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Review by Mark King
It's easy to see why James Frey was originally going to publish
his harrowing memoir, A Million Little Pieces, as fiction. It
reads like a novel - with strategically-placed characters popping
up to assist Frey in his time at a rehab clinic, and a race-against-time
ending that has the reader literally tearing at the pages in order
to finish.
In the end, we must be thankful that Frey opted for an autobiographical
account because it results in a simple tale of triumph over adversity
that sucks one in with its frank, heartfelt, emotional rollercoaster
of a narrative, made all the more real by the fact that it's a
true-story.
The book opens with Frey waking on a plane with no idea how he
got there, covered in blood and other dubious discolourings, with
a huge jagged hole in his cheek and missing a few of his pegs.
In short - he's a mess. And one more drink will kill him.
We later discover that Frey, wasted on a cocktails of drugs and
booze, has fallen off a fire escape and landed on his face, hence
the state of the man. His parents are flying him to the rehab
clinic in Minnesota and, within pages, he's there, starting his
recovery program with as much enthusiasm as a bored call-centre
worker.
We follow Frey as he begins to suffer from withdrawal symptoms
and slowly gels with his new friends - themselves a motley collection
of drug-dependents, suicidals and perverts. Following Frey as
he makes and breaks friends (and pursues one beautiful character
in particular) is a joy. In many ways, the book is a love story
in the classic mould; two star-crossed lovers trying to keep their
love alive amid hostile, ever worsening conditions. Indeed, it
is a testament to the power of Frey's writing that we believe
in this relationship and want it to succeed from the off.
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A Million Little Pieces differs from standard therapy-lit (or
Theralit, to give it an anti-depressant ring) in that he makes
no excuses for himself, does not become bogged-down with trying
to find out why he is the man he is and does not subject the reader
to acres of self-pitying sniveling and fake, counselling-fuelled
epiphanies.
This approach can, of course, cause problems. There are certain
scenes that are almost too graphic to read, made all the worse
by our knowledge that they actually occurred (one visit to the
dentists in particular is horrible). And Frey, despite revealing
the many deplorable things he has done in the past, often comes
across as a smug anti-hero who may, or may not, be bragging about
some of his time in the clinic.
Towards the end, however, A Million Little Pieces had me reaching
for the Kleenex as Frey and his newly-acquired friends come to
terms with their situations and struggle to plot a line for their
futures. Ultimately, the book rings true and it's the recognition
that there is something of the Frey in all of us that really hits
home.
A Million Little Pieces is one of the most affecting books I've
read, and certainly the best book of 2003 to date. Oh, and I forgot,
Frey was just 23 years old when he entered rehab - which is a
sobering enough thought for anyone.
392 pages, published by John Murray, £16.99.
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