Portrait of Addiction
Elizabeth Wurtzel embodies what we mean by 'learning the hard way.' Her life has been addled (and, more than once, almost ended) by awful choices. But the way she redeems herself, as she shows in each of her books, is through writing -- not just taking the hard path, but really reflecting, learning, and sharing in such a style that her own self-understanding makes her readers understand themselves better . . . . . . More, Now, Again is the third of four chapters in 'Life About Liz.' Even her second book, the explosive and furious Bitch, is as much about the kind of woman Wurtzel is, or wants to be, as about feminism itself. This time, though, the subject is addiction and recovery. The one heartwarming difference between this book and the two before it is that it ends on a calm and proactive note . . . . . . One thing we know about a memoir, about real life, is that it doesn't inherently possess the aspects of a 'story,' of 'literature.' The action curve is what we make it it's defined by where we choose to begin and end and we're lucky if there is much of a 'plot' at all. So I won't waste time trying to draw one from this book -- it's pretty well summarized by the titles of its six sections: Revelation, Research, Remedy, Relapse, Recovery, and Redemption. Considering the subject matter -- life, or some twisted version of it, on drugs -- plot is unimportant anyway. Drugs obliterate time, and the only things that are really important in the throes of addiction are relationships -- the ones you make, ruin, repair, and/or discard while your life is measured from fix to fix . . . . . . The style of the book is typically 'Wurtzelian' (she deserves her own adjective, as far as I'm concerned) -- as usual, the writing is amazing and engaging. It reads like an all-night slumber party confessional: with intention, sensitivity, humor, revelry, and shame, but without a forced direction. Actually, some of her most important characterization happens on random tangents, such as about the death penalty or Karl Marx. Her mystique comes from how she is paradoxically so ordinary yet so boundless and unpredictable. If you've ever thought a Harvard girl was the type you'd envy and resent for her perfection, Wurtzel is your anomaly. As with any addict, she takes ridiculous turns and enters into lines of thinking that will make you want to shake her or beat her over the head with the nearest blunt weapon. For all practical purposes, she's no different from anyone else in the AA meeting circle. But she will still arouse you with how aesthetic and insightful she is. There is a moment in the book -- before she even enters rehab -- when she illustrates an analogy between getting addicted to drugs and falling in love. I daresay it's so wonderfully developed that until your mind fully processes it -- for at least a moment -- drugs seem glorious and love seems dark and destructive. You'll get over that, though! . . . . . . As I mentioned before, what makes this book so beautiful is the way it closes. Both Prozac Nation and Bitch seemed to finish without really finishing -- because Wurtzel is such a strong and smart woman, we expect more from her than to end with sadness or longing we want her to get what she wants. But Prozac Nation ended with her tossing her hands up and deciding that she had no idea about the national state of depression Bitch ended with her illustrating the type of woman she yearns to be but isn't. More, Now, Again, for all the urgency of its title, ends gently and tenderly. She writes of how she remembers being a joyful little girl, how she lost her joy, how she lost just about everything, and how she intends to get it back. Looking to the past -- to her lineage of addicts -- and to the future, she decides that the ugliness will stop with her. Ironically, but satisfyingly, she ends her book with 'Here's how the story begins:'
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