Friday, January 27, 2006


By virtue of the fact that Oprah Winfrey orchestrated a public hanging on her most banal of shows, I am now a huge James Frey fan, despite never having read a single word that he's written. I have been half following the whole sordid affair, and am fully aware that Frey embellished details of his not-so-sordid life. Frankly, the fictional memoir is really not such a scandalous genre. Admittedly, he mislead his audience, but let's not forget that there is a certain type of individual that is predisposed to this sort of behaviour: the conventional term for such an individual is 'fiction writer'. To be honest, up until The Smoking Gun website reported on Frey's outing, I was under the impression that the book was a novel, only because I am accustomed to Winfrey choosing such works for her worthless book-of-the-month club. This latest incident seems to have given Winfrey the opportunity to show her subjects that she has the power to make a writer, or to break a writer. I only hope that being tarred and feathered by the evil Ms. Winfrey will inspire Frey to retaliate by penning a new memoir relating to his most recent adventures; the horrors recounted therein will vary from those found in 'A Million Little Pieces': they will be true. On second thought, he better market it as fiction so he doesn't get his ass sued by the mighty O.

Comments: Post a Comment


This page is powered by Blogger

Weblog Commenting by HaloScan.com