Reading A Million Little Pieces can be a traumatic experience if you’ve suffered from mental illness or depression, as many of the symptoms are recollected by Frey in his experience and struggle with dealing with his addiction to both drugs and the life style of drugs.
By comparison, Shleby’s Requiem for a Dream is a more “glamourous” experience than the tragedies that take place in this book. It’s a book that doesn’t really offer hope, but an insight into one person’s struggle, the monstrous and destructive effects of those around him, and the hypocrisy that exists in the forced treatment through rehabilitation programmes.
Frey’s writing is quite starkinly self-absorbed at times. I want to say that this book is wonderful, and how inspirational it is, but I have to stress that as much as I love A Million Little Pieces, and as much as I could (modestly) empathise with Frey’s turmoil, there were times where he starts to bore with a long, drawn out circular dialogue which just goes round and round until you either want to flick past his monologue of boredom, or you simply give up reading. There’s only one or two instances of this, and I understand he is expressing his honesty but it’s certainly something that doesn’t need to be regurgitated for four or five pages. It simply becomes tedious.
Aside from that criticism, this is one of the best memoirs I have read to date. Simply put, there’s nothing in this book but a morbid outlook on life and what it has to offer, but more to the point what drugs can do and where it can take you. Hope does exist, but it’s such dimly lit that only few, if any, actually succeed in making it. One of the most startling moments are the actual statistics offered in the rehabilition of alcoholics and drug users in a programme, with the percentage being less than 15% actually maklng it through, and where the remainder will return having become addicts once again. It’s horrific, and something that affects Frey’s ability to rehabilitate according to the programme rules. He doesn’t attend the programmes due to this reality, and nor longer wishes to rely on others for help.
There’s a romance of sorts, but a gritty, unreal one. The final summary of what has happened to each individual makes for morbid reading
Leonard is a man who understands Frey’s pain, and like any true friend, promises to stick by him whether or not he likes it. Frey is naturally reluctant and even threatens to beat Leonard, not understanding why he wants to help. This of course is Frey’s cry for help, his moment of mandotory neanderthal behaviour where accepting help feels like a weakness. Gradually, slowly, Leonard and Frey form a strong bond, a freindship and eventually adopt a relationship as though a family.
A Million Little Pieces doesn’t treat the programme with kid gloves. At times it is reminiscent of Kesey’s One Flew Over a Cukcoo’s Nest, but firmly in its own territory, Frey writes with an open heart and holds nothing back either in his opinion or what takes place. The moment where his teeth are torn out without any anaesthetic is a moment that made even me cringe with disbelief. Of course this has to be done, since he is not to be administered any drugs whatsoever, due to his addiciton, and it is an incredible feat, one of sheer guts and courage – and a glimpse to the character that Frey is and continues to demonstrate throughout the book.
All of the characters provide a raw and unfiltered experience, and never do you feel withdrawn from Frey’s world, if anything you feel it’s presence more greatly and I can imagine the book will cause sadness and depression for those who re-experience the tragedy and failure, the self-loathing and self-hatred that Frey exposes in his words. The moments where his parents are brought into the picture is not difficult to comprehend. Their fear, their thoughts are carefully reiterated and of course Frey’s state of mind on how he feels about their presence.
An experience in itself to read, with thoughtful and honest accounts from not only Frey but those around him, and the people he befriends, including those trying to help him. Much of what has happened to Frey still happens now, with the fallacy of a hope from programmes such as Alcoholic Anonymous, providing no help in real terms except the illusion of hope.
Tragedy is witnessed through the eyes of Frey’s parents too, including his brother who behaves like a rock, but deep down is naturally distraught at seeing the train wreck that is his brother. It’s not that Frey isn’t aware of the pain he has caused around him, but he is acutely aware of it that is the problem, and thus feels deeply moved to save himself withuot the help of others. That all becomes greater when he meets Lilly and he let’s his defences down. Lilly’s chequered past is of no consequence to Frey, but both are clsoe to ruin when they are forced to divide themselves from each other, or face the prospect of being removed from the centre, and therefore never seeing each other again.
as much as I love A Million Little Pieces, and as much as I could (modestly) empathise with Frey’s turmoil, there were times where he starts to bore
There’s a romance of sorts, but a gritty, unreal one. The final summary of what has happened to each individual makes for morbid reading, seeming more like an obituary of friends than the success stories you hope for going through the book. Everyone is given hope, is offered hope, and accepts that there is false positive of hope, but the reality of the final pages is not only bleak but the true reality of the situations that those who find themselves in such a state are likely to suffer.
James Frey has developed an art for protraying the grim finality in his debut novel, providing no sugar coated solution, and offering a bitter taste of a reality that few books can claim to possess. It’s a monstrous, unrelating punch in the face, where tragedy follows suffering follows horror. It would be fair to say that the book can sometimes bury itself in a space of self pity and self hatred ad nauseum. But it is the apt authenticity with which this is carried out; the unforgiving and abyss of negative abuse that will make you appreciate the book all the more.
Verdict: Punchy, aggressive, depressing. An exhilirating and moving debut about the lowest depths of despair