i’ve been devouring books lately, mostly because i’m taking advantage of the sembreak. admittedly, i got drawn to buy james frey’s ‘a million little pieces’ because of its cover (the piece looked like candy sprinkles… how can i resist?), but the story turned out to be not bad, not bad at all.
it’s about an addict’s account of his stay at a treatment center. although it claims to be an autobiography, a friend just told me that the author owned up to making up some of the parts, but still that does not make the book less of a good read.
it’s the type of book you guzzle in two sittings. the author writes in such a way that you can peek into an addict’s mind, and find out that whatever you thought about how being addicted must feel — YOU JUST HAVE NO IDEA. i like the part where he goes off at a tv show for glamourizing addicts & alcoholics; he’d like to lock the show’s writers in room, feed them all the crack they could swallow and then watch if they can make their doctors fall in love with them and walk away with their pet golden retrievers. honestly, i don’t think i’ll be able to relate to a person who’s not sarcastic or ranting at least half the time, and the author did not fail me at all.
the only thing that put me off was the love angle. the book throws me grit, cursing, despair, and then magically, love conquers all. i was like, ‘what the hell?!’. seriously. here he was: broken. hardened. furious. an addict, an alcoholic & a criminal, who at 23 has been through hell so many times it’s like the park for him. and then the only thing that makes him say the ultimate ‘NO’ to drugs is the girlfriend he met at the treatment center. dang. the author let me down on that one. because if love is the only thing that can save the utterly hopeless, then i’m seriously screwed.