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Mad Love in N.Y.C.
Loose yourself in tales of love, heroin, raw emotion, and honesty as Holmes conveys her true life experiences living on the streets, searching for meaning in a world of chaos .
The writings that inspired the 2014 film Heaven Knows What - the true accounts of Arielle Holmes, written by Arielle Holmes.
The writings that inspired the 2014 film Heaven Knows What - the true accounts of Arielle Holmes, written by Arielle Holmes.
- GenresMemoir
258 pages, Paperback
First published July 12, 2023
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Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews
January 28, 2026
"Girl." That's the sound I made again and again as I read through this ordeal of a book. It's an ordeal of a life, really, and despite everything its author is an incredibly endearing personality. This self-published memoir by the inspiration and star of the Safdie Brothers' breakthrough film, Heaven Knows What, is a deeply erratic work of literature. I don't just mean that it's an unvarnished portrait of drug addiction, emotional abuse, and homelessness; it's also quite literally riddled with errata. This book hasn't been within a mile of an editor or proof-reader, which only leads me to conclude that Arielle Holmes is a natural. She knows how to give characters life on the page, and she does this while barely resorting to dialogue. She can mount a scene and crossfade it into a larger unfolding narrative. Individual routines and even the whole thing might meander and perhaps overstay their welcome, but she only repeats herself for thematic emphasis or rhetorical effect. The book lives up to its title by embodying the prime Romantic virtues of spontaneity and gusto; Diane di Prima would have nodded in recognition and approval. Holmes’s life is exhausting to read about, but it's difficult not to feel a great affection for this chaotic and self-destructive woman. Wherever she is, I hope she's okay.
March 18, 2025
So…I had been waiting for Arielle to finish this memoir for years, since I watched Heaven Knows What (which I love). I found out she had finally completed it and the only way I could find a physical copy was from Amazon. There’s little to no reviews on it and also my copy had the date printed from the day I ordered it inside? So idk if they’re made-to-order?
Anyway…I have a lot of sympathy for Arielle and her trials and tribulations but also she’s not very likable- I guess she shouldn’t be/that’s not the point. If I’m being honest, the misspellings, grammar errors, what appears to be lapse in memory while writing this, lack of chronology and also the numerous names dropped and mixed up (even misspelled) make it quite a lot and confusing to me the majority of the time. I really feel like it could have been pieced together a lot better and I’m kind of shocked that she didn’t have an editor, like the Sadfie brothers couldn’t have helped her with that? Maybe she did have one, but it didn’t seem like it. I truly thought I got a cheap, fake copy of the book. Luckily it’s a quick read but I honestly don’t think I’d recommend it to anyone. It’s a confusing, mish mash, all over the place memoir. I guess maybe the intent was to be left in a raw form, but just know it’s kind of all over the place.
Anyway…I have a lot of sympathy for Arielle and her trials and tribulations but also she’s not very likable- I guess she shouldn’t be/that’s not the point. If I’m being honest, the misspellings, grammar errors, what appears to be lapse in memory while writing this, lack of chronology and also the numerous names dropped and mixed up (even misspelled) make it quite a lot and confusing to me the majority of the time. I really feel like it could have been pieced together a lot better and I’m kind of shocked that she didn’t have an editor, like the Sadfie brothers couldn’t have helped her with that? Maybe she did have one, but it didn’t seem like it. I truly thought I got a cheap, fake copy of the book. Luckily it’s a quick read but I honestly don’t think I’d recommend it to anyone. It’s a confusing, mish mash, all over the place memoir. I guess maybe the intent was to be left in a raw form, but just know it’s kind of all over the place.
June 24, 2024
Memoirs are always so hard to rate in my opinion.
This was messy and dark and real and brutal and chaotic. I'm fascinated by Arielle Holmes.
While reading this, I felt like she was narrating this to me and only me. I appreciated how honest she was in this. Her story is so real. I would read more by her in a heartbeat.
This was messy and dark and real and brutal and chaotic. I'm fascinated by Arielle Holmes.
While reading this, I felt like she was narrating this to me and only me. I appreciated how honest she was in this. Her story is so real. I would read more by her in a heartbeat.
