Portrait of an Asshole?

Now, I’m not expecting serious hard-hitting news from the Style section of the Sunday times but I’d appreciate a little “let’s be honest here, folks” attitude for the cover story. Today, there is a underwhelming profile of Bill Clegg by writer Denny Lee. I’m not saying that the article is poorly written, I mean c’mon, I’m blogging in sentence fragments and I am a repeat tense switching offender–who am I to judge–but I will absolutely roll my eyes and say, “give me a break.”

The whole idea that this story exists pisses me off. This guy, Clegg, was at the top of his game in the literary world (and side note, who knew the literary world was so rock star?) when he overindulged in drug and drink and watched it all come crashing down–or better yet, crashing into a memoir (à la James Frey, maybe?) out next month by Little, Brown and Company. The second paragraph of the piece has to be the funniest, or a close runner-up to the part where they give us the title of his “memoir.”

The interview takes place at the Gansevoort Hotel (I’m already rolling my eyes) and Clegg (a drug and sex addict–honestly, can we please stop using the term SEX-ADDICT? you’re a fucking pervert, don’t medicalize it) starts in about how he hasn’t been there since the episode (the episode his literary friends call the space shuttle explosion–Really? Really?) where he checked in under a fake name, did crack, drank vodka and screwed male escorts. Honey, that’s a bender NOT material for a memoir entitled, Portrait of an Addict as a Young Man … THE BALLS ON THIS GUY???

Look, whatever you went through, I hope you’re feeling better. But don’t write about it. Isn’t Memoir over? Why do people think that there is something so magnificent or noteworthy in their “fall from grace” that they should share it with the rest of us? You indulged like a spoiled brat with a big bank account (for a year and a half, mind you, try living with an addiction for a decade or two then tell your story).  There are plenty of people who endure real suffering, real destruction–only they don’t have a college education or literary connections to turn it into public masturbation. Should I pat you on the back for that and drop $16.19 at Amazon.com? As much as I want to say NO THANKS! I guess I’ll have to read it to see if the book and Mr. Clegg warrant my many eye rolls.

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