And If I Die Before I Wake: A Memoir

by George M. Johnson

They may be the author of the #1 most banned book in America, but George M. Johnson isn't finished telling their story yet. Written with unflinching emotion and unapologetic boldness, And If I Die Before I Wake is nothing short of a testimony -- one the world desperately needs to hear.

George M. Johnson is no stranger to death. In this debut adult memoir, readers are invited to witness untrodden ground as George navigates an HIV diagnosis, alcoholism, tremendous loss, and nationwide book bans over the span of 15 years. Through the highs and lows of life in the spotlight, they have clung to family and community like never before -- finding their most authentic self along the way.

Drawing inspiration from Toni Morrison, Jesmyn Ward, and Ta-Nehisi Coates, And If I Die Before I Wake explores grief, trauma, sexuality, and the Black family through the lens of transformation, healing, and hope. Poetic, grounded, and bursting with signature humor, this is New York Times-bestselling author George M. Johnson more bold, more brave, and more daring than ever -- ready to share a new part of their journey with the world.

Genres: Nonfiction, Memoir, LGBT, Queer, Biography Memoir, Biography, Autobiography

224 pages, Hardcover

First published November 10, 2026

About the author

George Matthew Johnson, more commonly known as George M. Johnson, is a queer Black American author, journalist, and activist. They are best known as the author of the memoir-manifesto All Boys Aren't Blue.

Reviews

[Cole · Rating 4.5 out of 5]

Thank you Farrar, Straus and Giroux & LibroFM for the #gifted copies in exchange for an honest review!

In their debut adult memoir, George M. Johnson lays everything on the table. You may know some of their story from All Boys Aren’t Blue, which is the most banned book in America, and this memoir doesn’t flinch in its response to that designation. It’s their story of grief, trauma, racism, homophobia, living with HIV, and alcoholism; but it’s also a story of healing and hope.

This book picks up where All Boys Aren’t Blue concludes, and catches us up to speed on Johnson’s life, both the joys and setbacks. It’s profound in its insights into the intersection of race and sexuality, particularly as they grapple with being newly diagnosed with HIV and focusing on some of the sociopolitical consequences of the Reagan administration and embedded institutional racism. And yet, while authoring the most banned book in America shows that Johnson was able to strike a nerve and hold a mirror to an unjust society, it also takes a personal toll. Johnson continues to use words to heal, to process, and to advocate, and we’re all the better for reading them.

Reviewed as part of an #ARC from the publisher & LibroFM.

Read this book if you:
🦂 have ever said, “its a Scorpio thing”
❤️‍🩹 believe in the healing powers of memoir
🚫 want unfiltered insight into being a banned author

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[Lex R · Rating 2 out of 5]

**Review of ARC received from NetGalley**

Firstly, I’d like to thank NetGalley for providing me with this ARC. This was one of my most anticipated releases of the year. Admittedly, I haven’t yet read All Boys Aren’t Blue, and maybe I should have before starting. I can only go off the context provided in this book. Secondly, I’d like to thank George, their vulnerability and earnestness is something we need in the world today. I really appreciated their willingness to discuss such heavy and life-changing topics. With that, I do have to say, this reading experience left me pretty disappointed. I felt that a lot of the topics promised to be navigated were discussed in such a nonchalant way that they came off as frivolous and negligible. Considering the topics being discussed, I felt a considerable lack when they were breezed past. I didn’t feel like I got to sit with that information as we were ushered into the next topic. Reading this memoir often felt like reading an unedited stream of consciousness, and for some that works but it didn’t really land with me. Another reviewer mentioned that this felt to be more YA than an Adult Memoir, and I am inclined to agree. Saying all this, I do believe the author has every right to discuss and convey their life and experiences however they so please, and my rating for this book is strongly based on my personal experience with it. It is in no way reflective of what I think of the author, or their experiences. George has been through so much and I do believe their story deserves to be told.