September 21, 2025
Mad Love in N.Y.C. & Heaven Knows What: A Study in Self‑Destruction, Love, and Loss
Mad Love in N.Y.C. is the memoir by Arielle Holmes, chronicling her time as a homeless heroin addict in New York City, her relationship with Ilya Leontyev, and her struggle with identity, addiction, isolation, and self‑worth. Heaven Knows What, written and directed by Josh and Benny Safdie, adapts Holmes’ memoir into a film, with Holmes herself playing a version of her past self (renamed Harley), and Caleb Landry Jones playing Ilya. While the film closely tracks much of the arc and emotional core of the memoir, the shift in medium, perspective, and selection of scenes yields both resonances and differences. In both, the relationship with Ilya looms large: it is the axis around which much of Holmes’ psychology turns, precisely because she is unable (or believes herself unable) to love herself fully. The performances by Holmes and Jones bring that struggle to life.
The Centrality of Ilya / the Love that Hurts
In both book and film, Ilya is not just the love interest; he is, in many ways, the canvas on which Harley / Holmes projects her deepest needs, insecurities, and self‑loathing. Ilya is destructive, emotionally unavailable, often cruel; yet Harley is repeatedly drawn back to him. The dynamic is toxic: Harley betrays him, hurts him, fails him; Ilya abandons Harley or punishes her; yet Harley’s longing for his forgiveness or attention often overrides her own sense of self.
In Mad Love in N.Y.C., Holmes gives more backstory, more psychological texture, more interiority to the Harley figure, to her motivations, the moments of desire, shame, regret. We see, through her memoir, that her attraction to Ilya is bound up with her yearning for love, acceptance, identity, and escape. Because Holmes (or Harley) cannot love herself—because of her addiction, her isolation, her life on the streets—she latches onto Ilya as a kind of lifeline or proof of worth. She believes, at some level, that if Ilya loves her (or even tolerates her, sometimes), then she is worth something. But Ilya’s love is never stable; his treatment of her often amplifies her internal sense of defect, abandonment, and self‑hate.
In Heaven Knows What, that dynamic remains central but is rendered cinematically, through scenes, between‑scene silences, tone, performance. The film does not have the luxury of Holmes’ memoir’s full reflection; instead, it shows Harley’s repeated attempts to salvage something in her relationship with Ilya, enduring emotional violence and disregard because the possibility of his love seems better than the void of self‑love. Harley often resorts to self‑harm or suicidal gestures when Ilya rejects her or when the pain becomes acute. Her identity, her sense of belonging, hinges so much on whether Ilya will come back, whether she can persuade him, whether she can endure his cruelty. In both book and film, it becomes clear that Harley’s love for Ilya is less about Ilya himself than about the need to feel seen, valued, and anchored, which she cannot find within herself.
Self‑Love (or Lack Thereof) as Tragedy
In both forms, Holmes/Harley’s inability to love herself is not just a footnote—it is the tragedy driving her choices and her suffering. Addiction, self‑betrayal, relapse, homelessness—all are manifestations of that undercurrent: “I am unworthy,” “I am broken,” “I need someone else’s love to confirm my existence.” This lack of self‑love renders her vulnerable to Ilya’s manipulations; it also limits her ability to imagine or hold onto life apart from his presence, even if that life is painful.
In the book, the memoir affords us more digressions: internal monologues, reflections, memories of childhood and trauma, sporadic moments of self‑questioning, shame, longing for something pure, something lasting. These moments are sometimes fragmented, sometimes chaotic, but they show the self that is torn: the part that wants love, the part that punishes itself, the part that rationalizes staying in a destructive relationship because the alternative seems loneliness and nothingness.
The film, by necessity, externalizes more: body language, reactions, facial expressions, the way Harley waits, how she reacts to Ilya’s absence, the urgency of needing a fix, and the desperation when that is denied. The cinematic medium emphasizes sensory overload—the streets, the fix, the cold, the filthy beds, the cravings—which serve as constant reminders to Harley of her dependency both on drugs and on Ilya. We do not get long inner monologues from Harley so much as small moments: her tone of voice, her longing look, her breakdowns. The film also uses its rough, documentary‑adjacent style to make us feel what Harley feels: raw, exposed, ashamed, craving both intimacy and escape.
