The
Ugly Truth
When James Frey embellished his rap sheet in his best-selling memoir,
did he cross the line into fiction?
By Marc Peyser
Newsweek
Jan. 23, 2006 issue - James Frey is not a guy who backs away from a
fight. He's got a pit bull. He's got a mean tongue, too. A few years
ago he told a reporter that Dave Eggers's "A Heartbreaking Work of
Staggering Genius" "pissed me off because a book that I thought was
mediocre was being hailed as the best book written by the best writer
of my generation." Frey even has a tattoo on his arm that reads
FTBSITTTD, which, hosed off, stands for "F--- the bulls---, it's time
to throw down." So it was surprising to see Frey sitting meek as a
schoolboy last week, being grilled by Larry King about allegations he'd
made up incidents in his best-selling drug-addiction memoir, "A Million
Little Pieces." Frey admitted to 18 pages of "embellishments," which he
rationalized as "less than 5 percent of the total book." He tried to
sound tough, but he came across as more pussycat than pit bull. He even
had his mother, Lynne, at his side. "The important aspect of a memoir
is getting at the essential truth," said Frey, 36. "I stand by the
essential truth of my book ... I don't think I'd change anything."
Not that it mattered what Frey said. In book publishing today, one
person's opinion matters most, and with one minute left on King's show,
she called in. "I understand we have Oprah on the phone," King
announced—and you could hear Lynne Frey gasp. Winfrey selected "A
Million Little Pieces" as an "Oprah" book last September, helping it
sell more than 3.5 million copies. Would Winfrey stand by Frey now? At
first, it was hard to tell; she started by complaining that the
publisher should have checked the book's facts better. Frey sat still,
waiting. Finally, Oprah cut to the chase. "The underlying message of
redemption in James Frey's memoir still resonates with me," she said.
"And I know that ..." She said some stuff after that, but it was hard
to pay attention. Frey's blinking, almost prayerful look of relief was
amazing, as was his mother's applause. Oprah had rehabbed Frey's
reputation.
"Little Pieces" clearly won't disappear. In fact, the dust-up propelled
it back up the best-seller lists. But it has touched off a literary
tempest. For the last decade or so, memoirs have been the cash machines
of publishing houses. From "Angela's Ashes" to "Sleepers," a genre that
had been dominated by the likes of Lee Iacocca has taken on the
sexiness that used to be associated with big-book fiction. Will readers
keep buying memoirs if writers admit juicing some facts? It doesn't
help that Augusten Burroughs is being sued for fraud and libel by the
family he writes about in "Running With Scissors." Or that stories
published last week allege that JT LeRoy, a novelist who claimed to
draw on his past as a male prostitute for books like "Sarah," isn't
really a prostitute—or a man. Sure, writers make things up for a
living. But how much invention can go into a memoir before it crosses
the line into fiction? "Manufacturing events wholesale is just morally
wrong," says Mary Karr, author of her own memoir, "The Liar's Club." "I
think this calls into question every aspect of this guy—who he is and
everything in his damn book."
Who is James Frey? He was a middling screenwriter—his biggest hit was
David Schwimmer's film "Kissing a Fool"—before he wrote "A Million
Little Pieces." It focuses on his time in the Minnesota rehab center he
entered when he was only 23. The book is stark and brutal—no one has
ever described vomit more graphically—and was, initially, a flop. Frey
says that more than a dozen publishers rejected it. But that was when
he was calling "Little Pieces" a novel. When his agent suggested he
call it a memoir, it sold. One of the unanswered questions is what, if
any, changes Frey made after he reclassified it. (Frey would not talk
to NEWSWEEK.)
Whatever it was called, Frey's story was undeniably harrowing, yet
inspiring. He took himself from the depths of self-destruction—he
claimed to have been arrested 14 times and spent three months in jail
before landing in rehab—but ultimately cured himself without any sissy
12-step program. "I don't accept excuses for failure or deflect what is
essentially a problem I have caused," he wrote. "Every time I want to
drink or do drugs, I'm going to make the decision not to do them."
"Little Pieces" made Frey a self-help rock star.
Unfortunately, his story came with a paper trail. A few months ago the
muckraking Web site Smoking Gun decided it should add Frey's mug shot
to its infamous archive. The only problem was, TSG couldn't find much
dirt. There were records of a few hours spent in jail for moving
violations and DUI, but nothing that would speak to the fury that
underscores "Little Pieces." At first, Frey denied TSG's
allegations—the joke was that Frey's lawyer was the first ever to
threaten a lawsuit if anyone claimed his client was innocent. But when
TSG posted its lengthy report "The Man Who Conned Oprah," Frey fessed
up. "In certain cases, things were toned up. In certain cases, things
were toned down," he told King. "I think of this book working in the
long tradition of Hemingway and Kerouac and Bukowski."
Those macho writers were primarily novelists. Frey's book was sold as
memoir—and it doesn't state that he altered names or events. Why? "Not
to be too horribly cynical, but isn't it a lot easier to get on the
nonfiction best-seller list than the fiction list? Hello!" says Molly
Friedrich, who is Frank McCourt's agent. Which isn't to say any of this
will affect "Little Pieces." Oprah heaped most of her blame on Frey's
publisher, Doubleday, and others are, too. "I don't understand the
cavalier attitude of these damn publishers," says Karr. "They better
hope they don't get sued." (Doubleday did announce last week that
future editions of "Little Pieces" will include an author's note,
though no one knows what it will say.) Frey's career is likely to go
unscathed. "Would a publisher buy his book again? You bet," says Simon
& Schuster publisher David Rosenthal. "He is that rarest of
commodities: he's sold books." Frey said he'll keep writing, but with
one difference: "I'll absolutely never write about myself again." Can
you believe him?
With Karen Springen and Jac Chebatoris