When my mom saw this book on my shelf she said, "Oh, your sister and I both hated that one."
Don't get me wrong, I'm proud of Brown and what she's accomplished. I'm glad she's made her story public, and I hope her speeches, interviews, and memoir inspire others. I just really, really did not enjoy reading this book.
The story takes so excruciatingly long to unfold, in part because every little incident and detail gets spelled out explicitly, and in part because Brown's writing style is extremely repetitive. First, let's talk repetition. Brown regularly writes things like this: I didn't understand what the message was saying. Hell, I was looking for something that said, "You passed, girl!" Seeing the puzzled look on my face, Carol explained, "Cup, you passed! You passed!" This exchange continues for an additional eight lines of text, and includes the word "passed" an additional five times. The repetition doesn't add drama or resonance, it just bulks every story up. And so many of the stories just feel like repetitions of previous stories, which is probably an accurate depiction of what life is like when you're an addict, but it's a slog to read through.
A symptom of Brown's every-little-detail way of writing is the lists. Every incident that occurs during the years when Brown is using includes a listing of every drug she took before and during the incident, how she took the drug, and if she was drinking, every kind of alcohol she drank, too. (Sample sentence: By 11:30 (an hour and a half after the party really got started), I'd had three rum and cokes, three gin and tonics, four vodka and orange juices, three whiskey shots, two brandies, and I think two cognacs- I was in a blackout after the second whiskey shot.) Every incident that occurs during her time with the gang includes a list of every other person who was present.
While I'm talking about the gang: I was so irritated by Brown's way of writing about that part of her life. She uses all the slang possible, as if she's trying to prove her bonefides as an "OG" to an audience familiar with gang life, and then follows her slang with parenthetical asides or even full paragraphs explaining what it means, as if her audience knows nothing at all about gangs. Which means everything takes twice as long, because she's got to say it once like a true Gangsta and then translate for all the squares.
Parenthetical asides! Pointless dialogue! Needlessly complicated and rambling sentences that need so much punctuation and so many italics to sort them out into some kind of coherence! All the swearing. All the slang. All the telling and telling and telling instead of showing anything.
You know what, I hated this book. I read the whole damn thing, angry at the book for how much I disliked it and angry at myself for the compulsion to finish it because it's one of my 12 books by black women for 2017. But I read it, and it's done. And I feel like a terrible person for hating a book about a woman who had a terrible childhood but overcame addiction and achieved all of her dreams, because that's a great story, but maybe I only wanted to watch at 15 minute TED video about it, instead of spending hours reading this memoir! So this book is going back to the library for somebody else to fuss with. Gah!