[Grace · Rating 5 out of 5]

Advanced reader's copy review

George M. Johnson writes with such candor and feeling it is impossible not adore their work. This memoir follows Johnson from their 25th birthday and HIV diagnosis in 2010, to just before their 40th, chronicling their adult life, loves, and struggles. I felt everything so deeply, from moments of vibrant queer joy to intense fears to deep grief. I deeply admire the author’s honestly, as they share the most intimate, emotional, and painful experiences of their life, gifting the reader insight and understanding. I also admire the leaps of faith Johnson took in their life journey, moving to and from different cities to pursue their passions and finding their way to writing. They have such an amazing, optimistic attitude. I can only hope to have a fraction of their courage. But the true highlight of this memoir for me was how the author reflected on their past works and activism, especially All Boys Aren’t Blue and book banning. Lastly, I loved how they concluded with their hopes for the future. So overall I highly recommend this memoir!

Thank you Farrer, Straus, and Giroux and Netgalley for a free advanced copy of this book in exchange for an honest review

[Crystal (Melanatedreader) Forte' · Rating 4 out of 5]

This was a very honest depiction of George’s life, according to their sexuality, according to their advocacy, and according to their relational feelings towards their family friends and everybody else that they interact with. I loved how honest it was and how they shared their truth through grief, humor, and much more. Through this memoir, you learned a lot more about George’s emotions after he is diagnosed with HIV. and how he navigates that as a Black queer person. I really love how he plays with prose by beginning each chapter with a letter to himself this drew me in as a reader and gave me balance with his recollections on the things mentioned in each chapter in a very unique way.

[Demetri Papadimitropoulos · Rating 3.5 out of 5]

The Distance Between Two People Standing on Opposite Sides of a Door
On George M. Johnson's "And If I Die Before I Wake," the Unfinished Work of Keeping One Another Alive, and the Difference Between Offering Care and Being Able to Save Someone
By Demetris Papadimitropoulos | November 3rd, 2026

During a search for a friend who has disappeared amid drug use, George M. Johnson waits for someone to open the building entrance, slips inside, and reaches an apartment door. A message claims he is at the library. Then Johnson spots the shadows of his feet beneath the door. Years later, readers will credit Johnson’s writing with helping them stay alive. Outside this apartment, even a familiar voice cannot secure an answer. The feet disappear without a word. Johnson keeps staring at the door, unable to tell how the friend heard the knocking.

Early in the memoir, the first life-changing medical news arrives in a room with two nurses. In New York at Halloween in 2010, they turn twenty-five amid a queer freedom less available at home. Weeks later, an HIV test comes back positive. One nurse embraces Johnson while another holds them upright. Their bodies answer the immediate need before any comforting words can be believed. Johnson can think no farther ahead than the examination room. The nurses promise it will be all right. Johnson cannot yet trust the future tense. The older Johnson can write back; the patient cannot yet imagine doing so. The clinic’s institutional language feels publicly exposing, and afterward Johnson disguises medication in vitamin bottles. The infectious-disease sign seems to announce a secret before Johnson is ready to speak. Treatment can be discussed once Johnson is steady enough to listen. For now, the nurses keep holding them upright.

Moving through the next fifteen years means work in university finance and HIV outreach, a viral post about swimmer Simone Manuel, a career in writing and the publication of “All Boys Aren’t Blue” in 2020. These years also bring an MDMA crisis, a DUI, both parents' illnesses, and intimate bereavements. Their first memoir becomes a bestseller and then a target of censorship campaigns. Richmond gives way to Washington, New York and Los Angeles, each move exciting until a familiar fear follows. The new cities promise new routines, though the trouble with drinking and the fear of illness arrive with Johnson. Nanny's health will not improve because a manuscript sells; a new job will not make the old fear stay buried. When COVID-19 closes the country just as “All Boys Aren’t Blue” is due, an old fear of infection and curtailed possibility returns. Johnson speaks of shedding former selves. But a later chapter still finds them bargaining with a familiar habit again.

Each chapter opens with a letter, usually from the older George to the younger person about to undergo its events. The older voice promises that the frightening experience ahead will become survivable, perhaps even instructive. The letters sound like an older relative speaking before the younger one can answer. Sometimes the assurance gets there before the scene, leaving less room for the younger self’s fear. If the older narrator has outlived the younger self's worst fears, can that narrator still admit that the experience was not designed to teach anything? A later letter cannot rely on that reassuring distance between the younger George and the adult who writes.

