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julenetrippweaver 's review for:
American Junkie
by Sean Beaudoin, Tom Hansen
This is not an easy book to read. I read the reissued edition that came out this year (2017). Tom Hansen lives in Seattle, and his book has been on my to read list, so after hearing him read from his reissued novel I picked up his memoir.
At the reading in his pre-amble talk he spoke the difference between writing fiction and writing memoir, to paraphrase, in fiction you make the action keep happening, in a memoir you explain to make the how and why come through. In his memoir he gives a running account of the how and why, not that I came away from the book able to explain why he became a herion addict, but he did explain and it makes total sense.
He wound up in the hospital with severe absess wounds where he shot up into the flesh of his buttocks. When visited by a doctor from psych he turns down treatment. Tom explains, "There was a bit of tension in the air now, he was irritated that I wouldn't submit, surrender. I'd hidden it well, the thing that the shrinks and counselors could never understand. I was esentially dead and I just wasn't sure I wanted to live. I'd tried to find happiness, some kind of purpose, some direction, but at some point my life had been taken over by a kind of inertia. It was why I'd chosen the path I had, because any path, even the wrong path, was better than no path. Any story is better than no story. It was better than the abyss. I had caught brief glimpses of life, experienced a few wonderful moments of love on that path. Befor that, there had only been nothingless."
He is transferred to Bailey Boushay House, a place I used to work with as an HIV/AIDS case manager, so for me it was an intimate journey back to a skilled nursing home that I know well; where many clients died. He was there in 1999, after the AIDS meds improved and the facility expanded to accept people with other illnesses. He expected to be sent to a horrible state institution, and instead he is sent to a place that is like a luxury hotel, with kind considerate staff. He is surprised when he does not get a no smoking lecture, but a promise to help him get well enough to get outside his room so he can have a smoke.
He encapsulates his life as a herion dealer in this quote, "I'd never been able to do anything for very long. But I had made this last, for seven years now, like I had finally found out who I was and what I was supposed to be doing in this life. I had found a level of existence where I could function and thrive. I had found stability in a world where there was none. I didn't feel smug, and I didn't run around flaunting my new wealth, it was simply that for the first time since working on my uncle's farm, I felt useful. I knew what I was doing. The ground was solid, not always shifting.
I knew it was against the lawy. But the laws regarding drugs were inconsistent and arbirtrary. I had seen much more mayhem, pain and suffering come from booze, and if they were going to keep saying that drinking was just fine, even encourage it, I was going to make up my own rules. I also knew that I was destroying myself, and that it would probably end badly. But I was willing to pay that price. It was better than being nothing."
Though out the book he questions why he survived. I'm glad he did, because he went on to get an MFA and write two books. This book gives an insider view to a herion addict & dealer, and to someone who was in the grunge scene in Seattle.
At the reading in his pre-amble talk he spoke the difference between writing fiction and writing memoir, to paraphrase, in fiction you make the action keep happening, in a memoir you explain to make the how and why come through. In his memoir he gives a running account of the how and why, not that I came away from the book able to explain why he became a herion addict, but he did explain and it makes total sense.
He wound up in the hospital with severe absess wounds where he shot up into the flesh of his buttocks. When visited by a doctor from psych he turns down treatment. Tom explains, "There was a bit of tension in the air now, he was irritated that I wouldn't submit, surrender. I'd hidden it well, the thing that the shrinks and counselors could never understand. I was esentially dead and I just wasn't sure I wanted to live. I'd tried to find happiness, some kind of purpose, some direction, but at some point my life had been taken over by a kind of inertia. It was why I'd chosen the path I had, because any path, even the wrong path, was better than no path. Any story is better than no story. It was better than the abyss. I had caught brief glimpses of life, experienced a few wonderful moments of love on that path. Befor that, there had only been nothingless."
He is transferred to Bailey Boushay House, a place I used to work with as an HIV/AIDS case manager, so for me it was an intimate journey back to a skilled nursing home that I know well; where many clients died. He was there in 1999, after the AIDS meds improved and the facility expanded to accept people with other illnesses. He expected to be sent to a horrible state institution, and instead he is sent to a place that is like a luxury hotel, with kind considerate staff. He is surprised when he does not get a no smoking lecture, but a promise to help him get well enough to get outside his room so he can have a smoke.
He encapsulates his life as a herion dealer in this quote, "I'd never been able to do anything for very long. But I had made this last, for seven years now, like I had finally found out who I was and what I was supposed to be doing in this life. I had found a level of existence where I could function and thrive. I had found stability in a world where there was none. I didn't feel smug, and I didn't run around flaunting my new wealth, it was simply that for the first time since working on my uncle's farm, I felt useful. I knew what I was doing. The ground was solid, not always shifting.
I knew it was against the lawy. But the laws regarding drugs were inconsistent and arbirtrary. I had seen much more mayhem, pain and suffering come from booze, and if they were going to keep saying that drinking was just fine, even encourage it, I was going to make up my own rules. I also knew that I was destroying myself, and that it would probably end badly. But I was willing to pay that price. It was better than being nothing."
Though out the book he questions why he survived. I'm glad he did, because he went on to get an MFA and write two books. This book gives an insider view to a herion addict & dealer, and to someone who was in the grunge scene in Seattle.