Stephen, author of the novel Happy Baby, describes his seventh book this way: "The book is about a murder story I was following, that led me to another murder trial, and also about my father's murder confession. That's a lot of murder. But ultimately, all the confessions were false, so in some ways it's really a book about truth and identity and how the lie mixes with the truth like red and yellow paint and it becomes orange, and you can never change it back to red or yellow. At one point this was a true crime book, but it became a memoir, and if I boiled it down to one thing I would say it's a book about writing and being a writer."

To promote it, he launched a program on The Rumpus, the web site he edits, to give away copies to readers with the condition that after a week of reading it, they sign it and pass it along to another reader. Currently, on book tour, he's taken to interviewing some of the people he's been meeting. They're worth a read.

Here's an excerpt from the book:

The morning after the fight I get a call from Josh, a staff writer at Wired Magazine. He's working on a profile of Hans Reiser, a brilliant computer programmer accused of killing his estranged wife.

I helped Josh track down Hans' former best friend, Sean. Sean and I have several girlfriends in common and I once did a bondage photo shoot in his apartment when he wasn't home. I don't remember ever meeting him but our paths have crossed so many times it almost doesn't make sense. Josh is calling to say he found out something incredible about the case. "Your guy Sean just confessed to eight murders, maybe nine."

"Why maybe nine?"

"He isn't sure if one of the victims was dead."

Josh says Sean's not under arrest and he's refusing to tell the District Attorney the names of the people he killed. Sean told Josh that he confessed to the DA because he's a born again Christian and thought the jury would want to know, it seemed the right thing to do. Or rather, he posed it as a question, "Don't you think the jury would want to know?" But then he said Hans knew about his murders and he was confessing in order to beat Hans to the punch. Maybe he confessed for both reasons. Or maybe he confessed for reasons that had nothing to do with Reiser or the jury. He denied having anything to do with Hans' wife's disappearance. He told Josh, "Give me some sodium pentothal or any truth serum, put a little ecstasy in there and ask me if I killed Nina. I have never been a threat to her."*

Sean told the police and the district attorney that his victims had physically and sexually abused him and his sister in the East Bay commune where they were raised. He claimed he hadn't killed anyone since 1996. The commune interests me. I know the places where adults come in contact with unsupervised children. Between fourteen and eighteen I was in five different state funded childcare facilities, including three group homes, a mental hospital, and a temporary youth shelter that stuffed thirty children in each room. In those places you can never tell who to trust.

When I'm done talking to Josh I feel like I'm waiting for something. The group homes were a long time ago. It's still morning and I put a pot of water on the stove. I call Josh back and ask him for Sean's phone number.

If Sean committed eight murders it's a huge story, I think. Here is a man willing to wait years to get revenge on the people that stole his childhood. I think of In Cold Blood and The Executioners Song, two of my favorite books, both set around spectacular murders and written by novelists. I know people who have known Sean for more than a decade. I have the inside track. And there's something else about the case; Nina Reiser's body was never found.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I don't know if Sean will talk to me. If he did kill eight people, surely the police would have arrested him by now. And why isn't he a suspect in the disappearance of Nina Reiser?

After calling Sean and leaving a message I bicycle through the city, down Market Street toward the Castro, my right pant leg rolled up so as not to get caught in the chain. My bicycle is my prize possession, an old Peugot I picked up for $150 nine years ago. I live a spare existence. I haven't owned a car since I first got to this city.

I cut right, past the Gay and Lesbian Center and the Three Dollar Bill Café. Something's tugging on me. I had heard of Nina's murder, but never the full story. I had heard about Sean and how Nina's disappearance crushed him. He took to bed, paralyzed with grief. He was in love with his best friend's wife. It was all just passing information. But eight murders? Revenge killings? Eight murders isn't revenge. Eight murders is a serial killer.

I go to the park to meet a girl I know. Someone who has taken a habit of coming to my readings. She's engaged and lives with her fiancé between the Marina and Russian Hill. I've only seen her once before and she'd explained their relationship. It was simple. He was monogamous and believed in monogamy. She cheated on him and always would.

She arrives wearing a black dress and sandals. Her skin is so pale all I can think of is milk. I don't think of my complicity in her unfaithfulness. I don't want to. I don't love her; she's just someone I know. I wait as she walks across the grass in her sandals. A man stops her and asks if she is willing to be in one of his paintings. She talks with him for a moment, her head turned his way, her body pointing toward me. He doesn't have any paint. He wears dark, heavy clothes, his belongings bound in garbage bags around him.

The sun is brilliant and the colorful houses are brightly lit along the hills. On some days the fog catches on their drainpipes like cotton, but today it's easy to see why people want to live here. Easy to see San Francisco for the gentle paradise it is.