There is no prepared lesson when Patrice's mother, Muff, answers the telephone. After taking MDMA at a New York party, Johnson suffers alarming hallucinations and paranoia. Already disoriented, Johnson nevertheless takes the wheel. The friend's quick thinking cannot make the driving safe. Patrice connects them with Muff by telephone. Muff asks what an imagined figure in the passenger seat is doing; when Johnson describes its dancing, she answers as though dealing with a rowdy guest. The timing is funny; the steering wheel remains in Johnson’s hands. Muff keeps Johnson speaking through the drive; her humor is an intervention, not treatment for the drug's effects. Johnson makes it home. The other drivers, who never agreed to this experiment, are absent from the relief.

Rather than define chosen family, Johnson lets a telephone pass from one person to another: a frightened friend calls Patrice, who brings Muff into the conversation. The nurses hold Johnson upright; a colleague offers privacy; relatives make room. They do not deliver advice for a future audience; they respond to the trouble in front of them. Johnson's parents and grandparents also provide love and practical support. Patrice knows whom Johnson needs; Muff knows how to keep Johnson talking. Later that same chapter, Johnson will be the one trying to keep a conversation going, without another voice on the line.

In the second half of Chapter Two, the person needing a response is no longer Johnson. A friend with an escalating substance-use problem has disappeared; Johnson spends hours getting into his building and waiting outside his apartment. A caller reports the friend's claim to be at the library, which Johnson doubts. Finally, his feet appear as shadows in the narrow gap under the door. “We were feet away from one another.” The next sentence imagines them “face-to-face,” although the door prevents any meeting of faces. Johnson guesses the friend is looking through the peephole; that “likely” registers how little can actually be known. “Face-to-face” invents a meeting: Johnson can see his feet, but cannot speak to him or tell what he is thinking. The peephole, if used, would let the friend look outward without being seen. Even “refusal” may overstate what the silence permits Johnson to know. Johnson reads a shadow and a possible glance through the peephole; neither narrator nor reader knows the friend’s intentions. His feet vanish. Johnson cannot tell whether the friend is afraid, angry, ashamed, or merely unable to bear another encounter.

Placed beside its later counterpart, the first shadow looks almost ridiculous: it danced beside Johnson on the highway, unreal yet impossible to ignore. Later, the friend's feet cast a real shadow, but the person producing it remains behind the door. In the car Johnson receives help. Outside the apartment they offer it, with no answering voice. Muff's disarming talk offers a temporary way out of danger, whereas no comparable exchange occurs across the door. The chapter urges people to show up; it cannot open that locked door for them. The friend eventually recovers; later knowledge does not grant Johnson an answer from the person on the other side. The chapter can tell us where the friend stood that afternoon. What might have persuaded him to open the door stays beyond Johnson’s account.

A few years later, Johnson's own decisions put someone else in danger. In 2016, after drinking heavily, they drive with a passenger, enter an intersection, and are struck by another vehicle. Johnson goes straight rather than turning right; the car is T-boned. The passenger is taken to hospital; Johnson is arrested for DUI. Airbag powder hangs in the car, the smell of hot metal replacing the evening’s conviviality. Johnson does not know the injured passenger's surname and admits earlier safe drives were luck. The missing surname unsettles a book attentive to the names and habits of people who helped Johnson. That gap also shows how quickly the narrative returns to Johnson. Police encounters and probation fill pages while the passenger disappears from view. The passenger's trip to hospital remains almost entirely outside Johnson's account of consequences. Johnson changes practical habits, relying on rideshares, while admitting an unfinished struggle with alcohol: “I don’t want to stop drinking.” Johnson wishes to drink less. It is not yet clear what that wish will ask of them.

