100 books like Trejo

Corrections in Ink grabbed me from the first paragraph and wouldn’t let go.

It’s a beautifully and fiercely told memoir about Kari Blakinger’s journey from high school figure skater and Cornell college student to drug addition, to prison, and back out into the free world.

Her insights about her time in jail and prison – the conditions of her confinement, interactions with guards, relationships with other prisoners, and the psychological impact of doing time – stick with you, indelibly.

Melissa Bond’s harrowing memoir is so close to my own experience—a new mother struggling with a descent into a sleepless vortex where she finds herself slowly detaching from reality. It’s difficult and painful but also a necessary story to share, as we find these struggles that new mothers face are so much more common than we think. 

This book explores addiction, mental illness, motherhood, and, ultimately, the love that carries us through. It’s a serious page-turner—I devoured it in one sitting.

Journalist Jenny Valentish knows treatment, AA, and the pathways to addiction and recovery. It’s brutally honest, and her story reads like so many others – some who didn’t make it to recovery. She further educates the reader with research and a better understanding of the psychology and physiology that drive female addiction with humor and exceptional insight.

When I read Junky, I could hear the soundtrack of Low Reed’s Walk on the Wild Side, followed by the extended guitar solo on the live version of Heroin. This is Burroughs using a straightforward narrative before he decided to cut up everything and destroy the notion that there was any purpose to a beginning, middle, and end (see Naked Lunch and beyond!). Junky pulses with the desperation of an addict’s life in post-war New York and drifting down south to places like New Orleans and Mexico City. It’s a unique insight into a drug-infested lifestyle, before drugs became a fashionable accessory. It has authenticity dripping through it and is a testament to Burroughs own addiction, which at one point caused his father to collect him and move him back to live with his parents (just like Lou Reed did before he went on to ‘make… show more.

I studied with a most fascinating sociologist of deviance Howard S. (but we called him, Howie) Becker.

His most famous book is Outsiders. The topics may seem tame by today’s standards but at a time when graduate school was often boring and filled with inscrutable jargon, Howie’s topics were fun: becoming a marijuana smoker, a jazz pianist, even a medical student.

He sent out us out into the city of Chicago to do “participant observation”, meaning, become part of the people you study, usually people deviating from the norm. Observe, observe, observe! At all hours of the day. I remember my paper was on a “hippie pot store”; other classmates studied drug dealers, cross-dressers, or people who work at an abortion clinic. In short, these were dangerous observations at times.

Other sociologists of deviance and their books that influenced me were Erving Goffman (Stigma); Laud Humphreys (… show more.

Kate Braverman lived in Los Angeles for years and set many of her stories in this city, like Frantic Transmissions To And From Los Angeles or Palm Latitudes. In Lithium for Medea, Braverman tells the sad and dark story of Rose and her dysfunctional family, a love-hate relationship with her mother, her dying father, and drugs, lots of them. It is a disturbing, cruel, and irreverently poetic story. I survived her writing workshop in the early nineties. A harsh and not very sympathetic teacher, Kate taught me the weight of words and I thank her for that. My copies of her books are yellow from the excessive use of my highlighter. If you enjoy reading poetic prose, Kate Braverman is the master to go to.

This book also deals with addiction science, and Hanson is a gifted writer who’s able to express complex ideas in simple, straightforward language. And he also devotes a good deal of time to the care and healing aspects of substance abuse. It takes one to know one, as the saying goes, and Mr. Hanson knows from personal experience and extensive investigative research what it’s like to struggle with addiction. Underrated and underread, this book is right up there with the best on the subjects of addiction and recovery.

Using short stories, essays, and memoir selections from such authors as Poe, Tolstoy, Dorthey Parker, and Cheever, this book is an anthology of literature on addiction. Poe’s short story, “The Black Cat,” captures the madness that comes of alcoholism. Tolstoy’s essay offers sage advice about the nature of addiction. A lesser-known but standout story by Donna Steiner, “Sleeping with Alcohol,” teaches us what it’s like to be in love with an alcoholic and watching that person self-destruct. I’m a professor of English, and I used this book in a class I taught called “The Literature of Addiction,” alongside Dirk Hanson’s The Chemical Carousel as a primer for better understanding addiction before launching into stories, essays, and memoirs about it. The short stories in Under the Influence: The Literature of Addiction are entertaining as well as enlightening, and its other selections are just as informative as the books I previously mentioned.

This book is a very human story of teenage vulnerability and social instability.

Tense and gritty, this book doesn’t disappoint. Honest in its portrayal of drug misuse and abuse it perhaps isn’t for the faint-hearted. Ideal for those who seek to understand the underbelly of society. Written in a no-nonsense style, this is a novel that naturally flows.

Hard to put down, I read this book in a day. Well written, this is a story where you quickly immerse yourself in the characters who are so unnervingly real.

“If only.” Sheff‘s book about his meth-addicted son dives deep into the “if only” agonies of parents who question their every action, wondering what they could have done differently, or said (or not said) in a different way to help their children avoid the horrors of drug addiction. I asked the same questions in my book, The Only Life I Could Save, and I came to the same terrifying conclusion: We cannot make the choice of life or death for our children.

My favorite lines: “I am in a silent war against an enemy as pernicious and omnipresent as Evil . . . only Satan himself could have designed a disease that has self-deception as a symptom, so that its victims deny they are afflicted, and will not seek treatment, and will vilify those on the outside who see what’s happening.”