I am usually very late accepting massive media hits. Partly because the small amount of rebellion left inside me does not want to follow the herd and partly because I think that a gigantic amount of people liking anything only indicates that it is for shit. Hitler, Reagan, the Bay City Rollers, Two and a Half Men. Do I need to supply any more examples? So it took me 2 years to listen to Appetite of Destruction in its entirety, a few months to get behind Barack Obama (I was a John Edwards guy) and I have yet to see Titanic. But occasionally I am compelled to pick up an item that was hyped to the point of parody. I have been thinking about reading James Frey’s A Million Little Pieces the Oprah selection that was once godlike and quickly demonized as it became known that the memoir was more a vague retelling. Although I knew little about the book when all the acclaim and controversy was raging, I did feel sympathy for the author. Although he may have not lived every incident in the book exactly as it occurred, he did certainly draw upon his own experiences as any good author does. The term memoir is the poison here. People want things to be real so they can be voyeurs into another person’s misery and many authors, actors, and otherwise just regular losers get sucked in based on the promise of a fast buck and quick fame. While Frey’s story may have garnered little attention as a novel, he certainly would not have received so much derision.
As far as the book is concerned, if taken as a novel (as even the best memoir or biography should be) it is a true classic hard boiled tale of addiction and desperation. It harkens back to some of the grittiest works of Burroughs, Kerouac, and even a touch of Hemingway swagger. All of the aforementioned masters wrote highly personalized stories, but in order to protect friends and their own reputations and also to fully enjoy the artistic license warranted to authors they mostly remained in the genre of fiction. An author should not feel that it is necessary to guarantee prose.
So basically I am saying give the book a shot. Just forget all the hype and read it like the novel it should have been promoted as.
As far as the book is concerned, if taken as a novel (as even the best memoir or biography should be) it is a true classic hard boiled tale of addiction and desperation. It harkens back to some of the grittiest works of Burroughs, Kerouac, and even a touch of Hemingway swagger. All of the aforementioned masters wrote highly personalized stories, but in order to protect friends and their own reputations and also to fully enjoy the artistic license warranted to authors they mostly remained in the genre of fiction. An author should not feel that it is necessary to guarantee prose.
So basically I am saying give the book a shot. Just forget all the hype and read it like the novel it should have been promoted as.