We lie on the grass with my shirt pulled up. I forget all about De La Hoya's fight and Sean Sturgeon' confession. I ask her to pinch my nipple and she does but it isn't enough. I ask her to do it harder and soon there is blood everywhere. There are people nearby but they don't seem to notice. For most of it she keeps her hand over my mouth and I close my eyes and drift away. "It's OK," she says.

That's only half the day. There's a barbecue, and then a reading, and then a party. There's always a party. I dance with a girl. "How do you know Eric?" I ask between songs. "I don't," she says. "My boyfriend knows him." I dance better after that. It's still the weekend, after all. It's still San Francisco. Everything is beautiful. Really. It seems perfect. The DJ looks like Napoleon Dynamite and spins pop from the 80s on vinyl. I'm thirty-five years old. The woman I'm dancing with has curly black hair and moves with steady grace, her silk dress rolling in waves down her arms. I feel loose and fine. I take five dollars from another writer, who put his money, inexplicably, on De LaHoya.

"Always bet on youth," I tell him.

It's one in the morning. I don't imagine anything could ever go wrong.

You can find more information on The Adderall Diaries, including how to buy a copy, on Stephen's site.

If you're an author or a book publicist and you want to participate in the Gawker Book Club, send me an email.

• Doug Reinhardt rented an island or something in order to win back America's tainted love, Paris Hilton. Paris, of course, loves being treated like a princess and is gushing all over the place about it. [Sun]
  
  
• Sienna Miller may have finally found someone to love her and he's known as the "Slinky Wizard." This mystery man is a DJ (Of course he is!) named DJ George Barker, who supposedly specializes in trance music. And hey — he's single! [Mirror]
  
  
• Brad Pitt was so busy signing a new contract with the Weinstein's at the Inglorious Bastards premiere that poor Angelina had to spend her time talking to Eli Roth. [Gatecrasher]
  
  
• Jermaine Jackson is still trying to organize some sort of tribute to Michael Jackson with the help of Larry King's wife Shawn, of all people. [Page Six]
  
  
• Renee Zellweger and Bradley Cooper are jaunting around in Barcelona with their hands all over each other in public, even putting their hands on each other's asses at one point! [Daily Mail]
  
  
• Blanket Jackson's surrogate mother has been revealed to be a Mexican nurse named Helena. Supposedly Jackson liked her because she was attractive and Latina. Who knew Michael liked Latin ladies?! [Mirror]
  
  
• Our old pal James Frey has written some sort of novel about a man some believe to be the messiah. [Page Six]
  
  
• Russell Brand says that he's looking for a woman who has a "high pain threshold." [Mirror]
  
  
• Justin Timberlake has purchased a 13,500 square foot home in Greenwich, CT. It was originally listed at $23.9-million but closed for $18.7-million. [Page Six]
  
  
• Rumors are swirling that Paula Abdul could end up at ABC in some capacity, including as a guest star on Ugly Betty. [TMZ]

James Frey's new sci-fi series has landed a publisher. HarperCollins Children's Books will handle North America for I Am Number Four, the first part in a six-installment book series about space teenagers who hide out on Earth because there's shit going down on their planet. Frey's writing partner, recent Columbia MFA grad Jobie Hughes, will actually do most of the writing, Frey's just the guy who came up with the idea. And, you know, got the thing sold. DreamWorks has already optioned the book and Michael Bay is interested. [NYT]

A blogger, like for the internet, has sold a book! And guess what! It's not based on a blog! Wonkette editor Ken Layne will go through HarperStudio to have his travelogue-cum-social theory tome The Left Coast published. Here's the blurb: "Ken Layne's THE LEFT COAST is a history of California's culture, environment and politics framed by his bravely idiotic solo hike up the entire 1,000-mile coastline of America's weirdest, most populous state." Sounds interesting! [HS]

Poor disgraced Argentinian loveboy Mark Sanford will not be publishing his planned second book. The South Carolina governor was set to roll out a book called Within Our Means about spending money like good right winger, but now that it's been revealed that both his heart and penis are functioning properly, he is no longer qualified to talk about anything ever again. [Time]

That whole unauthorized sequel to Catcher in the Rye was blocked by a judge when J.D. Salinger sued because a) he's a crank and b) he was right, but now the defense lawyer for Coming Through the Rye has said they'll appeal. So it'll all go on forever. [GalleyCat]

The first installment in the six-book series is called I Am Number Four, and it was being shopped around with pseudonyms but now everyone has found out who was behind it. Oprah's worst enemy, James Frey (if that is his real name!).

