His freshman year of college, Alex Lemon was supposed to be the star catcher on the Macalester College baseball team. He was the boy getting every girl, the hard-partying kid everyone called Happy. In the spring of 1997, he had his first stroke. For two years Lemon coped with his deteriorating health by sinking deeper into alcohol and drug abuse. His charming and carefree exterior masked his self-destructive and sometimes cruel behavior as he endured two more brain bleeds and a crippling depression. After undergoing brain surgery, he is nursed back to health by his free-spirited artist mother, who once again teaches him to stand on his own. Alive with unexpected humor and sensuality, Happy is a hypnotic self-portrait of a young man confronting the wreckage of his own body; it is also the deeply moving story of a mother’s redemptive and healing powers. Alex Lemon’s Technicolor sentences pop and sing as he writes about survival—of the body and of the human spirit.
Alex Lemon's poetry collections include Hallelujah Blackout (2008 Milkweed Editions) and Mosquito (Tin House Books 2006). A memoir is also forthcoming from Scribner. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in numerous magazines including AGNI, BOMB, Denver Quarterly Gulf Coast, Kenyon Review, New England Review, Pleiades and Tin House. Among his awards are a 2005 Literature Fellowship in Poetry from the National Endowment for the Arts and a 2006 Minnesota Arts Board Grant. He is the co-editor of LUNA: A Journal of Poetry and Translation and is a frequent contributor to The Bloomsbury Review. He teaches in the English Department at TCU in Fort Worth, TX.
Lemon’s memoir focuses on the diagnosis, treatment and recovery of a brain malformation which is discovered while the author is a young athlete at a tight-knit mid-Western liberal arts college. Lemon chronicles a hyper-masculine existence of drunken parties, substance abuse, male bonding, locker-room talk, and promiscuity and a substantial amount of the book’s dialogue is comprised of one expletive after another. The author indulges in a fair amount of physical abuse and self-mutilation of his own body, which can be connected in part back to earlier childhood experiences of incest which is touched upon briefly in a flashback sequence in the book.
While this is a fairly straight-laced vs. experimental prose narrative, Lemon uses a certain amount of poetic liberty and device, which very often interrupts the narrative by refocusing the reader’s attention on strange turns of phrase and quirky metaphors. The primary device deployed is the use of nouns transformed into verbs:
“I shotgun the beer” “Blood curtains my teeth” “Knuckling my groin” “the party cords around the basement” “I pyramid the rocks” “I smoke up and mummy myself” “she slowly napkins her mouth” “I want to puddle into the floor” “shipping tankers domino the hem of the water” “anesthesia zippers me up” “noise carousels above me” “my lips are peeling again, swollen and strawberried” “I Zorro the cane” “I gimp into Snelling” “brightness porcupining my face” “siphoning out of our clothes”
Scattered throughout the book, these phrases are inconsistent with the rest of the narrative language, which shifts between high and low vernacular, though extracted and taken out of the whole, become interesting fragments of language.
Lemon also uses unusual metaphors:
“my heart flops up and down like a Ziploc bag of ground beef” “when the neurologist turns the lights own, it’s a charred jar dropped over me” “rain splatting the windshield like chum” “a spray of birds is flapping madly, like puppets hanging from the sky”
The ground meat metaphor is awkward, but the rain likened to chum is evocative of a heavy downpour.
This book was a challenging to stay with and finish out. At times, I found myself disliking the young narrator who post-op, "flicks the scabby crumbs [of his surgical wound:] at strangers' food and cups." But juxtaposed with more complex scenes such as the narrator's recollection of the first bed that his mother ever made him "egg foam and a salt of cardboard, raised off of the floor by bricks" and the narrator's discovery of a frozen dead mouse beneath that bed, Lemon begins to create more complexity to his narrator's history and character. Yet the author writes of his fear of being seen as weak (after the surgery) or vulnerable - and while I think this admission and self-disclosure is quite revealing and reflective of courage, I'm not sure that as a project, Happy digs beneath the surface of physical suffering. I've been reading Ben Saenz's work a lot lately, another poet, who works within prose writing and think that Saenz addresses themes of shame, incest, family violence, and psychological trauma in a more illuminating way.
I set out to read this all in one gulp, but I realized a little ways in that I was going to have to switch gears and move to smaller doses. Especially when the book moved into material about the brain surgery, the combination of the vividly-rendered scenes with rich language made it better to experience it in smaller intense bursts. The (often) short chapters really packed an emotional wallop, and I needed time to allow each one to land.
On the whole, this was a memoir bursting with life. Humor. Pathos. Pain. All right there in your face. It was also the very real transformation of a person on the page, and a change that isn't fraught with sweeping "and then I realized" type epiphanies. The evolution in consciousness came purely through the way the writer saw the world. It was a startling vision.
