Blackout: Remembering the Things I Drank to Forget
by Sarah Hepola
You can tell from the beginning pages that the author of Blackout is no stranger to the written word. She crafts her sentences carefully, uses conjuring adjectives, and places witty phrases in the midst of her harrowing tale. She also knows how to grab her audience, placing a sex scene in the first few pages. I’m in the minority and almost didn’t buy this book because I was afraid it would be too salacious.
While there is an entire chapter dedicated to “sober sex” as she rediscovers how to have intimate relationships without the crutch of alcohol to numb her feelings and aid in social awkwardness, the rest of the book isn’t chock-full of sex scenes. It’s a memoir about one woman’s descent into alcoholism and her way out. She explains the definition of a blackout and writes her story around those parts of her life. Passages are filled in with “a friend later told me I said. . .” and it’s still a very vivid lesson even though she’s not directly telling us about her behavior.
This isn’t a perfect memoir, and it doesn’t discuss every facet of why she turned to alcohol. She’s not likable very often, but she doesn’t need you to like her. She’s just an ordinary girl raised in the era that glorifies independent career women who drink cocktails every Friday with the girls. If this subject matter sounds interesting to you, you’ll probably like it. I don’t know the perspective of a reader who identifies with her, but to a mere observer, it is informative and well-written.
While there is an entire chapter dedicated to “sober sex” as she rediscovers how to have intimate relationships without the crutch of alcohol to numb her feelings and aid in social awkwardness, the rest of the book isn’t chock-full of sex scenes. It’s a memoir about one woman’s descent into alcoholism and her way out. She explains the definition of a blackout and writes her story around those parts of her life. Passages are filled in with “a friend later told me I said. . .” and it’s still a very vivid lesson even though she’s not directly telling us about her behavior.
This isn’t a perfect memoir, and it doesn’t discuss every facet of why she turned to alcohol. She’s not likable very often, but she doesn’t need you to like her. She’s just an ordinary girl raised in the era that glorifies independent career women who drink cocktails every Friday with the girls. If this subject matter sounds interesting to you, you’ll probably like it. I don’t know the perspective of a reader who identifies with her, but to a mere observer, it is informative and well-written.