Review: Well-Publicized "Portrait of an Addict as a Young Man" is Very Familiar Story

After the deluge of addiction memoirs over the last few decades (and the similar deluge of novels of "thinly-disguised" addiction fiction), I would've expected the reaction to Portrait of an Addict as a Young Man, gay literary agent Bill Clegg's memoir about his own descent into crack addiction, to have been one gigantic, collective shrug — especially since it's pretentiously told in a stream-of-consciousness style meant to mimic the James Joyce classic Portrait of the Artist as a Young Men.

Instead, the book sold for a reported $350,000 advance and the author has been featured in eerily glowing profiles in Vogue and the New York Times.

What gives?

Oh, it's readable enough. It's not pleasant reading — addiction-related works never are. But it's competently done.

On the other hand, it doesn't say anything that hasn't been said thousands of times before.

Bill Clegg "had it all": money, a great partner, a new business as a successful literary agent in New York. Then begins his spectacular fall from grace, all courtesy of crack.

The book is written in a disjointed (and decidedly "high-brow") writing style that changes from first to third person and jumps around in time (meant, of course, to be reminiscent of the addled mind of an addict). Through it all, we learn about the "successful" life that Clegg destroyed; the roots of his deep insecurities (repressed memories of urination problems as a kid which, frankly, still don't make much sense to me); and mostly, the depths of depravity and self-deception into which a person can descend while in the thrall of crack.

As the book jacket makes clear, Clegg loses so much weight so quickly, he has to keep having leather-workers punch more holes in his belt, just so he can keep his pants up.

To the book's credit, Clegg (pictured) doesn't try to "justify" or rationalize his behavior. Then again, isn't that what's trendy in addiction memoirs these days — the "warts and all," take-me-or-leave-me approach? (But the book is still shockingly solipsistic: the only other real character in the book is Clegg's ex-partner, Noah, who is, not surprisingly, described in saint-like terms — the least Clegg could do, given all the crap he pulled.)

What the book doesn't really do is give any new insight into addiction or even the particular problem of drug addiction among gay men — except in the very general way that "shame" contributes to addiction.

Even on a purely "voyeuristic" level (which — it must be said — is what drives much of the whole addiction genre, right?), it's not that shocking what Clegg does. Maybe it's a measure of how many  similar books I've read like this, but I found myself thinking, "Well, okay, that's pathetic, but it's not that pathetic."

Look, I'm not trying to knock Clegg's recovery, which I applaud. Much of this book was apparently written in therapy and not originally intended for publication (although I find that story really hard to swallow, coming from a literary agent).

But great therapy doesn't necessarily make for great reading.

So why is this book getting all this attention?

Here's my theory: Bill Clegg was a honcho in the publishing industry. Something interesting happened to him. Because of that, everyone took notice — and when it came time to promote the book, everyone took note of that too.

It's great that the publishing industry is being so supportive of one of their own. It's too bad it wasn't because he had some great new story to tell.