A Million Reasons Why...

I'm sick of hearing about Oprah and James Frey. This book and its validity have consumed too much of my time.

I had never heard of Frey's "A Million Little Pieces" until Thanksgiving when my aunts were watching the TiVo'd episode of his appearance on Oprah. They were gushing about how this was a "life moment" type of book and it was just so amazing. They hushed all who entered the room or tried to speak as if this man was the be all and end all of humanity. I listened to some of it and I admit, I was intrigued and thought that I should definitely pick this book up after I finished another two books I had recently bought but not yet read.

My social life is just so exciting that it took me a good two months (that was a joke) to get to "A Million Little Pieces." I was excited to read it. I was ready to finally understand what all the to do was about. On my New Years trip to Gulfport, a Stewardess even mistook my previous book's teal cover and commented how she "couldn't wait to read it." It seemed everyone was talking about it. Surely this was going to be on my new top ten list of best books of all times. So upon my departure from Gulfport I picked it up in the airport bookstore. I had some time to kill so I went to the bar, had a bloody Mary and a smoke, and dove right into this book about substance abuse and recovery. HA! I read and read and absorbed the first 50 pages without much thought. I thought it was kind of gross and I was ready to move on to different subject matter than Frey's vommitting, novacaine-free root canals, and anger management problems.

I'm a fast reader. I can get through just about any book I begin in a very short time. But this one, I just didn't care to finish. In fact, I just finished it this past week. It sat around after I got home. I would pick it up each night and read a few more pages, slowly. It got so I went almost a week without picking it up at all. I just didn't care about it. Don't get me wrong, it was a good book. I'm glad the dude faced his inner demons and has successfully been sober for many years. I can partially relate to the subject matter because of my binge drinking (first step is to admit you have a problem)...but I still didn't "get it." Oprah and the aunts raved about this book. They couldn't put it down. I felt like all it did was go on and on and on. I had seen Oprah, he was still here so I knew he must have decided to walk away from the booze, crack, and whores.

I finished it and then all this "A Million Little Lies" comes out on the Smoking Gun and Larry King and finally the circle is complete and Frey is back on Oprah. Last night, I watched, again. And I couldn't help but think to myself, "who cares!" It's a BOOK. It may have been touted as a memoir, but it's still a BOOK. The stuff they are talking about him fabricating is just not that big of a deal to me. It just wasn't the inherent meaning of the book to me. This dude SURVIVED. He conquered his additctions and he wrote a book that recounts his experience as he remembers it. I'm sure its embellished, stretched, edited--after all, it is a book and its sold in order to make money. However, if people were that inspired to kick their vice a month ago because of it, surely they will still do it inspite of some embellishments.

James Frey is still sober. Isn't that really what should prove worthy?

I don't know, but is all of this really that big of a deal? Is Oprah really that influential on the American public that people care if she was embarassed and disappointed? Perhaps she should focus on Frey's success as an addict who is not dead but living and who (up until her last interview) has been successful in his recovery.

When did we stop celebrating human achievement and start celebrating defeat?

I just don't get it.