Thursday - August 17, 2006
A Million Little Pieces
** stuck inside the mind of a
recovering addict, complete with 5 million little F-words and the self-centered
tapes that loop incessantly.
A Million Little Pieces (2003) by James
Frey
James Frey admitted having stretched the truth more than a little in this account of his struggle to overcome his drug and alcohol addictions.
That being known, reading the story became an arduous task to suspend the constant questioning, a plowing through the gray area between truth and fiction. This compromises the shock value as well as the sweetness of his victory.
Mostly this is a story of a guy who thinks he is so special that none of the rules of society or sobriety apply to him. His bouts of self-loathing just don't jive with the persona he projects. The spotlight rarely strays from James himself. Even descriptions of his love interest focus on his own struggles, how she affects him and the huge personal risk as he attempts to save her.
But Frey's claim is that he wrote the book to try to help others like him. I wonder if his dissing of the 12 step method of dealing with addictions really did anyone such a favor. Maybe Mr. Frey will stay sober and be happy in his self-centered godless world, but historically people thrive with some spiritual direction and support other than what they find inside their own screwed up heads.
Frey was not a poverty-ridden ragamuffin with no choices. This narrative is a scary look inside the mind of a spoiled rotten rich American kid, and I gave it 2 stars for that educational value alone. I am currently reading Angela's Ashes - immersion in abject poverty - and find myself less sympathetic than ever toward Frey.
I hope and pray that somehow in this world, (starting with myself, okay) that whenever I find myself having a pity party in my brain, that I remember that the healthiest way out of that loop for me and everyone else, is to shine that light OUTWARD, get off my lazy ass, and somehow help someone else with one of their problems.
James Frey admitted having stretched the truth more than a little in this account of his struggle to overcome his drug and alcohol addictions.
That being known, reading the story became an arduous task to suspend the constant questioning, a plowing through the gray area between truth and fiction. This compromises the shock value as well as the sweetness of his victory.
Mostly this is a story of a guy who thinks he is so special that none of the rules of society or sobriety apply to him. His bouts of self-loathing just don't jive with the persona he projects. The spotlight rarely strays from James himself. Even descriptions of his love interest focus on his own struggles, how she affects him and the huge personal risk as he attempts to save her.
But Frey's claim is that he wrote the book to try to help others like him. I wonder if his dissing of the 12 step method of dealing with addictions really did anyone such a favor. Maybe Mr. Frey will stay sober and be happy in his self-centered godless world, but historically people thrive with some spiritual direction and support other than what they find inside their own screwed up heads.
Frey was not a poverty-ridden ragamuffin with no choices. This narrative is a scary look inside the mind of a spoiled rotten rich American kid, and I gave it 2 stars for that educational value alone. I am currently reading Angela's Ashes - immersion in abject poverty - and find myself less sympathetic than ever toward Frey.
I hope and pray that somehow in this world, (starting with myself, okay) that whenever I find myself having a pity party in my brain, that I remember that the healthiest way out of that loop for me and everyone else, is to shine that light OUTWARD, get off my lazy ass, and somehow help someone else with one of their problems.
