So said Oprah.

I’ve passed by James Frey’s book A Million Little Pieces many times in bookstores and never wanted to read it.

For one thing, the cover creeps me out; what is that, nanobot nonpareils attacking the hand? Mainly, though, I’ve avoided the book because it seemed repulsive and an obvious attempt at attention. It seemed too much like the latest version of Go Ask Alice, or something by J.T. LeRoy.

No, it wasn’t the swear words that turned me off to the book. And no, it wasn’t the tales of a hard life of drugs and drinking.

Many times I thumbed through Frey’s book at bookstores, reading sections out of it, nearly falling into the lemming category of women who buy whatever Oprah tells them to. These were during weak moments when a voice inside kept telling me that everyone everywhere kept saying this book was amazing and so should I. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to buy it. I didn’t find it amazing, the parts I read, and I just couldn’t bring myself to buy it and bring such an obvious ploy into the house. I couldn’t bring myself to buy and read the book the literati and critics and Hollywood was drooling over.

In fact, even though the book is an upcoming selection for the book club of which I am a member of, I will not read it.

I won’t read it because of the obnoxious proclivity for the pretentious use of capitalization, as if Frey needed to Germanize the English language to make his scenes more dramatic. It was the rat-a-tat-tat chopped sentences and odd page structure that would make Hemingway shoot himself again. And, of course, the entire “non-fiction” story disgusted me.

“I took drugs, beat up a French priest and then my girlfriend hanged herself. Blah blah blah.”

Now, however, I feel justified in my protestations. It turns out that Frey told a lie. Lots of ‘em.

Of course, Frey swears he didn’t lie, or that his memory was foggy, or that this was just his recollection of events. (Word to liars: if you’re going to try to get fame and fortune off of your lies, make them impossible to fact check.) Don’t be hatin’, Frey tells his detractors, except I can’t help but hate lying for money.

And Oprah’s response, after almost three years of pushing the classics such as Faulkner and then wildly changing directions and going all teary-eyed for this book and giving it the royal treatment causing millions of lemmings everywhere to read it? What did she say?

Oprah called in to voice her support for Frey and A Million Little Pieces and said that the “underlying message of redemption resonates with me” in spite of the controversy.

Well that’s rich.

The underlying message of the Mein Kampf resonates for some, in spite of its controversy. Milli Vanilli’s music resonated for some, in spite of the controversy. I don’t see these as part of Oprah’s list of recommendations. The fact that a fiction book has been pushed as non-fiction by a major publisher doesn’t seem to bother Oprah.

And what about that bad writing that wouldn’t pass as bad fiction but more than suffices as non-fiction? It’s gold, baby, it’s gold. It makes the ladies get all weepy and protective; it makes them shell out their money for a vicarious read. My personal reaction is one of an a**kicking directed towards Frey, but that’s just me.

Oprah, if you want to read about a truly powerful story of redemption, I have two suggestions for you: Through the Gates of Splendor and its “follow-up”, End of the Spear. See how the concept of self-sacrifice, death and forgiveness written in book form without the benefit of making personal millions and becoming a media and celebrity darling resonate.

Oh sure, missionary deaths at the hands of natives isn’t as glamorous as a book filled with descriptions on the viscosity of vomit and the word f**k and it’s twenty derivatives used on a Catcher-in-the-Rye basis, but you won’t have to eat crow on Larry King for supporting the authors.

J.T. Leroy, James Frey, Augusten Burroughs, Jayson Blair, and Stephen Glass. They’re all the same. It pays to lie. I guess if “a book moves you, it’s true.”

But I disagree! Truth isn’t negotiable! Non-fiction accuracy must be sacrosanct, foggy memory or no! You can’t have an author juicing up parts of a non-fiction book to make it a better read because at that point it is no longer non-fiction. If it’s fiction, call it fiction! Publishers should not reward hustlers.

Either that, or we might as well hire Oliver Stone to write the history textbooks for schools. They might not end up accurate, but at least they’ll be a lot more creative.