Her imagery is so sensory and I am in in love with Laurie Weeks. This story is so much more and difficult to describe than that. The book talks a lot about drugs and substance abuse, but that did not make it a "drug novel" for me. I love how she talks about her painful crush on her cool best friend, and also about how she wishes she could have been with Vivien Leigh and helped her and comforted her in all of her Scorpioness.
I love autobiographies by poets like Eileen Myles' Inferno (2010) and I like that not everything is so obvious, but at the same time brutally honest. I drifted in and out of her life with her. Weeks’s brash, exuberant debut traces a young lesbian woman’s tortured, drug-addled, unrequited crush.
Weeks never lets you know where one day ends and the other begins, but I was never lost. Feminist, 14.95 trade paper (160p) ISBN 978-1-55861-748-3. Review 2: My friend Keke gave me this book for my birthday. I saw Steve and Cherry as the true stars, and the two Tammy-centric sections remain the highlights of the novel. Fuck Jane, who said the narrator is more of a mess than she is while pushing her to buy heroin after two weeks clean. The narrator is so hilariously delusional about herself that I couldn't help but cheer her on. The ramblings were funny but not funny-funny, but not peculiar-funny, and eventually lost me in the last dozen pages as I pushed through to the end. Review 1: A narrator who is almost permanently strung out, either hungover or drunk, and unapologetically (or obliviously) unaware.
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