The Times gives the following synopsis:

The story is about a group of nine children from a planet called Lorien who have been attacked by a hostile race from another planet. The nine children and their guardians evacuate to earth, where three are killed. The protagonist, a Lorien boy named John Smith, hides in Paradise, Ohio, as a human and tries to evade his predators.

Reached in Paris, Frey risked his promotion to Gawker special correspondent by playing coy with us: "I can neither confirm nor deny that I had anything to do with that book."

Michael Bay and Steven Spielberg are involved in the movie optioning, and the old Bay boy might even direct! So good for Mr. Frey. From career embarrassment with A Million Little Pieces, to hard-working beer-fetching Gawker HQ lackey, to snappy teen sci-fi writer with a movie deal.

See why you should let us work you to death and never pay you? Eventually, Steven Spielberg will make sure you get yours. Meanwhile, we're still here... Hm.

Anna David and I had a reading in Philadelphia. I had read about Arthur Kade here on Gawker and thought his website was one of the funniest, most absurd, most ridiculous things I had ever seen. I sent the link to Anna and told her I thought we should try to meet him while we were down there. She looked at it and thought the whole thing was either an elaborate art project of some kind, or just some guy fucking with people for laughs. We decided to try to find out.

First Contact

I sent Arthur an email. I decided it would be best if I used Anna as bait. A legendary swordsman like Arthur Kade would be far more inclined to come see her than a bearded fool like me:

—-—- Forwarded Message
From: James Frey
Date: Wed, 03 Jun 2009 13:51:00 -0400
To: arthurkade17@gmail.com
Subject: Tomorrow

Arthur -

A woman named Anna David is reading from her new book tomorrow night is Philly. She's really hot and she's a huge fan of yours and she would love to meet you. Here's the info:

Thursday, June 4, 6:00 PM
BARNES & NOBLE
1805 Walnut ST
Philadelphia, PA 19103

And here's her website if you want to see her:

http://www.annadavid.com/

James

I got a response within ten minutes, it said: "How are you associated with her?"

I responded: "I'm friends with her."

He responded: "If you want to set something up i would prefer to speak to her or her camp directly."

I immediately forwarded this to Anna, and we laughed and laughed and laughed. Neither of us have camps, though we did both attend them as children. I told Anna she should write to him directly. She did.

Anticipation Building

Anna did in fact write Arthur, and he confirmed her identity. I told him I was reading with her and that I had written books, and also written and produced films (hoping the old Hollywood connection would also be something be enticing for him). For a good part of the train ride we talked about whether he would show up, and if he did, what he would be like. I expected him to be there, Anna did not. I expected him to a preening peacock, full of the same delusional bluster he displays on his site, and expected to be able to laugh at and fuck with him. Anna said that if he did actually show, she would be scared of him. There are always quiet moments on trains, moments where you stare out the window and think deep thoughts about life and all its bullshit. Our quiet moments were filled with thoughts of the great man, the great myth, the fastest rising actor and celebrity in the world, Arthur Kade, Arthur Kade.

Contact!!!!!

We met a writer named Duane Swierczynski and his wife for a quick bite before the reading. We told them about our potential meeting with Arthur. Duane just shook his head and laughed. His wife knew nothing about the Arthur Kade legend. Barnes & Noble was two blocks away. As we neared the store, I thought I saw Arthur outside with an umbrella (I was not wearing my glasses). I got excited and nudged Anna and said, "Look, he's there, right there in front of the fucking store." She laughed at me and said I was a fool. The person I thought was Arthur turned out to be a homeless teenager.

We walked into the store and didn't see him, though we both scanned the place pretty thoroughly. Anna looked at me and I just shrugged and said, "We're not A-list, what do you expect?" We started chatting with the booksellers. A minute or so later Anna nudged me and said he's here. I turned around. Walking towards us, in form-fitting jeans and a tight T-shirt — either Affliction or Ed Hardy, I can't really tell the difference — was Arthur motherfucking Kade.

Though she denies it, I swear I heard Anna gasp and say, "He's a god." He walked up, introduced himself and asked how our trip had been. He was extremely friendly and extremely polite. He was disarmingly friendly and polite. He asked when the reading would start and if we wanted to go out to dinner with him afterwards. Much to my shock and dismay, Anna said yes.

