James Frey knows what it is like to have been up and down and over and out. Ever since Oprah Winfrey publicly shamed him for fabricating parts of his 2003 memoir, A Million Little Pieces, he’s adopted a Sinatra-esque “That’s Life” attitude. He’s rolled with the punches of cancel culture—but 20 years later, he’s punching back. His new novel, Next to Heaven, centers on a swingers’ party and a murder. It’s sexy, funny, and unafraid to voice taboos—much like Frey’s early work. (Except, this time, there’s no need to call in a fact-checker.) To celebrate its release, the author shares his least favorite things. —Carolina de Armas
Least favorite number: 45 or 47.
Least favorite color: Chartreuse green. Unpleasant ’80s memories associated with it. Drinks, clothes, inhalants, projectiles.
Least favorite team: Team-shared Google document. Never ends well.
Least favorite James Bond: The recent ones. The fun is gone. The sex is gone. The aura is gone.
Preferred deadly sin: Like my children, I love them all equally, and far too much to choose a favorite.
Food that makes you gag: I dated a model who only ate canned beets from Costco. I didn’t believe it when she told me, but in the year I knew her, I never saw her eat anything else. Something about it creeped me out. Still does. The redness, the juice, the sound. No beets for me.
Book you never finished: William Strunk Jr. and E. B. White’s Elements of Style.
