For days I've resisted discussing the James Frey scandal, but the constant calls for comment from various important news outlets and my retarded readership finally has proven too much to resist. And so below you will find my elucidation of the entire morass. And I will endeavor to use small words and short sentences so that you all will understand.

There are those of us who will greet news that Random House is offering refunds to A Million Little Pieces readers with glee. They will see the move as a triumph of morality over money in a world sorely lacking that kind of triumph. And there are those of us who will see the move cynically: triage ahead of Oprah's impending indictment of Frey's deceit, apology, and advertisement of the refund offer. Better to refund 10% of the Frey earnings than to risk being on the bad side of the Oprah Book Club colassas. In the end, Frey, who, granted, more likely had his substantial ego exploited by the publisher than duped anyone into believing the wealthy son of a Whirlpool executive ever actually did much in the way of crack-smoking, will be the fall guy for exactly the kind of wink-and-nod conspiracy that fuels our every commercial interaction.

And the question that many are asking is this: So what? So Frey lied. Memoir or not, it's a book and he's a writer. It's hardly the first memoir in which the truth's been stretched, bent, or broken. Who was hurt by all of this? What's the difference between A Million Little Pieces and JT Leroy's Sarah or even A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius? And the answer is nothing. Despite that he tried and couldn't get it published as fiction, it doesn't really matter to me that his memoir is fictional. The book, taken on it's own, is completely irrelevant.

What matters is Frey and what's happened in the wake of the book's publishing. I don't know what confluence of forces resulted in him becoming the poster boy for "non-traditional recovery" from addiction, but he has. And it's a role he's embraced through speaking engagements and interviews like those that appeared on Oprah. It's your pathetic life, James, so go ahead and exaggerate. But don't then use those exaggerations to make yourself a role model for people in real need. Or, if you do, expect the shit to hit the fan eventually.

So who gets hurt? Those people. People who think tattooing some stupid fucking acronym on your arm and being obnoxious will help you quit crack. Who else gets hurt? The people described in the book as his crack-smoking cohorts or his racist cop tormentors. Whether their names were changed or not, people have and will continue to figure out who Frey described. And those characters will have to defend their non-fictional lives for years to come. They're not getting paid a dime.

JT Leroy, the nonexistant author to whom Frey has been compared often over these past few days, does not make appearances at truck stops and gives lectures about how to break free of underaged gay trucker hooking. That's the difference.

Analogcabin @ 12:03 PM
Permalink |