The Reading

As we waited for it to start, we saw brief glimpses of the Arthur Kade we know online. He asked about Hollywood, talked about his desire to become an actor, talked about how much fun he was having with new-found notoriety. He was very matter-of-fact about it, not blustery or idiotic at all. When Anna stepped away for a moment, I asked him where he thought she ranked on the Kade Scale, which is his own ranking of how women look. He smiled and said he never ranked friends and associates because he thought it was disrespectful (though he obviously changed the policy after we left town) and that he now considered me and Anna part of the Arthur Kade Glalaxy. I was, again, very surprised at how nice and polite he seemed to be, and was having trouble reconciling the Arthur Kade before me with the Arthur Kade online. While Anna read he was very attentive. While I read he was very antsy and had trouble sitting or standing in one place. A normal reaction I think. I know I would much rather watch her read than I would watch me. She's cute. I am not.

Post-Reading/ Dinner

The reading went well, we had a great crowd, sold and signed a good number of books. Readings are tiring. As a writer, I like being alone all day. I get extremely nervous before readings and find them draining. I was tired. I know Anna was tired. Arthur was waiting for us.

We got up from the table. While we signed books and chatted with readers, he sat about ten feet away. We could hear him introducing himself to people, and telling them about the Arthur Kade experience, and about a recent article written about him in Philadelphia Magazine (one of the most influential magazines in the world — his words, not mine). He asked if we would shoot a video with him. Anna again blurted out yes before I could signal her to say no. He pulled out his camera, turned it on. The video was actually sort of fun, it was the first, and really only time, we saw the absurd and clownish Arthur on his website actually appear in the flesh. Anna and I both had a laugh. We finally met the man we had wanted to meet. We hoped for some kind of awesome unforgettable Arthur Kade adventure. As soon, however, as the video camera was turned off, that Arthur disappeared.

He asked where we wanted to go for dinner. He told us we could pick anywhere in Philly, and that he could get us in. I said somewhere close because I didn't feel like walking far. He immediately turned and said I have a few places in mind, and led us away. As we left the store I asked Duane, my writer pal we had been with earlier, to call me in fifteen minutes and pretend he was my wife. I would have had dinner with the clownish Arthur. It would have been interesting and ridiculous and a great story. I had no interest in the nice, polite, and seemingly genuine one because I was tired and wanted to go home.

As we walked down the street, people did recognize him. We heard a couple people call out "Arthur Kade!" and I swear I heard one yell "Yo, asshat." (Though that might have been directed at me.) Bouncers said hello to and hugged him, the hostesses at restaurants waved. We walked into a crowded place, and Arthur walked to the greeter, and asked for and actually received, a really great table.

We sat down. Anna started asking Arthur questions about "the journey." About how he holds up under the barrage of nasty comments on his site, and the derision people display towards him there. He shrugged and he said he didn't care, that everyone was just jealous, that although sometimes it might hurt a little, he knows it comes with the territory. He wasn't arrogant about it, more just sort of sheepish and confused, as if he didn't understand why people made fun of him. He then told us a story about his grandparents, who he called very endearing Russian names (he said they're Russian immigrants). He said the one thing that had really upset him was that someone had posted his grandparents' phone number online, and that people were calling them to say what an asshole their grandson is. He said they called him a fool, a clown, a fuckface, a dickhead, and a fucking idiot. He was extremely vulnerable in telling the story, and you could see that it genuinely shocked and upset him. He seemed like a hurt little kid, misunderstood and confused. It was heartbreaking in a way, and completely different from anything either Anna or I expected from him. We both felt sad for him, and I know, because we talked about it later, that we both wanted to give him a hug and tell him things would be okay. Duane's call came about thirty seconds later and we got up to leave.

Home

Arthur got us a cab and made sure we knew where we were going. We waved goodbye as we pulled away. Anna turned and looked at me and said "He was so nice and polite, a little kid, like a hurt little kid." I agreed with her. We were both kind of shocked. We had wanted an asshole, someone to laugh at and mock, and we got a real person, one that was slightly delusional about himself, but not at all resembling the buffoon on his website or in his videos. The train ride home was uneventful. There were quiet moments, moments where we stared out the window and thought deep thoughts about life and all its bullshit. We talked a little about Arthur, but not much. Having had our time with him, I think we both decided it was best to just let him go, let him take his "journey", and hope that he somehow finds his way.

Afterward

Talked to Anna this morning. Arthur asked for her number and she gave it to him. I told her she should have given him a fake one, but she said she would have felt too guilty. He texted her a around 9:00 and told her he was coming to New York and wanted to take her out to dinner. She said she's going to be out of town.

Afterward Afterward

We also saw the blog post where he stated we were "blown way with my looks and body." Motherfucker! That's the guy I wanted to see in Philadelphia.

