Following the revelations brought forth by the Smoking Gun Web site that author James Frey embellished many details in his memoir, "A Million Little Pieces," Oprah Winfrey - who first made Frey's book an Oprah Book Club Selection (and, therefore, an overnight success) and subsequently defended him on "Larry King Live" when allegations of Frey's dishonesty first surfaced - brought Frey on her program last week to both reprimand him and apologize for her own endorsement of Frey and his book. She also learned from Frey's publisher, Nan Talese, that future printings of Frey's book would contain an author's and publisher's note explaining that many of the book's characters and events were simply made up.
Oprah's smackdown of both Frey and Talese earned her universal praise. The Washington Post ran an editorial titled, "Oprah in 2008." The New York Times wrote, "Ms. Winfrey gave the audience, including us, what it was hoping for: a demand to hear the truth." And columnist Eugene Robinson even thinks Oprah could save our democracy: "If there were justice in the world, George W. Bush would have to give his State of the Union address from Oprah's couch."
But although it would appear as if the final chapter of this sordid saga has been written, I'd like to throw in my own author's note before this idea of Oprah-as-Savior turns into a made-for-TV special:
Don't give Oprah so much credit.
What matters here is not that Oprah apologized for supporting Frey on "Larry King Live," but that she stuck up for him in the first place. We all make mistakes, certainly, but why did Oprah commit this original sin? On the night of her call-in to Larry King, Oprah knew just as much about Frey's inconsistencies as she did when she performed her "By golly I was deceived and lied to" mea culpa on her television show last week. At the time of that call, she had not only read the Smoking Gun report, she had also been told, months earlier, by employees of the Minnesota rehab facility (where all but 12 pages of the book take place) that Frey's account "grossly distorted reality." Or maybe she should have read the 2003 investigation by the Minneapolis Star Tribune that raised several red flags about the accuracy of Frey's book. Or perhaps she could have just asked any recovering alcoholic for his or her take on Frey's account, any one of whom would have quickly informed Oprah that the absurdities of Frey's story are abundantly clear - even laughingly so - in the book's first few pages.
Two years before Oprah selected "Little Pieces" for her book club, the Minneapolis Star Tribune ran an investigation questioning its accuracy.
But Oprah made the call anyway because she hoped that the annoying little inaccuracies in Frey's book would simply be drowned out by the millions of readers who were moved by Frey's story of overcoming alcoholism and drug addiction, and that, as Oprah said, "the essential truth" of Frey's story would persevere. Under that scenario, Oprah ascertained, Frey's book would continue to fly off the shelves - thanks, in part, to Oprah's seal of approval on them - and the selling power of Oprah's Book Club would remain perhaps the most powerful force in book publishing. The Oprah Empire would march on, unscathed.
But, in the days following Oprah's call to King, the story wasn't going away and the tide wasn't changing in Oprah's favor. Quite the contrary: Several prominent columnists and industry leaders chastised Oprah for glossing over an important ethical issue.
When the news broke last Tuesday that her producers knew of the objections of the rehab facilities employees, Oprah called for damage control by inviting Frey over for a little sit-down chat on Thursday.
On the show, Oprah quickly glossed over her own advance knowledge of the many questions surrounding Frey's book. She pretended that she knew little, if anything, about the business of publishing (including the widely known secret that memoirs aren't always fact-checked), despite the fact that, in reality Oprah is the Grand Poobah of Media.
In the ultimate coup, Oprah's show not only earned her redemption and forgiveness in the eyes of America, she also made the story about her -- her own salvation, her own victimization and her own self-discovery in the face of troubling circumstances. In fact, Oprah said "I" an amazing 119 times during her show.
In the end, Oprah failed to recognize the ultimate irony in her role as moral arbiter in the case of James Frey: She became a caricature of her own show. Oprah's afternoon program most always consists of sensationalized stories embossed for dramatic effect -- be it with the soaring violins, the near-Oscar quality video montages and the cue-on-command tears. True, these stories and tales aren't outright lies, as they were in the case of Frey, but Oprah should tread lightly before chastising others for cashing in on the emotions of millions.
Oprah was unrelenting against Frey on Thursday, questioning and examining his every move and motive. Too bad we haven't held Oprah to the same scrutiny.
This piece originally appeared in the Washington Examiner.