James Frey is bouncing back from the fiery death of his career. After a year of laying low, he reappeared with another novel whose powerful prose propelled it onto the best-seller lists. I contacted his publisher and after days of contentious emailing they graciously allowed me to reprint the first four hundred paragraphs:

The sun came up in Costa Mesa. The sun came up in Camarillo. The sun came up in Escondido. The sun came up in Coronado. The sun came up in Chula Vista. The sun came up in Bakersfield. The sun came up in Costa Mesa. The sun came up in Camarillo. The sun came up in Escondido. The sun came up in Coronado. The sun came up in Chula Vista. The sun came up in Bakersfield. The sun came up in Costa Mesa. The sun came up in Camarillo. The sun came up in Escondido. The sun came up in Coronado. The sun came up in Chula Vista. The sun came up in Bakersfield. The sun came up in Costa Mesa. The sun came up in Camarillo. The sun came up in Escondido. The sun came up in Coronado. The sun came up in Chula Vista. The sun came up in Bakersfield. The sun came up in Costa Mesa. The sun came up in Camarillo. The sun came up in Escondido. The sun came up in Coronado. The sun came up in Chula Vista. The sun came up in Bakersfield. The sun came up in Costa Mesa. The sun came up in Camarillo. The sun came up in Escondido. The sun came up in Coronado. The sun came up in Chula Vista. The sun came up in Bakersfield. The sun came up in Costa Mesa. The sun came up in Camarillo. The sun came up in Escondido. The sun came up in Coronado. The sun came up in Chula Vista. The sun came up in Bakersfield.

I think I speak for all of us when I say that's mighty impressive work. I mean, even if you don't like his choice of words, you've got to admire his cutting-and-pasting skills.

The book is being released in paperback this month, which calls for publicity. Luckily that's Mr. Frey's strong suit.

In the paperback edition, he tantalizes, there's an extra story. A blind item that sounds exactly like his experience with Oprah. After publicly eviscerating an author, though, the unnamed TV Hostess calls him and reveals a salient secret about herself -- while he's recording their chat.

Ever the picture of discretion -- or afraid of getting his pleated pants sued off -- Mr. Frey dutifully draws a forest of dots, leaving Gawker to connect them all:

Does he really have a tape recording of a phone call where Oprah admits she's a lesbian?

Now, maybe you too have noticed some irregularities in this story, so let's take it from the top.

Frey writes a harrowing memoir about drug addiction, which Oprah naturally loves. Rumors surface that the book might not be true, and Oprah calls Frey back to the show. He thinks they're going to discuss the controversy, but au contraire! She's brutal. She calls him a liar. She tears him apart, and he's devastated. Devastated!

Afterward, the self-righteous bitch calls him to make sure he's okay. He decides to tape the phone call because some sixth sense tells him this may end bad. And what do you know? After attacking him on national TV she decides to tell him her deepest, darkest secret.

"Aw, it'll be okay," she might have said. "Heck, I'm a big ole lesbian who's addicted to Q-Tips and gravy, and you don't see me crying in my beer!"

Almost doesn't sound real, does it? You know, like everything James Frey writes. Still, it's got America guessing. A writer renowned for lying comes out with a story that has all America guessing.

The question, though, shouldn't be "Is Oprah a lesbian?" It should be "Is James Frey an asshole or what?"