Professional changes come with salaries, job titles, a record of tangible gains. Johnson leaves better-paid financial work for HIV outreach, then moves toward writing after a social-media post about Simone Manuel and the racist history of swimming attracts widespread notice. The move from spreadsheets to bylines is precarious and exciting. Before long, though, the narrative begins ticking off promotions, assignments and deals. We learn what the new jobs are called more readily than what Johnson does differently because of them. Johnson's recurring description of each change as a kind of rebirth risks treating professional ambition and personal bereavement as variations on the same event. One scene does more than several announcements of success. At a bathhouse, Johnson distributes safer-sex supplies as an outreach worker and later participates as a patron; professional duty and desire meet without either cancelling the other. After the shift, the person who had offered protection outside accepts an invitation inside, where familiar patrons greet them without treating them as staff.

At home, Nanny has little patience for literary grandeur. She counts money, runs yard sales, oversees meals, and, on learning about Johnson's book advance, suggests putting aside $2,500 against future need. Nanny does not let the novelist spend tomorrow's rent in their head. During her illness, she discusses funeral arrangements just as directly. Johnson records the deterioration of a woman accustomed to organizing everyone else, then the painful rearrangement of care around her needs. Illness makes Nanny dependent without dissolving the practical authority that has shaped Johnson’s childhood. She keeps issuing instructions while family members increasingly manage the tasks her body will no longer allow. Nanny has been waiting for Johnson’s success, too. Yet her first response to a book deal concerns what must remain available after the celebration.

Death does not prevent Mildred from having an opinion about the funeral singer. Nanny's directions for Christmas cooking preserve a kind of knowledge no professional achievement can replace. Another grandmother, Mildred, receives a funeral performance so off-key that Johnson imagines her snatching the microphone away. The laugh restores her authority. Johnson can still hear the verdict Mildred would have delivered. The joke can preserve Mildred’s standards without giving her a solemn farewell speech; she remains sharp-tongued even in recollection. Johnson does not have to turn Mildred into an angel to keep her company.

In the publication chapters, an audience turns into something Johnson cannot choose or manage. “All Boys Aren’t Blue” arrives amid the pandemic; readers tell Johnson that it has helped them recognize their own lives, some crediting it with helping them survive suicidal despair. School-board meetings and library challenges soon contest the same book. In April 2025, the American Library Association named George M. Johnson's “All Boys Aren’t Blue” the most challenged book of 2024. Some of the young people whose experiences the book describes may now encounter an adult deciding whether they may read it.

More frighteningly, the dispute follows Johnson through an airport, where a hostile stranger confronts them. Afterward their team changes security arrangements. Another traveler helps during the encounter; the practical kindness of a stranger echoes Muff’s intervention years earlier. The encounter has movement and bodies in it: one man follows, another intervenes, and Johnson still has to reach the gate. Johnson has good reason to be furious. But the more sweeping political passages seldom show that same patience with sequence and consequence. That unknown passenger cannot settle a school-board argument. He steps in while the argument is still happening, before anyone knows what else the stranger might do.

In California, the expanding itinerary stops with a call: Johnson’s older brother G.G. has died after cardiac arrest. Both brothers were queer, lived with HIV, and had survived childhood sexual abuse; Johnson describes them as mirrors whose lives diverged. The mirror metaphor almost makes G.G. a version of Johnson who took another path. But memory quickly provides resistance. G.G. took the younger siblings for Buffalo wings at Applebee's and movies at the multiplex. He brought Johnson to get a first tattoo without parental permission. At family gatherings, he could turn on house music and command the room. His presence remains in the music and the illicit tattoo outing, not only in the facts that make the brothers comparable.

The ordinary outings make Johnson’s guilt especially painful. Strangers have written to say their memoir helped them stay alive, yet Johnson could not save the brother whose history in some respects resembled theirs. Johnson answers strangers’ letters; the call about G.G. comes too late for any answer. Here Johnson's art can preserve G.G. at the cinema, at a cookout, dancing to house music; it cannot bring him back to either place. Remembering Friday nights at Applebee's cannot answer why his illness ended as it did. The Applebee’s memories do not answer Johnson’s guilt, but G.G. is vividly himself within them.

