So one-time fabulist/Oprah punching bag James Frey is taking another stab at reclaiming his former white hot literary glory with “The Final Testament of the Holy Bible,” a yarn in which “the second coming of Christ takes place in The Bronx projects — but the Messiah turns out to be a former alcoholic who impregnates a prostitute.”
Fair enough. Might not be everybody’s cup o’ tea, but it’s a free country, so, whatever, buy it or don’t.
What rankles even this unbaptized heathen, however, is Frey bragging to the New York Post, “I’m sure the religious right will go crazy because the story of Ben…is hardly the Messiah they have in mind. But I don’t really care. I just did what I always do — tried to write the best book I could.”
Yes, Frey is anticipating a certain response in detail to a widely read newspaper, but that response was totally immaterial to the artiste amidst the fiery act of creation. He just writes books and, hey, if a marketing plan happens to spring up around the controversy he himself somehow predicts yet supposedly never considered…well, that’s what it’s like when you get mixed up with a rebel, Dottie. Likewise I suppose the Good Friday release date is just some strange coincidence and not catnip for reporters.
Look, my affinity for Christianity is nil, but Frey should just go ahead and admit he’s trying to revive his career by egging on the followers of a religion who as a rule don’t — at least not anymore — run around lopping the heads off those who draw pictures or string together words they don’t like.
(Hat tip: David.)
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