![]() ![]() By turns satirical, tense, and surprisingly touching, it is a portrait of a city onto which so many millions have projected so many dreams. He wrote another book-and not a lame apologia/self-justification such as The Fabulist, by Stephen Glass, or Burning Down My Masters’ House, by Jayson Blair.īright Shiny Morningis a sprawling, ambitious novel about Los Angeles, written with all the broad-stroke energy that was so irresistible to readers in A Million Little Pieces. “I was under no illusion that I was anything but that.” Each morning brought a crash of emotions-rage, bewilderment, panic, and shame-and Frey came close to drinking again. Readers told him they hoped he’d burn in hell, get hit by a bus, get “ass cancer.” He was stalked by the tabloids as if he were a Britney Spears–size train wreck. Oprah, the very arbiter of correct human behavior, destroyed him in public, and the walls came crumbling down around him. He proved his resilience again by surviving the past two years, after his bad-boy aspirations became too real and bit him on the ass. He was tough enough to kick a five-year drug-and-alcohol addiction. He’s certainly a far cry from the badass image he once concocted for himself in his best-selling 2003 book, A Million Little Pieces-the guy who had a chick snort lines off his penis, who had amassed 14 arrests, who was wanted in three states, who’d assaulted a cop, who’d served real jail time, and who had likely beat a priest to death-all of which, we now assume, was highly embellished or false. ![]()
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