Jerry Stahl

Well, that was a ride. In "Permanent Midnight" Jerry Stahl consumes industrial quantities of drugs, has a daughter, blows up two relationships, somehow gets clean, and yes, writes a few scripts for ALF. The drug-and-recovery memoir is a well-populated genre -- not that I can stop myself from reading 'em -- and I wouldn't call "Permanent Midnight" the best of them. Not every one of these books has to end in a nice and neat little homily about loving yourself and working hard to overcome adversity, but at one point in this one, the head writer at one of the brainstorming sessions in which Stahl participated in looked at him and yelled "That's not a plot, it's just a bunch of sentences!" That's a hell of a thing to say to a writer, but he probably wasn't wrong. Stahl, in the opening pages of this one, more or less admits that his life often comes off as a series of trainwrecks. Years ago, I read the entirety of Stahl's "Perv" on a long flight and that, too, seemed like an endless, if entertaining, series of encounters with the bizarre. At least now I know where the author got his story ideas from. "Permanent Midnight" often seems less like Jerry Stahl's story and more like a drug diary.

Which isn't always a bad thing, honestly, and it's at least kind of understandable: who really expects junkies to live stable, goal-oriented lives? And Jerry, to his credit, can really milk his drug experiences on the page. While some former users offer one, neat description of what it's like to get -- as the kids say -- completely faded on heroin or crack, Jerry gets positively baroque. Eyeballs melt, brains splatter, the paint on walls boils. At one point, Stahl compares breathing while quitting smack cold turkey to "inhaling a cheese grater." Whatever deficiencies he has a writer at the sentence or story level, the man has a real talent for indelible descriptions and cutting jokes. Even so, all of this wears thin pretty quickly. Stahl sometimes seems like one of those guys at your local alcoholics anonymous meeting that wants to quit but really, really misses his drinking days, too. And now wonder, really. The experiences he describes sound unbelievably intense. It's no wonder that clean life can't really compete.

And that's leads us to another problem I have with "Permanent Midnight." There's tragedy to spare in the author's past, and Stahl presents himself as something of a misfit, a guy who never quite fit in, and therefore, the sort of person who'd be naturally attracted to the L.A. cultural underworld. But there's a nasty edge to this books that smacks (sorry) of aging hipsterdom, a bitterness born of watching your cultural moment fade. Really, any book this intense would have to be written by -- or at least about the experiences of -- a young man. But Stahl was in LA when Nirvana, armed with a few monster riffs, some fuzzy solos, and some inscrutable lyrics, ended the career of dozens of hair metal bands, and simultaneously, much of the counterculture that had thrived in their shadow. Stahl wouldn't be caught dead in flannel, and he's not shy about letting you know it. But he seems peeved that the action is suddenly is suddenly elsewhere and that he's not as hip as he used to be, which is perhaps a less than noble sentiment. Honestly, there are numerous episodes in this book that don't really put Stahl in the best light, and whether you like this one might depend on how much you like him. Sometimes that's difficult to do, but at least he cops to being a born degenerate. When hard-working normies make him for a drug addict, he can't help but sympathize -- at least a little -- with their disdain for him. Heck, most of the time, he doesn't walk into a room, he slimes into it. An annoying turn of phrase? Maybe? But let's give the author some credit: he seems to know exactly who he is. I'll recommend this one -- as so many other books I've reviewed here on LibraryThing -- to fans of midlife memoirs. But I found it to be a tough read, and your tolerance -- I can't stop with the drug puns! -- for both the book and the author may vary.… (more)

Full disclosure: My interest in this book was piqued enough to click the LibraryThing early reviewer request button because I had visited Dachau as a child (twice—my dad led student exchange programs to Germany), and because I’d had my own miserable bus tour experiences. But once I learned I’d won it I was filled with dread, which only got worse when the book arrived in the mail. I avoided opening it for a month because I was pretty sure I was not going to like anything about it. The glowing review I’m about to give could be a result of the book not living down to my expectations, but I don’t think so.

Stahl is a sensitive, observant, and articulate writer, and his telling is honest, disturbing, profound, and humorous. The focus is the tour, including the destinations and dynamics of his tour group. The style is informal and intimate, like reading someone’s letters—if the someone is gifted. The author is very much a part of the narrative, intentionally, and that is one of the books strengths. The attempt to make sense of the historic sites themselves, as well as the tourism that has arisen around them, is extremely personal. Stahl’s own troubled life and his family’s history provide poignant context for the surreal travelogue.

Stahl introduces himself as a hapless jerk, using the example of the purchase of expensive smart luggage he can’t afford and is clueless to operate, and continues to be frank about his shortcomings throughout the book, while being fairly generous in his characterization of those around him, even those who appear not to deserve it. The tour is described chronologically, with vignettes ranging from the amusing to the terrifying. He also includes compelling accounts of individual perpetrators and corporate facilitators of the Nazi regime, and contemplates the legacy and progeny of the population that brought Hitler to power and carried out the atrocities. Apt parallels to current events (as of 2022) are drawn.

I enjoy memoirs and travel accounts, but I was not expecting this to be the page turner (I noted this before I knew Ben Stiller had said it, so that’s 2 independent votes for page turner) that it was. However, I was most surprised by the affinity I felt for Stahl. I appreciated his critical self-awareness, his honest account of what he saw and how he felt about it, and his insights on hatred, evil, and suffering. Although a pretty odd and unlikely work, I would not consider Nein, Nein, Nein! a weak or trivial contribution to the Holocaust literature, and it is worth reading.… (more)