Differences: Structure, Perspective, Pacing
Because Mad Love in N.Y.C. is a memoir (or quasi‑memoir, as Holmes’ writings slightly fictionalize aspects, but it is presented as her real experience), it allows for more background, more nuance: early memories, her childhood, her first brushes with drugs, the slow escalation, the thinking behind decisions, the regret. It also enables Holmes to reflect later, to understand, to critique her own choices with hindsight.
The film, Heaven Knows What, is more immediate, viscerally present. It plunges the viewer into the streets and the chaos with less unpacking. It shows rather than tells. Some scenes are briefer; some arcs are compressed. The film’s pacing often feels relentless: the rhythm of Harley’s quest for the next fix, cycles of falling in love (or thinking she is in love), and being hurt. There is less explicit explanation of Harley’s inner thoughts in film than in the memoir; much has to be inferred via what her body, voice, and face show.
Because of that, some of Harley’s motivations or internal contradictions that are clear in the book might feel more opaque or confusing in the film. For example, why she returns to Ilya after brutal rejections, why she continues risking her body and sanity—it is less explained, more felt. For some viewers, this makes her more sympathetic; for others, more frustrating.
Another difference is in the ending. Without spoiling too heavily: the book has more room to linger, to reflect, perhaps to imagine what might have been, what was learned. The film must conclude with the images and what the camera shows: the tragedy, loss, aftermath, absence. Absence becomes a powerful presence in the film’s conclusion. The real‑life Ilya dies of overdose after the film’s production; the film is dedicated to him. In the memoir’s telling, one feels more the weight of what was before and what might never be resolved.
Performances: Arielle Holmes & Caleb Landry Jones
One of the most compelling aspects of Heaven Knows What is how Holmes and Jones embody these damaged, volatile characters—not as caricatures, but as very flesh‑and‑blood, fused with pain and longing.
Arielle Holmes as Harley is, in many ways, the emotional core. She is playing a version of herself; I say “version” because the film stylizes, compresses, and rearranges, but her performance is unguarded. She can be tender, brutal, childish, despairing, self‑destructive—all in the same scene or moment. She never hides the ugliness: sometimes she is cruel, sometimes delusional, sometimes completely lost. Yet she also has moments of heartbreaking clarity: when she looks at Ilya’s absence, or tries to walk away, or when the film allows her a flicker of what self‑awareness is left. Holmes’ performance reveals precisely how much Harley cannot love herself—not just in what she does but in what she cannot do: she cannot walk away, she cannot sustain a sense of worth apart from Ilya or the drug, with rare exceptions.
Caleb Landry Jones as Ilya is similarly powerful. Among the mostly non‑professional cast, Jones is the trained professional actor, and he uses that to shape Ilya with a terrifying volatility. He is often erratic, moody, punishing, distant; but also charismatic in a dark, destructive way. His presence is always threatening or unsteady; Holmes’ Harley is drawn to him, repelled by him, fearful of him—but also addicted to his attention. Jones gives Ilya a tortured energy: the rage, the jealousy, the possessiveness; but also the moments when he seems oblivious, self‑absorbed, lost. He is not just a villain; he is a deeply flawed person, and in his flaws, he holds Harley captive—and in some ways Holmes as well.
Together, the two performances amplify the theme: Harley cannot find self‑love because her love for Ilya is always overlayed with pain, abandonment, expectation. Jones’ Ilya rarely gives her what she needs; Holmes’ Harley constantly hopes he will. The uneven power dynamic between them is visible in every gesture: Harley yielding, sacrificing, trying to anticipate or appease; Ilya testing, withholding, disappearing, demanding loyalty.
Comparative Reflections: What Each Form Can Do Better
Because of its form, the memoir Mad Love in N.Y.C. allows Holmes to show not only events but her internal logic: her fears, memories, self Kritik, her hopes, and her regrets. The reflections on her own self‑worth, what she craves, what she loses, what she rationalizes, are more thorough. The book gives the reader space to inhabit Harley’s mind in a way the film, with its urgency, cannot always permit.
