Okay, I never posted on it, so I can't really prove it, but I totally knew it. Back in 2003 when the bookstore where I worked was trying to start a public reading group, the first book chosen was James Frey's recovery memoir A Million Little Pieces. Being a good employee, I picked up a copy of the book to read so that I could help with discussion. I couldn't finish it because it seemed clear to me that Frey was making things up. (It's been two years since I tried to read it, so I don't have a lot of good offhand examples of what exactly didn't ring true, except that I skipped ahead to the end and it sure seemed like all the charaters that Frey seemed to like turned out okay, and all the characters who gave him a hard time died embarrassing deaths.)
It turns out, I was right. (Thanks to The Smoking Gun.com) Salon also posts a piece today discussing Frey and J. T. LeRoy. The New York Times weighs in here.
I wonder how Oprah will handle this news. (Frey's book was selected recently for Oprah's book club, and marked a return to works by contemporary authors.) Perhaps Frey will join Jonathan Franzen as one of the men who killed Oprah's Book Club. It's more distinguished company than he deserves.
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