* frustrated screenwriter? Is the protagonist, even in the tiniest way, a sympathetic character?

The answer is no. To all of the above. So WHY did people kiss his arse when it came out and treat him like he was some kind of not only recovery messiah, but LITERARY messiah as well? The fact that he made the lot up and Oprah slapped him on the wrist is secondary to me really. He's a terrible writer and his book sucks. I don't care if it's true or not.

I know why this book either will "sit" on certain shelves, or perhaps none at all. Despite the difficulty (due to various personal reasons) of reading it, as well as what was/is left behind from doing so, there are many wordless shelves into which this book will not fit. Some books do that to the mind, heart, and/or the soul. In other words, I'm writing this review because I don't yet know what to say, and perhaps I never will.

However, for those of you who know, who found in one way or another, about the controversy regarding this writer and whether or not he truly experienced what happened behind the words, well let me just say this. Whether or not he experienced it firsthand, someone did. And the fact that someone knew what that "forever-altering" sort of life lived can be like, whether personally, or witnessed through the eyes and experience of a friend or foe... one sort of overwhelming way or another... Reading this book is worth the while of those previously mentioned, or anyone else at all. Anyone...

Therefore, for the time being, this book remains "shelf-less".

Una novela muy dura