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COPYRIGHT 2003 All rights reserved. Reproduced by permission of The Condé Nast Publications Inc.
It's one thing merely to ruin your life; to turn it into a mangled, fuming heap of wreckage requires something special--a taste for the theatrical. In fact, part of the genius of the Twelve Step recovery program lies in its ritualized center-stage confessionals, which provide assurance that sobriety need not prevent you from making a spectacle of yourself. But, now that such performances have become routine, what can a high-wattage, drug-addled drama queen like James Frey do to stand out in the crowd?
Frey begins his new memoir, "A Million Little Pieces"(Nan Talese/Doubleday; $22.95), with an account of waking up on an airplane, at the age of twenty-three, with a broken nose, a hole in his cheek large enough to accommodate a finger, two black eyes, his clothes "covered with a colorful mixture of spit, snot, urine, vomit and blood,"his four front teeth knocked out, no idea where he's going, and no memory of how he got there. His stricken parents meet him...
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