The film, however, has its own strengths. Its visual immediacy, the street sounds, the body language, the way scenes bleed into one another, the desperate pulse of the city—all these help to evoke the emotional landscape of addiction in a visceral way. It’s one thing to read about craving, but the film makes you feel it. It’s one thing to read about the void of abandonment; the film shows you the emptiness of Ilya’s absence in Harley’s eyes. The film’s scenes—Harley in Bellevue after a failed attempt at self‑harm, Harley scraping together change, Harley brokering love with Ilya—are distilled and potent.
Also, in terms of pacing and structure, the film’s compressions can heighten the sense of inevitability: we see Harley circling, making decisions, falling, rising, and falling again. The rhythms of pain and betrayal feel unrelenting. In that way, the film makes Harley’s lack of self‑love stark: we are given less time to justify or explain; instead, we see the consequences played out, which sometimes can hit harder.
Conclusion
In both Mad Love in N.Y.C. and Heaven Knows What, the driving tragedy is how Ilya represents both the possibility of love and its betrayal—and how Harley, in her inability to love herself, derives too much of her identity, hope, and self‑worth from someone who cannot sustain them. The memoir gives us the internal map of her self‑loathing, desire, memories, and reflections; the film thrusts us into the external, sensory, emotional reality of that map.
Holmes’ performance as Harley is raw, fearless, honest; Caleb Landry Jones’ Ilya is magnetic, cruel, unpredictable—but also deeply human in his own failures. Together, they embody a love story that is as much about loss, absence, addiction, and self‑destruction as it is about passion. For Harley, for Holmes, loving Ilya is, paradoxically, both a refuge and a prison—because she cannot love herself first.
Ultimately, the story is less about what Holmes did or Ilya did than about how someone in Harley’s position tries to be someone, to be worthy, to be loved—though often in ways that hurt. And what makes both the book and film powerful is how unflinching they are about that. Mad Love in N.Y.C. gives voice to what Harley thinks and remembers; Heaven Knows What gives us what Harley feels—pain, abandonment, longing, and loss—in the body, eyes, voice, in the silence and in the chaos.
Mad Love in N.Y.C. is the memoir by Arielle Holmes, chronicling her time as a homeless heroin addict in New York City, her relationship with Ilya Leontyev, and her struggle with identity, addiction, isolation, and self‑worth. Heaven Knows What, written and directed by Josh and Benny Safdie, adapts Holmes’ memoir into a film, with Holmes herself playing a version of her past self (renamed Harley), and Caleb Landry Jones playing Ilya. While the film closely tracks much of the arc and emotional core of the memoir, the shift in medium, perspective, and selection of scenes yields both resonances and differences. In both, the relationship with Ilya looms large: it is the axis around which much of Holmes’ psychology turns, precisely because she is unable (or believes herself unable) to love herself fully. The performances by Holmes and Jones bring that struggle to life.
The Centrality of Ilya / the Love that Hurts
In both book and film, Ilya is not just the love interest; he is, in many ways, the canvas on which Harley / Holmes projects her deepest needs, insecurities, and self‑loathing. Ilya is destructive, emotionally unavailable, often cruel; yet Harley is repeatedly drawn back to him. The dynamic is toxic: Harley betrays him, hurts him, fails him; Ilya abandons Harley or punishes her; yet Harley’s longing for his forgiveness or attention often overrides her own sense of self.
In Mad Love in N.Y.C., Holmes gives more backstory, more psychological texture, more interiority to the Harley figure, to her motivations, the moments of desire, shame, regret. We see, through her memoir, that her attraction to Ilya is bound up with her yearning for love, acceptance, identity, and escape. Because Holmes (or Harley) cannot love herself—because of her addiction, her isolation, her life on the streets—she latches onto Ilya as a kind of lifeline or proof of worth. She believes, at some level, that if Ilya loves her (or even tolerates her, sometimes), then she is worth something. But Ilya’s love is never stable; his treatment of her often amplifies her internal sense of defect, abandonment, and self‑hate.