Frey is gunning for a promotion from Gawker intern to Gawker special correspondent and will be filing his own take on the run-in. Kade, however, seems a bit more familiar with Internet speed than our intern and, has already weighed in via his blog:

I am not sure why I am surprised at these things happening anymore considering how big I am now, but it's still weird to have celebrities want to meet you. I think that when this is all said and done, and I have accomplished the level of success that I will, I believe that books will be written about me, and I will be in the pantheon of names like Bogart, DeNiro, Nicholson, etc., and I want to sit down with a great author like James and maybe write my memoirs for the world to learn from.

When I walked in the store, they recognized me immediately, and we made some small talk about "The Journey". She told me she read the Philly Mag article, which didn't surprise me because of the enormity of the story. They were both very laid back and super cool, and were probably blown way with my looks and body, although it was funny because I am such an energy ball that I felt like I was overwhelming them at points, but I stayed for the readings they did, and then we went over to Parc for dinner. I can imagine how much they respect me as an author and artist, and the way I put it out there for the world to see, and I hope they see me as a potential rising star in the literary community as well.

Can't wait to read Frey's take, but here's a preview: in the video above Kade couldn't remember Anna's last name, but that did not stop him from getting her number and asking her out for a date. Will she accept? Tune in later.

Presenting: The Apple, by Penelope Holt. Wait. Who?

Penelope Holt is President of Concise Marketing & Communications, a New York marketing consultancy and creative services agency. Born and educated in England, she has spent her career teaching professionals and companies better ways to tell their story, build their brand and get their message out.

Wow. So instead of getting some slackjawed ghost writer to repurpose the language of the old otherwise owned, old material, they just went for the shamless, balls-out approach. By getting a suit to write it. Impressive. I'd go into what else York House has to offer, but that pretty much says it right there.

The site describes the book as as "a novel based on Herman Rosenblat's story." A novel, you say? This book done been Frey'd. There's more: "The book also recounts the story behind the story... Why did Mr. Rosenblat fabricate aspects of his story? And what perils await a Holocaust survivor who does such a thing?" So it appears that they're going to be fictionalizing the account of what happened when people found out it was fiction, which is proficiently meta.

But it appears they've also posted an excerpt for the public's frothing desire to have this thing in there hands. Penelope Holt, President of Concise Marketing & Communications, take it away:

Herman went over the problem again. The problem of his book. I am a survivor. I know about suffering, he thought. The book was supposed to be a message of hope that made people feel better. Instead people were getting mad and disgusted. No not everybody. Plenty of people support me. But the critics are angry and they make the most noise. What a mess. He couldn't unravel it. Yes I made a mistake. I have to put it right. I know. But when? Not right now. Herman felt undone by all the hostility and not sure what to do next. He was mute, like in a dream when you try to speak but no words come out. Maybe later, he thought. When people can listen without getting mad. Maybe then I'll have a chance to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry I disappointed you.

Yeah, it's absolutely sad, but not for the reason they're thinking ("It won't sell?"). Next time you hear someone complain about the novel in the drawer they can't seem to get published, because the Brass At Random House or ICM won't accept their submission, remind them that there's always someone out there willing to peddle their shit-stained wares to the lowest common denominator, sans discretion. Try ringing them.

As you'll recall, the new paperback version of Frey's Bright Shiny Morning has a new section on "SCANDAL," which he read last night at the Union Square Barnes&Noble. So he read all the uninteresting parts about various thinly veiled celebrities and then he read the interesting part about thinly veiled himself. Which includes a part where he says after being reamed out so terribly on Oprah's show, he taped all his calls, including one from the host herself, when she called to check up on him and have a heart-to-heart and in the process revealed some scandalous secret about herself.

Okay fine. When the Q&A section came, I asked him, do you think Oprah apologized to you recently because she fears the secret scandalous info you have on her, on tape? And he said, approximately, "Well, I never unequivocally said I have any tapes," which is patently false because I was sitting right there three minutes earlier when he had read the very detailed section from his book that is clearly about himself having tapes about Oprah. But hey maybe that was fictionalized, no names were named, WHATEVER.

Then he said, no, she apologized because she felt bad, and before anyone even read the section of the book where I talk about all the tapes that I have.

He wasn't about to say what, if anything, is on the tapes. So we'll chalk the whole thing up to a little PR push for his book (And a pretty good one!). Maybe he really has scandalous taped secrets. Maybe he has Oprah saying "Oops, I just farted." Maybe he has nothing. Maybe Nixon really had a secret plan to end the war. But show and prove, JF, or it didn't happen.

Reports Vanity Fair's Evgenia Peretz...

Last spring, Oprah executive producer Sheri Salata called him to talk about coming back on the show-which for various reasons didn't work out-and in the fall he got a call from Winfrey herself.

