A Million Little Pieces

This book should have been called Why I'm Better than Everyone Else. Instead, James Frey named it A Million Little Pieces and hoped his readers wouldn't notice his chauvinism before recommending it to their friends. I'll admit that I read the whole thing. And there are parts of it that I didn't mind, parts of it that I even found interesting. More than anything, I kept reading in hopes that the author would eventually admit that even tough guys need help some times.

The book, for those of you would missed all of the hoopla over it a few years back, is the alleged memoir of a recovered alcoholic and crack addict. It's the story of his recovery, what brought him to recovery, and his attempt to make sense of a life lived in the fog of drugs and alcohol. It was a sensation after Oprah declared that she couldn't put it down and brought it into her book club. All that hype brought the critical eye of the press on to the book and it came to light that Mr. Frey might not have been entirely accurate when he described the events of his life. It seemed to those doing the vetting that he was embellishing his involvement in certain events, overstating the criminal acts he claims to have perpetrated, and generally tried to make himself look like a meaner, tougher guy than he really was.

To much of that I say, "Who cares?" Yes, I believe in the truth, and I'm thankful to those who uncovered the whole mess, but mostly, I just wanted to read a good book. So, when I saw it at the library the other day, I picked it up because I figured I'd just read it with a grain of salt and enjoy it for what it was. Here's the problem: after reading this guy's work, you really want to stick it to him. He's so smug and arrogant that I can totally see why someone would have tried to find holes in the story just to see him squirm.

I don't know a whole lot about addiction first hand, unless you count cigarettes, which I do. But most people don't have to check themselves into a clinic to get help with their nicotine habit. So, I'll admit that I really can't imagine what it's like to hit rock bottom. I can imagine how humbling it would be to have someone tell you that in order to get sober, you have to participate in the cliched 12 Step Program. But I bet that I wouldn't spend my time trying to convince the helpful rehab staffers that I didn't, as it turns out, need their help. Instead, I was going to sober up on my own (though conveniently utilizing their facilities and food) because I was pretty sure I could do it this time, given that every other time I had tried to get sober on my own had worked so well.

Unlike a lot of people who hate this book, I did like the style it was written in. Very choppy. Very fast. Very much like thoughts that race out of control. If you'd like to have insight into the mind of an addict or get a feel for the rehab process, I would recommend this book. If you're trying to take notes on how to get, or stay, sober, I'd avoid it. You won't learn anything except that this guy didn't have to play the game and he still won and now is a rich man from the embellished account of his life. Of course, no one ever said life was fair.