In Heaven Knows What, that dynamic remains central but is rendered cinematically, through scenes, between‑scene silences, tone, performance. The film does not have the luxury of Holmes’ memoir’s full reflection; instead, it shows Harley’s repeated attempts to salvage something in her relationship with Ilya, enduring emotional violence and disregard because the possibility of his love seems better than the void of self‑love. Harley often resorts to self‑harm or suicidal gestures when Ilya rejects her or when the pain becomes acute. Her identity, her sense of belonging, hinges so much on whether Ilya will come back, whether she can persuade him, whether she can endure his cruelty. In both book and film, it becomes clear that Harley’s love for Ilya is less about Ilya himself than about the need to feel seen, valued, and anchored, which she cannot find within herself.
Self‑Love (or Lack Thereof) as Tragedy
In both forms, Holmes/Harley’s inability to love herself is not just a footnote—it is the tragedy driving her choices and her suffering. Addiction, self‑betrayal, relapse, homelessness—all are manifestations of that undercurrent: “I am unworthy,” “I am broken,” “I need someone else’s love to confirm my existence.” This lack of self‑love renders her vulnerable to Ilya’s manipulations; it also limits her ability to imagine or hold onto life apart from his presence, even if that life is painful.
In the book, the memoir affords us more digressions: internal monologues, reflections, memories of childhood and trauma, sporadic moments of self‑questioning, shame, longing for something pure, something lasting. These moments are sometimes fragmented, sometimes chaotic, but they show the self that is torn: the part that wants love, the part that punishes itself, the part that rationalizes staying in a destructive relationship because the alternative seems loneliness and nothingness.
The film, by necessity, externalizes more: body language, reactions, facial expressions, the way Harley waits, how she reacts to Ilya’s absence, the urgency of needing a fix, and the desperation when that is denied. The cinematic medium emphasizes sensory overload—the streets, the fix, the cold, the filthy beds, the cravings—which serve as constant reminders to Harley of her dependency both on drugs and on Ilya. We do not get long inner monologues from Harley so much as small moments: her tone of voice, her longing look, her breakdowns. The film also uses its rough, documentary‑adjacent style to make us feel what Harley feels: raw, exposed, ashamed, craving both intimacy and escape.
Differences: Structure, Perspective, Pacing
Because Mad Love in N.Y.C. is a memoir (or quasi‑memoir, as Holmes’ writings slightly fictionalize aspects, but it is presented as her real experience), it allows for more background, more nuance: early memories, her childhood, her first brushes with drugs, the slow escalation, the thinking behind decisions, the regret. It also enables Holmes to reflect later, to understand, to critique her own choices with hindsight.
The film, Heaven Knows What, is more immediate, viscerally present. It plunges the viewer into the streets and the chaos with less unpacking. It shows rather than tells. Some scenes are briefer; some arcs are compressed. The film’s pacing often feels relentless: the rhythm of Harley’s quest for the next fix, cycles of falling in love (or thinking she is in love), and being hurt. There is less explicit explanation of Harley’s inner thoughts in film than in the memoir; much has to be inferred via what her body, voice, and face show.
Because of that, some of Harley’s motivations or internal contradictions that are clear in the book might feel more opaque or confusing in the film. For example, why she returns to Ilya after brutal rejections, why she continues risking her body and sanity—it is less explained, more felt. For some viewers, this makes her more sympathetic; for others, more frustrating.
Another difference is in the ending. Without spoiling too heavily: the book has more room to linger, to reflect, perhaps to imagine what might have been, what was learned. The film must conclude with the images and what the camera shows: the tragedy, loss, aftermath, absence. Absence becomes a powerful presence in the film’s conclusion. The real‑life Ilya dies of overdose after the film’s production; the film is dedicated to him. In the memoir’s telling, one feels more the weight of what was before and what might never be resolved.
Performances: Arielle Holmes & Caleb Landry Jones
One of the most compelling aspects of Heaven Knows What is how Holmes and Jones embody these damaged, volatile characters—not as caricatures, but as very flesh‑and‑blood, fused with pain and longing.
Arielle Holmes as Harley is, in many ways, the emotional core. She is playing a version of herself; I say “version” because the film stylizes, compresses, and rearranges, but her performance is unguarded. She can be tender, brutal, childish, despairing, self‑destructive—all in the same scene or moment. She never hides the ugliness: sometimes she is cruel, sometimes delusional, sometimes completely lost. Yet she also has moments of heartbreaking clarity: when she looks at Ilya’s absence, or tries to walk away, or when the film allows her a flicker of what self‑awareness is left. Holmes’ performance reveals precisely how much Harley cannot love herself—not just in what she does but in what she cannot do: she cannot walk away, she cannot sustain a sense of worth apart from Ilya or the drug, with rare exceptions.