Reassurance needs defending here, not apologizing for. Johnson writes for people taught that their lives are shameful, dangerous, or disposable. In an October 2026 Publishers Weekly feature, Johnson called the first memoir a “blueprint” and “healing space” and described wanting to give readers another story of change and self-grace. The letters embody that desire: the grown narrator tells a frightened younger self that more life is possible. A sentence promising more years to come might reach someone who has not imagined living them. Muff speaks to what Johnson is seeing at that moment. The letters sometimes speak to the fate of an ordeal before the reader has entered it. They also give the frightened younger self a listener when the original crisis offered none. The adult’s assurance may help a frightened reader. It can also leave the chapter with the awkward task of recovering suspense already spent.

One letter has no surviving younger self to reassure. Chapter Twelve begins not “Dear George” but “Dear Fajr,” addressing Johnson's six-year-old cousin, who died from cancer. Fajr will not grow into the later self who could read this letter and answer it. Johnson writes, “But that miracle never came for us.” The next sentence changes recipient: it never came for “you.” That small adjustment of the pronoun moves grief away from the family’s disappointment and toward Fajr’s absent future. One phrasing grieves the family’s loss; the other imagines Fajr’s denied adulthood. Repeated “never” interrupts the future-tense comfort that earlier letters could provide. Johnson keeps speaking to her. The older George has been able to correct the younger George’s fears. Fajr is denied even that ordinary privilege of growing older and disagreeing.

Perhaps the letter’s sharpest command arrives after it has spoken to Fajr: Johnson tells George to rest. A device usually used to comfort the author's younger self now instructs the older one to stop working through grief. Johnson is drafting another book and preparing a tour when the family learns that Fajr has little time left. Money and deadlines prevent a trip to see her; afterward, the familiar tactic of sitting at a desk and continuing becomes impossible. “You must rest” gives the surviving writer an order, not a forecast. Still, Johnson writes that a person dies when their story is no longer told. That belief gives Johnson a task after Fajr's death, although writing her name cannot give her more time. Fajr’s name reaches the reader, but the letter remains a conversation the writer must carry alone.

Other consolations arrive before the grief has found a shape. Late in Chapter Twelve, Johnson frames adversity through the familiar formula that testing precedes blessing. Beside Fajr's death, this vocabulary feels thinner than the letter's repeated refusal of a miracle. Gospel songs, prayer and conversations with ancestors belong to these families and scenes; they are not the problem. But “testing” and “blessing” impose a sequence that Fajr’s illness has just broken. The questions about why Fajr died do not grow any easier when she is said to have gone somewhere cancer cannot hurt her. Johnson’s question about why this particular child died survives the consoling phrase.

Under the speeches, flights and deadlines, Johnson keeps reaching for work. The accomplishments are real: money pays bills, art finds readers, and influence can open doors. But the memoir repeatedly shows work arriving where grief has barely begun: a tour needs planning, an editor needs pages, an engagement requires travel. There is always another flight to book, even when the family is counting days that cannot be replaced. After Fajr, the old strategy of writing through distress fails Johnson for a while. It is a revealing contrast with the younger author who can leave a job or change cities and call the result reinvention: grief cannot be negotiated into a better offer. Those dates occupy the same calendar, but Johnson cannot make them demand the same amount of attention.

Late in “Still Blue,” Johnson admits that wine sometimes quiets the loneliness accompanying creative freedom. Johnson slips the admission into a discussion of creative freedom, then moves on. Chapter Five already told us moderation remains a struggle. This apparently minor line resists the repeated story of a self discarded and replaced, but Johnson gives it little space. Rideshares address the choice to drive intoxicated, not the loneliness or the continuing wish to drink past a limit. The admission receives a line or two. The bottle does not disappear when the paragraph ends.

Ordinary housekeeping has the last word before the book turns toward a birthday party that has not yet occurred. Johnson prepares to leave their Los Angeles apartment and tells Jelani, a young member of their ballroom family, to take out the trash and clean his room. Jelani calls them Ma. He is twenty-five, the narrator's age when the book began with the HIV diagnosis. Johnson hears their own parents in the instruction to clean up. Yet the chapter does not depict a completed forty-year celebration. Johnson is approaching that birthday and the fifteenth anniversary of living with HIV, imagining how each might feel. There is an itinerary for the party, not a memory of having attended it. The echo of the twenty-fifth birthday is therefore exact but not symmetrical: a diagnosis once made the future unimaginable, whereas a coming celebration can be imagined precisely because the future remains outside the narrator’s possession. The memoir earns 77/100 (Goodreads: 3.50/5): genuinely good but uneven, more convincing in its scenes of care than in its consoling explanations.

