BOOKS
The Adderall Diaries: A Memoir of Moods, Masochism, and Murder
/ Michael Miller
08.07.09
In fact, a prosecutor might create this sort of chart for use in the courtroom, and it would convey, without a doubt, the complexity of Elliott’s book, its deep interconnectedness. What it wouldn’t capture is the author’s tone, his rhythm, his pace, all of which lend the stories a dimension of ethics and a melancholic hum. He’s a master of analogues, but he’s not interested in simple x = y scenarios so much as the tensions between x and y, and how to deal with those tensions—between parents and kids, or even between America and Iraq.
Elliott is a dogged pursuer of truths, but what gives his book its real heft is how well he navigates the shadier areas of uncertainty. Take, for example, his proclivity for masochism, the one storyline that never quite integrates itself into Elliott’s broader narrative. Explanations for his taste for domination are suggested: The author’s sadist girlfriends take care of him like a mother, and beat him up just like his dad did. But the author knows this is too tidy, and he knows how to let these scenes provocatively float among more rigorously described events. Storytelling can be a form of domination itself, but it can’t control everything. Just look at Sean: He’s become a born-again Christian.
“Understanding,” Elliott writes, “is not always an option.”
* * *
But writing still matters—for Elliott, you get the urgent sense that it has to. And so he goes to see the cause of his writer’s block: his dad, a man he still loves.
“I can’t wake up one day with a healthy relationship with my mother and father and a sense of abundance. I wake up instead and I think my father hates me, and I know that I am partly to blame. I’ve written about him and made him into a villain. I’ve made him unhappy. I’ve mythologized myself and withheld my love, pretended my actions were justified by his actions. I put that on with my clothes and wear it throughout the day.”
The father and son meet up in Chicago, but don’t call it resolution—it’s more of a showdown between two conflicting interpretations of the past. What does feel resolved is the author’s newfound approach to contradicting narratives. He knows that this is his story, and other people are going to disagree with it.
In a way, Elliott is just another storyteller, justifying his actions and selling people out. But I think he’s earned his right to tell his history. He’s not perfect, and he must get some things wrong. But it’s inspiring to watch him work to find varying shades of truth. He’s stubbornly interested in getting things right, whether he’s writing about himself or someone else. He’s not going to let 20/20 use him to sensationalize the trial.
And why should he? A truly gifted writer, he can make the trial fascinating without relying on truth-bending gimmicks. Nor does he need any gimmicks when writing about his own hardscrabble past or his depressive present. He’s a mess, but he dives into his own personal volcano with the same rigor and style he uses when writing about the trial. I truly enjoyed visiting his inferno—and the moral calculus he developed while emerging from it. I’m sure he still has problems, but so it goes. If we’re lucky, that means more books.
Michael Miller is an editor and writer at Time Out New York. He lives in Brooklyn.
*You can preorder a copy of The Adderall Diaries here. Also check out the journal Stephen Elliott edits, The Rumpus.
Elliott is a dogged pursuer of truths, but what gives his book its real heft is how well he navigates the shadier areas of uncertainty. Take, for example, his proclivity for masochism, the one storyline that never quite integrates itself into Elliott’s broader narrative. Explanations for his taste for domination are suggested: The author’s sadist girlfriends take care of him like a mother, and beat him up just like his dad did. But the author knows this is too tidy, and he knows how to let these scenes provocatively float among more rigorously described events. Storytelling can be a form of domination itself, but it can’t control everything. Just look at Sean: He’s become a born-again Christian.
“Understanding,” Elliott writes, “is not always an option.”
* * *
But writing still matters—for Elliott, you get the urgent sense that it has to. And so he goes to see the cause of his writer’s block: his dad, a man he still loves.
“I can’t wake up one day with a healthy relationship with my mother and father and a sense of abundance. I wake up instead and I think my father hates me, and I know that I am partly to blame. I’ve written about him and made him into a villain. I’ve made him unhappy. I’ve mythologized myself and withheld my love, pretended my actions were justified by his actions. I put that on with my clothes and wear it throughout the day.”
The father and son meet up in Chicago, but don’t call it resolution—it’s more of a showdown between two conflicting interpretations of the past. What does feel resolved is the author’s newfound approach to contradicting narratives. He knows that this is his story, and other people are going to disagree with it.
In a way, Elliott is just another storyteller, justifying his actions and selling people out. But I think he’s earned his right to tell his history. He’s not perfect, and he must get some things wrong. But it’s inspiring to watch him work to find varying shades of truth. He’s stubbornly interested in getting things right, whether he’s writing about himself or someone else. He’s not going to let 20/20 use him to sensationalize the trial.
And why should he? A truly gifted writer, he can make the trial fascinating without relying on truth-bending gimmicks. Nor does he need any gimmicks when writing about his own hardscrabble past or his depressive present. He’s a mess, but he dives into his own personal volcano with the same rigor and style he uses when writing about the trial. I truly enjoyed visiting his inferno—and the moral calculus he developed while emerging from it. I’m sure he still has problems, but so it goes. If we’re lucky, that means more books.
Michael Miller is an editor and writer at Time Out New York. He lives in Brooklyn.
*You can preorder a copy of The Adderall Diaries here. Also check out the journal Stephen Elliott edits, The Rumpus.
