Sarah Hepola, the personal essays editor at Salon, begins her courageous and very funny memoir in the middle of a sexual encounter in Paris while on a magazine assignment. She does not remember who the man is and recalls only returning to her hotel the previous evening after a night out with a friend. She's woken up after another blackout, beginning another day of trying to fill in the blank spaces where pivotal scenes should be.
Hepola grew up in Dallas, the painfully self-conscious child of non-conformist parents who could leave the same can of beer untouched in the refrigerator for days. She had her first beer at six and was hooked. Hepola is unambiguous about the costs of alcoholism. Friends drift away. Her health and self-esteem suffer in predictable ways. But Blackout: Remembering the Things I Drank to Forget is anything but mundane: Hepola is a wonderful writer who can convey wrenching candor and wit in the same breath. "There's a certain brokenness that cannot be fixed by all the downward dogs and raw juice in the world," she writes when a friend offers yoga schedules and healthy food.
Hepola looks at contemporary culture's ubiquitous promotion of drinking, the reward for a long day or a vital symbol of celebration or an essential social lubricant. Her questions are provocative and important, and they add heft to a narrative already brimming with insight, humor and courage. This stunning memoir will resonate with readers struggling to understand their demons, and it marks the arrival of a very talented writer. --Jeanette Zwart, freelance writer and reviewer