A Million Little Pieces by James Frey (John Murray, £7.99).

THIS autobiographical account of Frey's time in a Minnesota rehabilitation clinic marks the launch of a bold and talented literary voice.

It is a compelling book that shows immense depth and is so deep and raw it could easily be a work of fiction.

But this account of a 23-year-old alcoholic and drug addict facing death gains power from the fact that it is all too true.

From the outset the words rise from the pages and become real. Written in the present tense, Frey analyses his feelings in a practical, matter-of-fact way.

His train of thought accepts his emotions and memories as they occur and he deals with them swiftly and strongly.

His words are succinct and disturbing in their honesty and frankness.

The lack of punctuation or logical progression adds to the journey he is undertaking and his stream-of-consciousness style accurately reflects an outpouring of sheer emotion, which could easily be stifled by a conventional, traditionally "correct" approach.

Throughout his time in the clinic he shows astonishing honesty, as he explains why he chose to reject traditional methods of recovery and rely purely on his own strength.

The descriptions of his physical and emotional experiences are often graphic and disturbing.

This account of a young man's struggle to overcome addiction is horrific yet compelling.

Lynne Marie Fearn

As the title suggests, Frey's life was fractured into a million pieces, yet he managed to rebuild it and deal with his addictions.

Lynne Marie Fearn

Frey's account begins at the very depths of his addiction: "I look at my body. My skin is sallow and white. My torso is covered with cuts and bruises. I'm thin and my muscles sag. I look worn, beaten, old, dead. I didn't always look like this."