Patricia Hampl The memoir, always vulnerable to a gut-punch (too self-indulgent, too self-absorbed), has taken some extra licks lately. The James Frey fray, in particular, has occasioned much schadenfreudery in literary and not-so-literary circles, as the not-so-bad-as-he’d-like-to-be author of A Million Little Pieces has been outed as a fictionist, more wild in fa (...)