"My new body. My girlfriend. My friends. My life. And I'm too afraid to let anyone see me. I've always been afraid people would think I was a pussy, and now, that's exactly what I am."
"Happy" is the story of the young American male. Probably it would be of great interest to anyone curious about what a wide range of ways to be angry really exist in this world. He loves his mother, but hates that love. His attachments to his friends are always ambiguous, and sealed only with sentences that contain "fuck" and "shit" more than once ("You're fucking bush league! BUSH LEAGUE HAPPY!"). His love for girls is hopelessly symbolic of his deeper desire for purity, pure attachments. He is hopelessly self-absorbed.
Alex's problematic attachments become the subject of close meditation when he discovers, in his freshman year, that he is suffering from brain hemorrhaging. His illness opens up a gap between him and the person he thought he was, which allows him to write. At least, so the reader must deduce, for this half-way lyrical look at the angry young man of today ("The world whirls when I crack open") contains no direct examination of the craft of writing, or its role in the protagonist's story. There's also only the clumsiest sense of direction to the narrative arc -- it's drafted out in 11 parts, but I don't have the energy to figure out why. Maybe there's a climax in parts 6-10, maybe not. I suppose the great victory of this book is that the boy learns to have a healthy attachment to his mother, but then, as Chris Rock would say, "What you want, a cookie? You supposed to respect yo momma, punk. Why is that so damn meritorious?"
PS to self: Now I remember where I heard about the book -- in the Fort Worth Star-Telegram, when I was down for Grandma's funeral. They actually liked it, presumably for its realistic depiction of medical trauma, the experience of angry adolescents, and those aforesaid half-lyricism, e.g. "Over the ochre butte a blackbird wheels in the sky." But these lines come off as unnecessary, and therefore facile to this reader.
During his college freshman year Alex Lemon suffered his first stroke. An unexpected event in one so young, who was hugely popular, athletic, doing well in his classes. It's not often that the experience of a stroke has been shared with so much eloquence. But the fact was that Alex Lemon's disability is lodged in what one doctor describes as "an eloquent part of the brain." Lemon is a talented published poet, his third collection is coming out next month. But the irony of his nickname "Happy" is really the only thing ironic about this memoir which is harrowing, beautiful, and written in what has been described as technicolor prose. His outgoing personality, forged by his mother with love and unconventionality, results in a circle of friends enviable in their loyalty and affection. There are unfiltered snapshots of his pre-college life, which also rounds out the affectionate portrait of his mother
Another "Editors' Buzz" book---this has the foundation of a "beating the odds" and "surviving illness and addiction" but supposedly is much more than that---Mom, this one I think you'd be interested in.
A favorite memoir. Right up there with memoirs by other favorite writers of mine like Gregory Orr, Chris Offutt, Nick Flynn, and Tom Andrews. Alex was already an A+ poet and now he's an A+ prose stylist, too.
I found the book to be an 'experiential' book with regards to the author (Lemon's) outstanding conveyance of the experience of the brain injury. He wrote in such a way that 'made vivid' his own experience. Especially vivid is the part where he first walked and ran (after his surgery). That was a joyful and moving part of the book.
Beyond that, I got frustrated in Lemon's approach to the story. He spent much time detailing his college debauchery. This would have worked for me, but the writing did not focus on any of the misgivings that Lemon had (at the time) with his lifestyle. There was a simmering 'self dissatisfaction' that Lemon did not explore in this book. Lemon was surely torn between his more sensitive/artistic side and the jock world that he lived in. But this dilemma does not come to the fore. The focus on this book was more anecdotal. I just think it would have been more interesting had Lemon 'dug into his own thoughts' more during his college times. I would have enjoyed a more of a dostoevskian Notes from the Underground approach, where the narrator really analyzes his own behavior/motives.
I read this with particular interest since I have my own brain injury story. I live with the vertigo (as does the author Lemon), but the author lives with more lingering problems (including vision problems) than I do. I imagine that he is overcoming a lot (more than we all can realize) to write this book and to hold down a job. Mucho kudos to Lemon.
Many of Happy's enthusiastic reviewers seemed to feel the need to begin with an apology. Sure, there are lots of books out there about young people confronting fatal diseases and just as many no-holds-barred chronicles of men leaving adolescence behind (though not without letting us in on the best parts first). But as Laura Miller of Salon.com observed, "this one is something special." Perhaps it's the fact that Lemon's later career would prove he had a poet inside him the whole time: some of the book's well-chosen details certainly bear that out. But Miller found Happy persuasive not necessarily because of its prose but because of its honesty about Miller's relationships with those he loved and those he hurt--particularly his mother, universally cited as the book's most interesting character and reason enough to read it. This is an excerpt from a review published in Bookmarks magazine.