Sleep, which once seemed dangerous after the HIV diagnosis, now appears in the closing pages as rest rather than surrender. The terrified twenty-five-year-old, the person who cannot open a friend's door, the brother remembered dancing, the child addressed after death, and the twenty-five-year-old asked to help maintain a home remain in different relationships to the future. Johnson's first memoir was a manifesto; this one calls itself testimony. The title still carries the bedtime prayer's fear that morning might not come. As forty approaches there are people to call, people to miss, people to remind about the trash. Johnson may assure the younger George that another morning is coming. They cannot say what the friend understood through the door. A few inches of light beneath the apartment door show that the friend is still there. Even after the friend recovers, Johnson cannot go back and make him open it that afternoon.

[Nellie Leddy · Rating 1 out of 5]

Ugh this was just not good at all. This is supposed to be their adult debut but the writing belongs squarely in the YA world. Or maybe that’s insulting to YA and it’s just bad writing. No hate or shade on them as a person or their activism but the book did noooot book for me. Also the whole ‘alcoholism’ thing is so absurd - the back of the book says “readers are invited to witness as Johnson navigates an HIV diagnosis, alcoholism..” and nowhere in this book did they navigate alcoholism at all. They literally got a DUI and then kept on drinking and that was it. Also this “I’m a child of Morrison, Giovanni Davis, and Baldwin. And like them, I’d taken great risks and great reward was surely just around the corner waiting for me.” (I’m reading an ARC and assuming there is a comma missing between Giovanni and Davis) I GAGGED at the audacity of putting themself in the same sentence as those titans of literature. This should’ve been a blog post instead of a memoir.

[Vikki · Rating 3 out of 5]

I was up and down in this book. I found parts where I could empathize, relate to, and enjoy reading about. Then there were parts where I felt he’s just adding stuff to fill the book and what makes him different than 75% of the world? What makes him the scholar on politics? This is just my opinion.

[TheNextGenLibrarian · Rating 5 out of 5]

They tried to silence their story. Instead, they’re telling an even more powerful one.
✊🏾
In And If I Die Before I Wake, @iamgmjohnson shares a deeply personal account of the past 15 years, navigating an HIV diagnosis, alcoholism, devastating loss, and the nationwide censorship of their bestselling memoir All Boys Aren’t Blue. Through grief, trauma, and public scrutiny, Johnson explores their journey toward healing, self-acceptance, and authenticity. This powerful adult memoir examines the intersections of Black identity, queerness, family, and community while celebrating the resilience required to keep moving forward.
🖤
George M. Johnson is one of those voices we NEED in literature, especially at a time when stories about Black and LGBTQ+ experiences are being challenged and removed from library shelves across the country. As a librarian who has experienced firsthand the impact of book censorship, I have tremendous respect for Johnson’s willingness to continue sharing their truth despite the backlash. What makes this memoir particularly compelling is the vulnerability required to discuss HIV, addiction, grief, and personal struggles so openly. I appreciate that Johnson doesn’t separate their experiences with censorship from the rest of their life, reminding us that the people behind challenged books are real human beings with complicated stories worth telling. There’s something incredibly powerful about refusing to be silenced while also acknowledging the pain, growth, and healing that come with living authentically. This is more than a #memoir about surviving adversity. It’s a testament to the importance of representation, community, and owning your story, even when the world tries to take it away. This #nonfiction book releases Tuesday.

