Philadelphia Weekly

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Novel idea: Literary fall guy Frey wants to move onward and upward. (photo by terry richardson)

"Nothing in this book should be considered accurate or reliable."

--James Frey, Bright Shiny Morning

James Frey doesn't know when to quit. It's both his greatest strength and biggest weakness, the impetus for his unlikely triumphs and the hallmark of his paralyzing defeats. Ultimately, that steadfast resilience may be the reason James Frey--ex-addict, best-selling author, media pariah--remains in the game even after he had his ass handed to him by Oprah.

"I would hope that if what I do is remembered, it will be remembered for what it is," Frey says on the phone from Los Angeles. "Not because I was on this show or that show, or this person loved it or that person didn't. I hope it's because on some level the books I wrote affected people. That's the important thing: writing the books I want to write, the way I want to write them."

Frey's Lazarus-like literary return is Bright Shiny Morning, his first (complete) fiction novel. Like most subjects related to Frey, it's causing a polarizing shitstorm. Most critics conclude that Bright Shiny Morning is one of two things: a breakthrough work of fiction or the most narcissistic collection of prose ever put on paper.

Janet Maslin of The New York Times calls Frey "a furiously good storyteller" who creates a "captivating urban landscape," while the L.A. Times' David Ulin calls it "one of the worst" books he's ever read. Publishers Weekly chimes in that the novel is "un-put-downable," while Entertainment Weekly dismisses it as "a slack, self-indulgent mess."

Such polarized reviews are extremely odd, and make one wonder whether the harsh criticism is an objective aesthetic reaction to Frey's work or the opinionated bias of critics with a million little axes to grind.

"Over the past couple years I've developed a pretty thick skin," Frey says. "This book has gotten some exceptional reviews, and it's also gotten eviscerated. The eviscerations don't bother me. I mean, the L.A. Times review was pretty unbelievably awful. But I thought it was awesome.

"The New York Times review, on the other hand, was shocking and also very humbling. [Maslin] seemed to really understand what I was attempting to do. And that meant something--that a highly respected critic at the most respected newspaper in the country got it."

The shockwaves are still registering from the very public fallout after the discovery of fabrication in A Million Little Pieces. But Frey claims the situation allowed him a greater appreciation for some things he previously took for granted.

"I think I'm a better person and a better writer because of that whole ordeal. Sometimes you can start to believe your own hype in a very negative way. One of the things I learned is that a lot of things connected to [fame] don't really matter. What matters is loving my family and appreciating my friends as much as I can, not what parties I can go to or who I can have dinner with. There was a time when I placed more importance on those types of things. And then there came a moment when those things disappeared, and you realize once they're gone that they didn't matter much to begin with.

"For me it's a huge victory that I'm even here," Frey continues. "It's a victory that I wrote another book, that I've got a great agent, that I've got a great publisher, that people are paying attention to my book, that it's being written about and discussed."

Frey recently appeared at New York City's Blender Theater. Unlike most readings, which Frey calls "kind of boring," the Blender gig was equal parts pep rally, literary jamboree and rock 'n' roll revival. While his Philadelphia appearance may not provide the same bells and whistles, Frey hints it won't be your average reading.

"I want to entertain the audience," Frey says. "What's always been most important is trying to go places in ways that haven't been attempted before--writing books in different ways. Laying the words out on the page in different ways. Doing readings in different ways. That's what I'm interested in."

Despite Frey's radical-first stance, he doesn't dismiss the idea of one day returning to the craft of, dare I say, memoir to pen his perspective of his post-Million Little Pieces experience.

"I couldn't do it now," Frey says. "I could do it at some point. I don't know that I would. There are other books I want to write right now. I don't want that situation to define me as a person or a writer. It might. But I don't want it to. I hope it's a chapter, not the career."