The controversial writer has launched a new book titled “Next To Heaven” and marked the occasion with a live reading.
The event at Harper’s Gallery in Chelsea had the vibes of a rock concert. Frey, aged 55, greeted the audience by boldly gesturing with both middle fingers, as young female fans cheered excitedly from the back of the room.
Accompanied by Joan Jett’s “Bad Reputation”—the lyrics proclaiming indifference to public perception—Frey approached the microphone. His notoriety stems largely from fabrications in his 2003 memoir “A Million Little Pieces.”
Greeting the New York crowd, he exclaimed, “It feels great to f***ing be here. My career ignited just a few neighborhoods over. I came here post-writing ‘A Million Little Pieces’ and pre-publication, with the aim to set the world aflame—and indeed, it’s been exhilarating to do just that.”
He shared that his latest publisher, like those before, was apprehensive about releasing his work. “I never pen tales about rainbows, unicorns, or fluffy bunnies,” he declared emphatically.
The evening’s preliminary readings set a daring tone: Sarah Hoover delivered a Victorian poem rich in profanities, actress Gina Gershon performed an S&M-themed “contract,” reality TV star Carole Radziwill narrated a sultry tale about NASCAR drivers, Lili Anolik from Air Mail recounted a scandalous memory from saxophonist Art Pepper, and influencer Annie Hamilton talked about her initial forays into self-pleasure.
Frey himself read a provocative excerpt from “Next To Heaven,” describing a conversation at a swingers’ gathering where a woman comments on her partner’s rumored size, to which he confirms with precision, “Ten and three eighths.”
Earlier that day, The New Yorker had sharply critiqued Frey’s writing style in a piece that dissected his latest work with biting precision.
The article, titled “James Frey’s New Cancelled-Guy Sex Novel Is as Bad as It Sounds,” portrayed Frey as someone attempting to recast himself as an early victim of cancel culture, seeking vindication in a media landscape he perceives as now more aligned with his provocative style. The review criticized the book’s implausibility and described its portrayal of a woman’s sorrow as poorly executed and overly sexualized.
One might speculate that Frey could possibly take an odd pleasure in being metaphorically stepped on by figures of old-world propriety.
