i remember when a friend gave me a battered galley copy of a million little pieces in 2002. i was visiting new york and needed a book for my plane ride back. i'd heard people at chez panisse talking about it before that, and it sounded gruesome, like something i'd never want to read.

i loved it.

i didn't put it down once during the whole plane trip.

it was beautiful, moving, and completely free of the bullshit that makes so many books painful for me to read. there was no pretense, no fake "i am a writer speaking to my audience" crap that can alienate a reader so easily.

i loved it.

now, the book is an oprah book. i see people reading it everywhere. the hand covered in sprinkles is hard to miss. and the smoking gun is saying that he lied. i don't believe he lied. perhaps he exaggerated, or changed some details. but the spirit of the story is true, whether it is real or not. good for you, james frey, standing up for yourself. i think that's great.

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