This book was a quick read. I picked it up in the first place because I have had brain surgery too, as did my father and an ex-boyfriend. I can relate to the sensation of not knowing your own body anymore. Lemon describes this odd feeling with vibrant language and he captures it very well. Among the best descriptions: feeling yourself fall over to one side as if in slo-mo and not being able to do anything about it, the vertigo (which I still have 23 years after my operation), the double vision, not being able to make your limbs move. Many parts of the book were heart-wrenching for me. I loved his relationship with his ma. The characters were great and wonderfully painted without getting painfully specific (an accomplishment). Although the parts when he parties with his friends, the dialogue is quite douch-y. I don't know that I would have been good friends with Lemon. Maybe just casual friends, we would party together occasionally, or be in a same class. But we would bond.
This was not as good as I expected. I thought the premise was interesting. A boy around my age suffers from multiple strokes, and his struggle with the debilitating symptoms of brain hemorrhaging is chronicled. Because his life is drastically changed, he turns to drugs and alcohol to get through the ordeal. He also goes through a personality change, becoming aggressive toward his family and friends.
The premise is not what I had a problem with. It was the erratic writing. In some parts, he tries to be poetic while in other parts, he tries to be colloquial. It was hard to follow, and it didn't capture the emotions of the story.
Alex Lemon has an undependable brain, it bleeds from time to time, causing vertigo, wobbly vision, and the loss of his college baseball career. On the other hand, the surgery could kill him.
A poet, Lemon describes his illness--and his life--as Kerouac might have, jazzy rhythm, made-up words, and luminous imagery. We don't always know where we are or what's going on, but when we catch up with him, it's a wild ride.
The book forms a tribute to his "Ma," who demands his return from darkness.
The vivid metaphors and unexpected descriptions in this book create a language made to make a devastating diagnosis come to life in this memoir of a college student mistaking the effects of heavy drug and alcohol use for those of a bleeding brain. This book could have used a wee bit more editing when it came to the amount of swearing present but the poetic nature of the rest of the book made this read hauntingly devastating and beautifully alive at the same time. I'm looking forward to reading some of his poetry.
Happy is a real life honest memoir about a hard partying college kid. It could almost be comparable to A Million Little Pieces, except it is real. And not quite so graphic. Alex Lemon is just a kid who comes face to face with his own mortality at the tender age of nineteen.
The book is well written and fluid. This memoir almost reads like a novel. Full of coming of age angst and even a little bit of fear. Given the fact that the author is telling his story, you know there is a happy ending, but at what cost?
I really loved Alex Lemon's memoir. He goes from happy-go-lucky college jock dude to dizzy, confused college dude who finds out he's got a bleeding brain. There are two elements that I really dug in this book: Lemon's a poet so his language often turns super-visual and beautifully off-kilter, wonderfully illustrating his blurry state of mind, especially around the time of his brain surgery. The second thing I loved was Alex's mom. What a firecracker she is. I fell in love with her, maybe even more than I fell in love with Alex.
I thought the book was disapointing. I couldn't stand the structure of how it was wrote.It was annoying and jumpy to me. It made it hard to truly understand what he was going through when you had to sift through all the vulgar talk intertwined with how he was truly feeling. I feel bad typing this since it is his memoir, but for how intense of an experience he went through I felt his focus was more on the girls he was with and the parties he went to.
This book was the true story of a college boy who experiences bleeding in his brain and ends up having to have brain surgery. He's a baseball player and enjoys partying and having fun, but he has to change his ways and reevaluate what's important to him once his health starts to suffer. Sometimes it was hard to read about his suffering, but ultimately it is a good story about dealing with one's health, friends, and family.
LANGUAGE!!!!! I don't recommend!!! The story was covered in a thick layer of foul language. Too bad because the story could have been educational or at least interesting to see how someone coped with a major brain bleed. He has never totally recovered and is alive and is a poet. Wonder if his poetry is as profane as this memoir?
If you read it once, that's cool. But if you wanna get sexy w/ the words, dream little dreams in A's meteoric-metaphoric-tyrannosauric language, I say give it a minimum of 4 reads. And read Mosquito and Hallelujah Blackout before, during, & after.
As a published poet, Lemon brings an amazing voice to his difficult story. I could clearly picture his world and sympathize with all that he faced, much of which was brought to light by his illness rather than caused by it.
at some points I really liked how the author flirted raucously with language, turning nouns into verbs and vice versa. for me, after a while his whimsy got tedious. I wanted less braindamaged rambling and more solid meat of story.
Disappointingly shallow in scope, he glosses over the rampant substance abuse that would have also caused him issues during his college career. The story is deeper than he allows the narrative to take the reader.