I just finished James Frey's disturbing and challenging personal diary put into book form called "A Million Little Pieces." This book is not for the faint of heart or for those unable to look deep into the darkness of mankind.
Frey is not everyman, he is one man with one experience; his self induced horror that was his life for 13 years (10 years old to 23 years old, Frey remained in a alcohol/drug induced stupor most of the time) wrecked havoc on all with whom he came in contact.
Frey describes in graphic detail his journey from his final stupor that landed him in a drug rehab facility (he lost four front teeth after falling down a fire escape and was poured onto a plane to go to rehab) until he leaves it.
His writing style is staccato and runon. It works. He is vulgar and clear, mean-spirited and direct, intellectually honest and moral in a street-wise sort of way. There is forgiveness, grace and gospel throughout. There is also hate, disdain, contempt and revenge. It is a mixture of what is, of what we live in or near.
After reading the book, I was disrupted and melancholy. James's journey is harsh, visceral, extraordinarily painful and simultaneously beautiful and redeeming. His multitudinous addictions and willfulness create a despicable human being. His act of redemption near the end for Lilly, an addict and prostitute, reveal an incredible, grace-filled, loving human being. The attitudes, beliefs and actions living in one person result in a mysterious, authentic blend that left me confused but smiling.
From entering to exiting rehab, James lives at the poles of wickedness and goodness. My life does not swing from pole to pole as James's does. I don't know that I'm interested in seeing it do so. But there is something about his act of love toward Lilly that draws me to James in a way I did not expect. I wonder if I could do for another - any other - what James did in the end for Lilly. How deeply can I love another? How deeply do I love ANY other?
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