She'd had an epiphany of sorts while meditating that morning. It was time to apologize for what she put him through on that fateful day. She explained that her uncharacteristically harsh evisceration of him was coming, unfairly, from her own ego and sense of having been personally betrayed-a redemptive moment fitting, you might say, of The Oprah Winfrey Show. "It was a nice surprise to hear from her, and I really appreciated the call and the sentiment," says Frey. "When I heard her say, ‘I felt I owe you an apology,' I was very grateful. As far as I'm concerned, that part of my career is over and behind me and I'm looking forward to writing more books."

Well isn't that special?! Now when the fuck is Oprah going to apologize to America, the country she reigns over like a thuggish overlord, for offering us all a bunch of free chicken and then calling "psych" on us? Well Oprah?!

But, seriously, is there anything funnier than stringing together the words "Oprah" "Chicken" and "Riots"? It's hilarious! I was walking around the lower east side earlier today looking for pork dumplings and cracking myself up all the while by merely repeating the phrase "Oprah chicken riots" over and over in my head. People, Asian people, were looking at me like I was fucking crazy. I blame Hamilton Nolan for this! Damn you Nolan! Damn you to hell!

Oh, and speaking of "HamNo," as the New York Times' David Carr affectionately calls him, he passed along this Oprah chicken riot-related email from someone on Staten Island earlier tonight.

From: [redacted]@aol.com>
Subject: Never again eat at KFC
To: hamilton@gawker.com
Date: Monday, May 11, 2009, 6:55 PM

Live in Staten Island. New Dorp store. Would not honor coupon. Great marketing!!! Intended to but a bucket of grilled chicken with cole slaw as well. When they didn't honor my coupon, I ripped it up,didn't buy the bucket for my co-workers

and will never frequent you're store again.

Carol

Dammit Oprah...American's want their chicken! Even Popeyes is fucking people over these days!

It's not hard to figure out who "the host" is in the lightly fictionalized new section added to the paperback edition of Morning. From Page Six:

The new section contains a story about someone caught up in a highly publicized controversy and a television show that he knows is going to end badly for him... He starts taping all his phone calls.... After getting publicly eviscerated, he tapes one with "the host," where she checks to make sure he isn't "going to hurt himself" and reveals some startling information about herself.

The show is clearly Oprah Winfrey's daytime talk program, where she first praised then excoriated Frey. The "startling information" is a bit trickier; it could relate to persistent rumors Winfrey is involved in a lesbian relationship, it might be something else entirely.

Most likely: We should listen to the attention-hungry author when he tells us "the book is fiction." That's one thing he's never lied about.

[Page Six]

York House Press in White Plains sent out a press release about the talks, then posted to its website a long digression about ethics, publishing and the Holocaust, and maybe Rosenblat invented this story to cope with his trauma. Bottom line?

No deliberate untruth is permissible, but beneath any fabrication is motivation and intent. We believe Mr. Rosenblat’s motivations were very human, understandable and forgivable...
York House Press is in serious discussion to publish a work of fiction in early spring that is based on the screenplay, tentatively called, Flower at The Fence, about Herman Rosenblat’s life and love story, that is grounded in fact and that rises to the proper levels of artistic value, ethical conduct and social responsibility.

Well, the infrastructure is all in place for another fake memoirist rehabilitation. Rosenblat and York House can hire James Frey's chum's PR agency (we're thinking agency partner Joe Dolce is perfect for this account); Frey, the lying memoirist turned bestselling novelist, could blurb; and Penguin Group could be asked to fact-check, just to make sure absolutely nothing in the movie is actually true.

The pattern is pretty clear: lying writer comes up with too-good-to-be-true tale; Oprah books them on her show; lying writer is showered with publisher money; lying writer is exposed as liar; and finally Oprah is shocked, shocked that a writer would dare lie to her. But after awhile, we're forced to wonder if she's the victim or part of the problem.

James Frey: From Idol to Intern
You all know this story, it's the granddaddy of Oprah embarrassments-turned-to-smackdowns. In his book A Million Little Pieces, Frey made some outlandish claims about waking up on an airplane (destination unknown) with all of his teeth broken and spending hard time in jail. Well as it turned out, the whole thing was just slightly exaggerated. The terrible thing is that—perhaps thinking that liking a story about drugs and swearing makes her seem cooler and hipper than fact-checking does— Oprah had made this her book of the month, which in the book world is the equivalent of the Pope farting into a nun's lady parts and creating an immaculately conceived religion robot. I mean, it's that big. So yeah Oprah was mad as hell and demanded that Frey come on her show so she could berate him for a decision that was, it's most likely, mainly made by his editors. Ah well. It all worked out in the end, though. Frey wrote another book and then became our dutiful manservant intern. Oprah was never embarrassed again. Oh. Wait.

