by James Frey
Oct. 13-24, 2018
What an absolute joke of a book. I hurts me to even call this a book, let alone any great literary feat. I admit to my obsession with Frey after the great Oprah debacle, but back then, fact or fiction, his writing style was fresh and unexpected. Now it's laughable, egotistical and ignorant. Repeating words, phrases and sentences doesn't make you a talented writer, it makes you look like an eighth grader lamely attempting to fill his book report to the required number of pages (double-spaced). There is literally a full page of exchanges between Jay and Katerina that continues to repeat, "Hi." Wow, groundbreaking stuff. Much of the other "filler" was Frey simply taking up page space to prove something to the reader (himself?) his advanced knowledge of literature and art. One giant eyeroll after another. Quoting page after page of
The Tropic of Cancer doesn't make you an enlightened literary savant, it makes you a plagiarist.
The deeper I got into the book, the more familiar it sounded.
Is he really attempting to write his autobiography again?! But if he doesn't call it that specifically, he assumes he'll be off the hook? Because of the riveting dialogue (snort), the pages turned quickly. I wanted to give up about a quarter into it for the sheer stench of narcissism, but I admit I had to find out where he was going with this. Only one tiny bit of redemption in the end, but in no way does that justify recommending this book to anyone I care about.
But my review is just one tiny sliver of light into the darkness of this drivel. Ron Charles is a book critic for the
Washington Post. I've read his
review of Katerina no less than four times. It's pure GOLD. Do yourself a favor and soak up his every word.
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