CW: HIV, cancer, death, surgery, hospitalization, addiction, medical content, grief, mental health struggles, drug use, alcoholism, car accident, SA, self-harm, depression, panic attacks, racial profiling, arrest, murder, bullying, homophobia, pandemic, physical threats

[Robert G · Rating 5 out of 5]

In December 2019, I had the pleasure and privilege of reading an advance reader copy of George M. Johnson’s debut book, All Boys Aren’t Blue: A Memoir Manifesto. Like so many who would eventually read it, I was knocked out by Johnson’s gift for storytelling and knew it would become a classic. The pandemic quickly derailed what should have been a triumphant launch year for them. But readers discovered their story and critical acclaim and word of mouth, not to mention a flurry of book bans, eventually goosed sales and attention and Johnson finally got their flowers two years later when the book found its way onto the NYT Bestseller List.

They followed up their debut with We Are Not Broken, another heartfelt memoir about their childhood, growing up with their beloved Nanny; then The Flamboyants, a celebration of black queer artists during the Harlem Renaissance; and last year’s There’s Always Next Year, George’s YA fiction debut with co-author Leah Johnson, a romantic dual POV story that centered black queer characters. Now, Johnson returns to the memoir format with And If Die Before I Wake: A Memoir, which picks up where All Boys Aren’t Blue left off.

And If I Die… follows Johnson into adulthood and finds them grappling with being a black queer man in the 2010s and the early 2020s. Work, family, sex, identity, happiness, loss and grief are all represented. But it’s in Johnson’s ability to easily settle back into a self-reflective storytelling groove that they once again find many of the heart- and story-beats that truly made All Boys Aren’t Blue a gift to so many. “I have to remind myself that I live in this world as a mirror,” Johnson writes, and it’s in their gift and ability to look upon their life critically, but with compassion and generosity, that they find the kinds of stories that readers can see themselves in.

Many thanks to Farrar, Straus & Giroux and NetGalley for providing the ARC of this book. It was outstanding.

[Amanda · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is another memoir from the author of All Boys Aren’t Blue and We are Not Broken that chronicles the last 15 years. This adult memoir focuses on Johnson navigating their HIV diagnosis, alcoholism, loss, grief, and publishing All Boys Aren’t Blue. Johnson’s writing is vulnerable and compelling as they recount their recent life experiences and bring the reader into their journey of healing and self-acceptance. At the heart of this memoir, Johnson is connecting themes of Black identity, queerness, family, and community and how each has shaped their life so far and given them the tenacity to keep moving forward. Johnson’s writing and willingness to share their experiences is a gift that we should all be grateful for. Everyone should read this and their other memoirs, they are fantastic reads.

I listened to this book on audio, which is narrated by Johnson. It is definitely the format I would recommend reading in because of the emotion and tone that Johnson’s voice provides.

Thank you to @macmillan.audio and @netgalley for the opportunity to listen to this ALC.

[Chole Madison]

And If I Die Before I Wake: A Memoir is a deeply moving and unforgettable title that immediately invites reflection on life, vulnerability, and the stories that shape who we are. George M. Johnson has a remarkable way of drawing readers into personal experiences and encouraging them to think more deeply about identity, resilience, and the importance of being heard. What makes a memoir so powerful is its ability to create genuine human connection, and this book feels like the kind of story that can stay with readers long after they finish reading. It is a compelling and meaningful work that deserves to be discovered, discussed, and appreciated by a wide audience. An incredibly thought-provoking title that reminds us how much courage it takes to share one's truth. ❤️

[Rudi McKay · Rating 5 out of 5]

And If I Die Before I Wake hit me hard. As a queer reader, there were so many moments that felt painfully familiar—the fear, the vulnerability, the need to be seen and accepted, and the complicated emotions that can come with figuring out who you are in a world that doesn’t always make that easy.

George M. Johnson writes with so much honesty and heart. This felt personal in a way I wasn’t expecting, and there were parts that made me stop and just sit with what I was reading. It’s raw, emotional, beautifully queer, and the kind of story that stays with you.

This one definitely got me in the feelings. 🖤

Thank you to NetGalley and the publisher for the advanced copy.

[Coleen · Rating 3.5 out of 5]

While I really enjoyed this book, it seemed as it was rushed and not put together. He gives detailed accounts when telling a story when it wasn’t necessary, yet glosses over and leaves the reader hanging during no other. When he discusses intimacy with other men, he doesn’t talk about safe sex, which should be a given but to the reader, it leads one to believe that after his status, he is careless with partners.
He also talks about the death of a family member and not being able to attend the funeral. The next mention is of him flying out for a friend’s funeral. Just seems to ping pong all over the place.