Misha Defonseca: Not Actually Raised By Wolves
As we learned back in March, the book Misha: A Memoire of the Holocaust Years turned out to be a fake. Imagine that! A story in which a little girl flees the Nazis (but manages to kill one) and is raised by wolves in the forest turns out to be untrue. Unbelievable. Because she and her viewers seem to really love the Holocaust, Oprah had taped a segment with Defonseca, whose real name is Monique De Wael and is not actually Jewish, but the lie was uncovered before the episode aired. Had the show actually gone to air and Oprah been publicly embarrassed, she would have fed Defonseca to the wolves that roam the North Country of Minnesota. A state she bought six months ago.

Margaret Seltzer: Defizzed
Margaret Jones was the pen name for a private school-educated white lady named Margaret Seltzer, who wrote a book called Love & Consequences about growing up tough in the sunshine-stained ghettos of Los Angeles. Trouble is, all was lies. Ratted out by her own sister. Brutal. She just made it up to be, I dunno, cool or something (or she had some sort of massive psychic break, who knows.) Thankfully Oprah didn't invite Seltzer Shakur onto her variety show, but her magazine O: A Magazine About Oprah did call it "[a] startlingly tender memoir." Maybe because it's street enough to remind people that Oprah is black, but white enough to remind Oprah fans that they are white and so is she, sort of. There was no official Oprah retaliation, but in private she probably did something. Something involving best friend Gayle. Something involving gardening shears and the Howdy Doody soundtrack. Something unpleasant.

Herman Rosenblat: When I Said 'Apple' I Meant 'Sandwich,' and When I Said 'Death Camp Fence' I Meant 'Deli Counter'
Again, Oprah is just a sucker for a wildly implausible story about the damn Holocaust. All the way back in 1996, Herman and his lady had a gushy segment on Oprah's show, and their tale was deemed "the greatest love story ever told." Trouble is, the romance at the heart of Rosenblat's story (which was turned into the now-canceled memoir Angel at the Fence)—about a young man in a concentration camp who was thrown an apple a day (to keep Dr. Mengele away) by a young woman across the fence; later they met in Brooklyn and fell in love—turns out to be completely fake, and everyone's sad because why would these nice old people lie? And about something so terrible. Ah well. Oprah hasn't spoken out yet, but when she does... Oh lord help us. She has been jilted one too many times, this book-loving Patron Saint of Sad, Lonely, and/or Awful People.

He told us a little about the project on a beer run last week, but when we saw the Guardian mentioned that his version would include a Jesus who "will perform gay marriages," (which they got from this interview on Rumpus), we asked James to please elaborate.

The book, he says, will be about "my idea of what the Messiah would be like if he were walking the streets of New York today," adding:

I think most of the fundamental and evangelical Christians in this country would be revolted by him. He'd endorse gay marriage, a woman's right to choose what they do with their bodies, a individual's right to love any other individual, regardless of gender. I believe he'd dismiss much of the supernatural silliness in the Bible; the universe being created in a week, angels with wings flying around like superheroes, a bearded God with a thundering voice.

Frey hasn't signed a deal for his book — and after the scandal of A Million Little Pieces there aren't as many publishers jumping to buy his stuff — so he's no doubt looking to stir up controversy. To that end, he added, "Obviously the book will be fiction, just as I believe much, if not all, of the first two books of the Bible were fiction."

But still, first Frey pissed off Oprah's audience, which is most of America, and now he's trying to piss off the Christians—which is the rest of America. There will be nobody left to buy his books!

Gabriel –

Very excited about my fact-checking task. As I’m sure you know, I am very well-known for writing perfectly factually accurate stories about my life. I will apply the same principles to this task as I did to those pieces of work. A small guide is listed below.

If you need any more coffee, or maybe a dinner reservation, or a dry-cleaning dropoff, let me know. I’m here for you.

James

Check names – spelling
Check Original item
Numbers and figures
Check with sources if possible.
Dig up more info if possible.
MAKE SURE IT'S TRUE!!!!

FACTCHECKING FOR THE BOSS

Gossip Roundup:

Someone in Toronto has Tom Cruise's BlackBerry. The Church of Scientology will disavow any knowledge of the actions needed to get it back in the event an agent is caught or killed.

Some question as to whether Cruise lost a blackberry or a crackberry. Accurate enough.

Vegetarian animal-rights-campaign Paul McCartney is too much of a hippie pansy to kill off the rampaging army of wild boars breeding on his British estate. Neighbors worry the delicious animals "could kill someone.”

Accurate as written. My sources say someone has already been killed and McCartney covered it up.

If CNN is so fat and flush, why did it "part ways" with the guy in charge of hiring people? Please tell us it's because the guy wasn't hiring people fast enough. Because CNN is the last best hope.

Perfect.

Anna Wintour went to the opera with "Shelby Bryant" or Shelby Bryan? Solve the riddle, Page Six!

Excellent catch. It is indeed Shelby Bryan. Grade-A journalism.

Cipriani: Our menu is so controversial it sent the owner into exile. In Uruguay!

This is wrong. I am profoundly disappointed. Giuseppe Cipriani is currently in London. He has plans to travel to Uruguay, but he is not there at the current time. Exile is not mentioned. I am shocked at this lapse. I would never commt an error like this one.

Cameron Diaz "totally scoped... out" Keri Russell's carpenter husband at an Oscar party. And Keri Russell so did not feel threatened.

According to Keri Russell, this is accurate. Representatives of Cameron Diaz refused to comment. We all know, though, that memory is a tricky thing.

Blind Item Roundup:

All blind items are accurate.

AMI Moving Towards Bankruptcy?

I will believe this when it runs in the Enquirer. Until that time, it is pure speculation.

Meet Today's Intern: James Frey!

This is accurate. Excellent work, Shelia. Though you neglected to include the part about me having to delay the internship date because I was in jail.

Jay Leno's Sad Variety Show: "Welcome to the future"

Sadly, this is accurate. One less watchable option at 10:00 PM.

Obama Killed Blago!

Man, that Obama guy, he sure is popular. This is true. Everything about Obama is true, unless it is written by a Republican, in which it s categorically false.

"Look, I Can Call My Hair."

Spoke to Chace Crawford’s representatives and they confirmed that he can indeed call his hair.

Can Blago Still Appoint Himself Senator? (Yes.)

Yes, he can still appoint himself Senator, and retains the right to veto any bills limiting his power. This a real shitshow. It’s kind of awesome. All it needs is Oprah to make it truly epic (some say she might be appointed).

Daily Show on Death of Print

Accurate. Jon Stewart really likes to make fun of troubled newspapers.

Blago Drama Gives Newspapers Fleeting Feeling Of Importance

Accurate. A last gasp of relevance before the screaming hordes of bloggers wipe them away.

Judith Regan Was a Very Expensive Mistake

I called Jonathan Burnham, the publisher of Harper Collins, and he had no comment. I also sent Judith Regan a message via facebook and she did not reply to me.

So, Who Called Out Gay Today?

Today is indeed A Day Without Gay Day. The poll results appear to be accurate.

Media Matters Freudian Email Slip Outrage

See earlier note above. Republicans continue to spread misinformation and lies about President-Elect Obama.

I’m in conflict with what writing is, in conflict with what literature is, in conflict with what people’s acceptable standards are. In conflict with the idea of what fiction and non-fiction is, or are. There are things that will play themselves out. I’m not done with twisting the lines of fact or fiction. I’m not finished with that issue by any stretch of the imagination. There isn’t a great deal of difference between fact and fiction, it’s just how you choose to tell a story...

The only standards imposed on the creation of [my] books are the ones I want there to be. What means something is if my book is read in 50 years. That’s the only goal. If I have to take some big shots in the process of trying to make that happen, then I’m prepared to take those big shots...

He says, with undisguised relish, that his next book will be called The Final Testament of the Bible. As he describes it, you couldn’t fault the honesty of the title’s intentions. It will concern his ideas of who and what the Messiah is – he doesn’t claim he’s it – as if Christ were walking the streets of New York.

Frey can swagger like this because he knows he's not going to earn his bank on nonfiction ever again. And a novelist can trash the concept of absolute, objective truth as much as he wants without taking a hit on book sales. Heck, he might even get some free publicity out of it!

[Times of London via Observer]

1. The paparazzi. It's time to establish some rules that when broken have some punitive consequences.

2. The Stars... Brad and Angelina could have taken a lesson from Sarah Jessica Parker and Matthew Broderick¹s playbook. When their son, James, was born, they called every photo agency in New York and organized a photo shoot at the door of hospital as they were leaving. In one five-minute frenzy of flashes, everyone had the photo..

3. The magazines and the media... Movies advertise "No animals were harmed in the making of this film." How many celebrity weeklies and tv shows can say the same about the stars they feature? Let's invite heads of photo agencies, the stars' PR agents or the stars themselves, top magazine editors, TV execs and web producers to sit and talk (no paps outside, ok?). My agenda, if I were leading such a summit, would include...

Keep leveraging those awesome communication skills Joe!

[Huffington Post]