You can’t give me your f***ing Daughter.

So this afternoon I finished A Million Little Pieces by James Frey. I highly recommend it, despite allegations (actually, they were true) that Frey had fabricated “elements of his memoir.” Yes, it is a memoir, which goes against what I usually like to read, but it was in the violence section of the library, so I had no problem with picking it up and taking it home with me. And it was sooo colorful…. The fact that it was in Oprah’s Book Club actually bothered me, since I kind of hate Oprah, but I was like, whatever, I guess that just means it’s not a really badly written book. So I started reading it and couldn’t put it down and – this maybe the only time I’ve done this except for the Harry Potter series – I did not peek at the back of the book. OK, maybe I did, but it was just a little. I just wanted to check what happened to a couple of people. BUT I COULDN’T DO IT! I didn’t want to ruin it for myself, so I just read it through. Excellently written (although it can be hella depressing and freaky at times) and I don’t care if it was all fabricated, it was a good read. I’m waiting for Frey’s next book to come out, but since they say it’s not coming out until summer ’08, I guess I’ll just have his other memoir to read. Although it kind of ruins it for me, now that I know that it’s fake. Parts of it, at least. I just want to ignore that because I half fell in love with that priest-beating, glue-sniffing, alcohol-imbibing crackhead along the course of the book. And maybe it wasn’t the real James Frey. And I’m pretty sure it’s not the current 38-year-old, watered down, sober version of him. I think it’s all the drama and lack of quotation marks and youth and drugs and the Fury and all that good stuff. But then again, it might have been that I fell in love with the book, too. I think I did. How do I know? I read page 138. It was beautiful. Read, if you want.

What’s this?

My Daughter.

She’s beautiful, but I don’t want a picture of your daughter.

That’s not it.

Then what is it?

I want to giver her to you. You can do whatever you want to her.

Goddamn, John.

You don’t like her?

You can’t give me your f***ing Daughter.

Oh, the magic. I love this book. It is like poetry to me. It is poetry to me. I think one of these days, I’m just going to disappear into another world with a 23-year old recovering crack addict… Ah, wouldn’t that be nice… 

Quote of the day:

I have no problem smoking pot with a moose, if that’s what you’re suggesting.

(Comment from James Frey’s discussion board)