[Ryan Brandenburg · Rating 4 out of 5]

This well-written memoir delves into the aftermath of the author’s bestselling book, “All Boys Aren’t Blue,” providing some background information along the way.

George (or Matthew) offers readers a glimpse into his younger life and the diagnosis of HIV he received at the age of 25. I found myself captivated by the author’s narrative and thoroughly enjoyed his writing style.

I would like to express my gratitude to NetGalley and the publisher, Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, for providing me with an advanced copy of this book, which is scheduled for release on November 10, 2026.

[Kenzie Nash · Rating 5 out of 5]

Thank you to the publishers for sending a copy of the ARC of this book to my B&N where I work!! Now for my review: This? This memoir here? BROKE ME. Broke my damn heart into a million little pieces. If you read George's first book, All Boys Aren't Blue, you NEED to read this book when it comes out.


And if I may share a quote from the ARC: "To create art is to truly live. People criticize, debate, and challenge our books. It's cool. It comes with the job. But we are human too. That's often the forgotten piece. We have love and lose while creating, and we too deserve grace."

[Sarah · Rating 5 out of 5]

It is always an honor to read someone’s memoir-esp George M. Johnson.

They are the author of All Boys Aren’t Blue-which I highly suggest you pick up.

We pick off in this memoir with them telling us about their HIV journey, writing, and so many things happening in their family.

Their resilience, willingness to be so raw and vulnerable, and the love that is packed in this memoir was beautiful to read.

Fantastic read and a message to continue reading and fighting against the banning of books.

Thank you NetGalley for the ALC.

[Bethany Hall · Rating 5 out of 5]

Another stunner from George. Learning about them and their life always makes me hungry for more. The journey they’ve been on. Their hunger for life. They’ve got so much to share. And I’m here for it, reader. I am HERE. Having met George, they speak how they write, and it’s a treasure. I’m looking forward to whatever they do next.

[Melody Schuldt · Rating 5 out of 5]

I finished this and felt like I'd been trusted with something precious. George writes about HIV, alcoholism, and grief with such raw honesty—but what stayed with me most was the love. The family, the friends, the chosen community that held them through it all. It's heavy, yes, but it's also warm and funny and so full of hope. I closed it feeling grateful they survived to tell this story. 💛

[Allieveryday · Rating 4.5 out of 5]

Short and enjoyable listen.

George has lived so many lives and it inspires me that he knows when his time in one area is up and he packs up and moves. His career changes. He takes accountability of his mistakes and learns. He lives.
I could have listened to 4 more hours.

[Lin A. 📚🎶 · Rating 5 out of 5]

An incredible follow-up to All Boys Aren’t Blue. I love that it felt more mature in a way. As always, George really knows how to string together their life’s stories to bring a beautiful message to the readers.

[ryan ⚡︎ · Rating 4 out of 5]

4.75 stars

probably their best work yet, and i still think 'all boys aren't blue' is amazing

[Ron Frampton · Rating 4 out of 5]

A memoir of the author's HIV diagnosis,struggles with alcoholism for over fifteen years.

[Liralen]

3.5 stars; review to come November 2026

[Lisa · Rating 4.5 out of 5]

I have always loved George, and this one grabbed my heart so hard! Such a beautiful reflection on life, family, health, queerness, writing, career, covid, book bans, dating, identity, found family, and more. I have an arc, but I decided to listen to this because George narrates it themself, and is heartfelt, fierce, and fabulous. "My first book was a manifesto. This book is my testimony."
I am certain Nanny is so very proud of you, Matt <3

[Ada · Rating 5 out of 5]

And If I Die Before I Wake continues where All Boys Aren't Blue leaves off. The author instantly hooked me from the start. They are a natural born storyteller and I will continue to read about their life as long as they continue to share it with us.

Thanks to NetGalley and FSG books for the gifted e-copy in exchange for an honest review.