Caleb Landry Jones as Ilya is similarly powerful. Among the mostly non‑professional cast, Jones is the trained professional actor, and he uses that to shape Ilya with a terrifying volatility. He is often erratic, moody, punishing, distant; but also charismatic in a dark, destructive way. His presence is always threatening or unsteady; Holmes’ Harley is drawn to him, repelled by him, fearful of him—but also addicted to his attention. Jones gives Ilya a tortured energy: the rage, the jealousy, the possessiveness; but also the moments when he seems oblivious, self‑absorbed, lost. He is not just a villain; he is a deeply flawed person, and in his flaws, he holds Harley captive—and in some ways Holmes as well.
Together, the two performances amplify the theme: Harley cannot find self‑love because her love for Ilya is always overlayed with pain, abandonment, expectation. Jones’ Ilya rarely gives her what she needs; Holmes’ Harley constantly hopes he will. The uneven power dynamic between them is visible in every gesture: Harley yielding, sacrificing, trying to anticipate or appease; Ilya testing, withholding, disappearing, demanding loyalty.
Comparative Reflections: What Each Form Can Do Better
Because of its form, the memoir Mad Love in N.Y.C. allows Holmes to show not only events but her internal logic: her fears, memories, self Kritik, her hopes, and her regrets. The reflections on her own self‑worth, what she craves, what she loses, what she rationalizes, are more thorough. The book gives the reader space to inhabit Harley’s mind in a way the film, with its urgency, cannot always permit.
The film, however, has its own strengths. Its visual immediacy, the street sounds, the body language, the way scenes bleed into one another, the desperate pulse of the city—all these help to evoke the emotional landscape of addiction in a visceral way. It’s one thing to read about craving, but the film makes you feel it. It’s one thing to read about the void of abandonment; the film shows you the emptiness of Ilya’s absence in Harley’s eyes. The film’s scenes—Harley in Bellevue after a failed attempt at self‑harm, Harley scraping together change, Harley brokering love with Ilya—are distilled and potent.
Also, in terms of pacing and structure, the film’s compressions can heighten the sense of inevitability: we see Harley circling, making decisions, falling, rising, and falling again. The rhythms of pain and betrayal feel unrelenting. In that way, the film makes Harley’s lack of self‑love stark: we are given less time to justify or explain; instead, we see the consequences played out, which sometimes can hit harder.
Conclusion
In both Mad Love in N.Y.C. and Heaven Knows What, the driving tragedy is how Ilya represents both the possibility of love and its betrayal—and how Harley, in her inability to love herself, derives too much of her identity, hope, and self‑worth from someone who cannot sustain them. The memoir gives us the internal map of her self‑loathing, desire, memories, and reflections; the film thrusts us into the external, sensory, emotional reality of that map.
Holmes’ performance as Harley is raw, fearless, honest; Caleb Landry Jones’ Ilya is magnetic, cruel, unpredictable—but also deeply human in his own failures. Together, they embody a love story that is as much about loss, absence, addiction, and self‑destruction as it is about passion. For Harley, for Holmes, loving Ilya is, paradoxically, both a refuge and a prison—because she cannot love herself first.
Ultimately, the story is less about what Holmes did or Ilya did than about how someone in Harley’s position tries to be someone, to be worthy, to be loved—though often in ways that hurt. And what makes both the book and film powerful is how unflinching they are about that. Mad Love in N.Y.C. gives voice to what Harley thinks and remembers; Heaven Knows What gives us what Harley feels—pain, abandonment, longing, and loss—in the body, eyes, voice, in the silence and in the chaos.
April 17, 2024
I loooove this book was waiting for arielle to publish it for a while after i watched heaven knows what,,, took me a while to pick it up tho cuz im lazy I wish this book was longer ;-; I love it
November 17, 2025
messy, confusing, raw. i wasn’t expecting anything else. 2 stars taken off because of various spelling and grammar mistakes, plus there are so many names it gets confusing to know who’s who.
Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews