Well, rats. There goes my big chance to get "elevenevele" adopted by Oprah's Book Club.
Stupid Frey...screwed it up for everyone.
The fact of the fabrication itself (assuming it really IS a fabrication) is a hell of a story, though. I mean, anybody can write shocking fiction, but for someone to invent something like that and then claim it was their own life story...it's like masochism at arm's length, taking the aura of glamorous debasement without ever having to experience the actual degradation involved. (I haven't read the book--I make it a point not to read competitors--but the excerpts I've seen have been typically junkie-graphic. I have stories I could tell which are just as gross--and mine are real!)
Seriously, what a fraud. And the thing that kills me about people like this is: they are just as content with infamy as with fame. Frey has the recognition he was craving, and if his name goes down in history next to Jayson Blair and Mitch Albom instead of John Steinbeck, it's all the same to him. Attention is attention, as any hyperactive five-year-old can tell you.
The most grievous punishment that the public could inflict upon Frey is a very simple one: stop talking about him. Stop talking about his book, about his fabrication, about the experiences he claimed to have had and the life he claimed to have led. Curtail his fifteen minutes about twelve minutes early--that would be the harshest thing we could do to him.
Of course, that's not going to happen. Hell, I'm talking about it here, and if this story has made it down this low on the totem-pole of bloggery, I can only imagine the feeding frenzy this story will have incited further up the new-media food chain. But you can be sure I won't be listing either of his works on my top-ten list, if and when I create one--and that's even taking into account my notorious soft-spot for junkies, outlaws, and outcasts. Even if half of what he claims to have lived through is the truth, that still leaves the other 50% as lies (or whatever you care to call them: "embellishment", "exaggeration", "bovine excreta"...take your pick). And frankly, I like my outlaws and outcasts to be REAL. It's one of the few restrictions I put on them....be evil, be low-down, be seedy, but DON'T be a poser. That's one of the cardinal sins to a child of the 90's like myself, and not likely to be forgiven.
(The other cardinal sin, of course, is selling out--which begs a disclaimer: I wouldn't WANT anything I wrote to be an Oprah's Book Club selection. I'm gonna go with Jonathan Franzen, on this one.)
I hadn't heard about this. I can understand wanting the attention, but if the book was that good why not call it the fiction it is.
ReplyDeleteTalk about let down!
ReplyDelete(I read the book - my husband's mother sent it to him. I devoured it in less than a day, and I had to say, enjoyed it. Now I feel ripped off.)
That was quite the expose' on the Smoking Gun. I agree with you about his attention seeking.
ReplyDeleteGlad you're feeling good!
What a fucking loser. And I hope Oprah feels like an idiot.
ReplyDeleteI'm with Spin. At least he could've tacked on a "inspired by life story" line. Or pulled a Hemingway and published a work of fiction, all the while smirking and grinning so that everybody starts THINKING it's true without you having to say anything...
ReplyDeleteI haven't read the book but I heard it's good. I'd much rather read more of yours, though, Gladys - I've read what you've written so far and it's RIVETING. When are you going to get on that again, hey?