Customer Reviews

How to Stop Time: Heroin from A to Z

5 star:		(11)
4 star:		(9)
3 star:		(8)
2 star:		(3)
1 star:		(7)

 

 

I am torn on this book, absolutely torn. Marlowe's writing style is wonderful. She is obviously very intelligent. The problem *I* have here is that what she went through almost doesn't sound real. As in, I am not saying that she made up the fact that she got high. But, as a former heroin addict, I almost think that she either a) is exaggerating how many times she did heroin or b) is lying when she says she hasn't touched it, hasn't even THOUGHT ABOUT IT for years. It just doesn't sound real. And yeah, I know that everyone has a different experience with heroin. But usually not THAT much different. And something that worries me about this book is that it will encourage people to try it. I wish it came with a disclaimer.

All that aside, I do think Marlowe's book is a decent piece of literature. Except for the fact that she rambles about things that are completely uninteresting and that have NOTHING to do with stopping time or doing heroin. And some of these anecdotes are really really really boring. Some of them are the kind of stories your grandmother tells you every time she sees you that weren't interesting or funny or lesson-filled the first time but you are forced to sit there and pretend that they are AND not say you've heard them thirty-seven times before.

Just an opinion though. I'd leaf through it in the bookstore to make sure you'll like it before you buy it.

As a rule, I'm not all that interested in "the literature of addiction," but this book works as memoir, as cultural criticism, as philosophy. Or simply as a story -- of a remarkable woman's struggle with her demons and the demons of post-modern life. The dictionary format (which she seems to have chosen because, like heroin, it "stops time") doesn't keep you from getting wrapped up in the story. On the contrary -- like the similar device in Pavic's Dictionary of the Khazars -- it sets the story in a hall of mirrors, so that the implications stretch endlessly in all directions.

My only worry about the book is that Marlowe may be TOO remarkable -- that her obvious energy and strength of character make her an atypical addict, and throw doubt on her generalizations. But she claims that a lot of the other heroin addicts she knew were like her in many ways, and maybe she's right. Besides, I don't suppose de Quincey or Burroughs or Malcolm Lowry were "typical" addicts, either.

Ann Marlowe is no authority on the subject of heroin, and therefore "how to stop time -- heroin from A to Z" is a complete misnomer as a title. It implies that she has some credibility, and can authoritatively dissect and make sense of aspects of heroin use, abuse, and the heroin users. This book could more aptly be called "my little life -- the heroin years -- from A to Z." Marlowe states she was never a fully addicted person, admitting to using up to 2 bags on her using days (she took days off), yet she dares to outright dismantle the claims of those that have truly experienced addiction to its depths. She looks down her "Roman" nose at women who neglect children due to serious drug use, or people who are driven by the need to sate their addiction to commit crimes, because she herself has never had to do so. Maybe this is because she was never an addict. With her credentials, her next book could be on auto repair. Afterall, she did have a car, (most likely for longer than her "heroin habit"). She may have even known a mechanic or two. This would certainly put her in the position to make an equally valuable critical analysis on the subject. A self-proclaimed authority on heroin addiction (where did she get the nerve?), Marlowe vascillates between identifying herself with the "junkie," and distancing herself from them as the pitiful "other." Her book is confusing, and ultimately disappointing. Anything redeeming about it was underdeveloped -- like her avoidance of clearly answering why she used heroin at all (see "cool," "hidden," "fraud" -- oh, that one's not in there.) I am particularly disheartened (read: disgusted) at how she attacks those that have freed themselves from an addiction she cannot even relate to, and then pointedly mocks them on both counts; for being addicted, and for recovering. I was hoping this book would be of some use to me as a researcher of addiction among middle class women, but regrettably, it was more of a disjointed, self-indulgent memoir of a woman who brushed elbows with troubled, talented people, never really revealing herself at all. The title was a real bait and switch. By the end of the book, all I had gleaned was that Ann Marlowe is a Harvard grad, Bergdorf's shopper, name dropper (albeit vague, and what's the point of that?), part time jock, is emotionally frozen, and is a woman who for some totally unclear reason wants to forever align herself in the annals of heroin user history. But she is MUCH BETTER THAN THEY ARE. Thank God for Ann. She infiltrated the ranks of heroin users, and came back to tell us how hideous they were. Just in case you thought heroin addiction was glamorous. I think this is another case of a fashion victim to the "junkie chic." (see "inside cover")

I found "How to Stop Time" compelling. Marlowe's writing style is simple and to the point--a trait I appreciate given too many writers spend too much time filling up space with fluff. As for content, the book wanes somewhat in her commentary on "coping" yet she makes up for it all with her candor and directness. The book is definitely a great read for all who have had to look within themselves and learn to love what they see.

Not enough books have been written by financially successful, but not necessarily famous people that use or have used a "bad boy" drug like heroin or crystal methamphetimine. If you're looking for a "how drugs ruined my life and how I was saved by the 'just say no' crusade" or some such mumbo jumbo, do not read this book because you will be very disappointed. The author documents various periods from her life before, during, and after heroin, but not necessarily in that order. As a professional woman with a similar background as the author and an IV meth user myself, it was very refreshing to not encounter what I refer to as a "victum" mentality style of writing. What I mean is the author does not make excuses like "I had a bad childhood" or "I couldn't help myself, I was an addict," which is the bandwaagon trend in American society's portrayal of any illicit drug user these days. Instead, Marlowe describes her relationship with heroin as a choice, with no appologies, at different stages of her life, and throughout various circumstances. She includes her relationship with heroin and herself, heroin, her friends and herself, heroin, her lovers, and herself, as well as the heroin, career, and family triangles. Marlowe portrays a much more realistic view of the ups and downs of a middle class, daily user and entertains in the process, which is something Hollywood and mainstream American media rarely, if ever accomplish. Good read.

ive read this book, but more importantly lived this craziness and will attest to the accuracy of her observations. as i read some of the passages i could actually taste the taste and started to sniffle,my nose began to run. it scared the hell out of me. i wish i could say that life style was behind me,but anyone who has done heroin will admit you never stop wanting it,that you sometimes still dream about it,and know intimately the situations you put yourself in. Jim Michaels

After hearing some decent things about this book, I was surprised at just how uninteresting and often offensive of a read it turned out to be. Marlowe is accurate in some of her depictions of heroin use in the East Village of New York and way off base in others. I chalk this up to everyone's experiences being different (however, I certainly don't think a one-bag-a-day habit with weeks off in between makes her an authority on addiction by any stretch of the imagination). What I don't understand is why she felt the need to go into such great detail about her rather boring life between her discussions of the dope world. Most of her anecdotes had little to no bearing on the story she was trying to tell and were mind-numbingly dull. I found her narrative to be very disjointed and incoherent. But what I found most repugnant was her better-than-thou attitude towards those of a lower class or darker skin tone (e.g. assuming dark-skinned men who didn't think to aspire to become more than security guards must not have gotten support or affirmation in their homes growing up, like she did). She herself says that she became interested in street-life and street people in order to increase her "coolness" factor. Sure she dabbled in drug use and in the East Village culture, but that does not make her an authority, and she does not paint a very true portrait of either. If you want a good portrayal of street life and heroin use from the inside, read Seth Morgan's Homeboy. If you want elitist drivel, this book should do the trick.

Many people can take Ann Marlowe's book, How to Stop Time, in many ways. It could be seen as a ruthless, crude journal of a heroin user or a story of a women that just wants to share her experiences with her audience. How to Stop Time is a beautifully written story that can capture anyone's attention. It is an extremely personal account of her survival in the dope world. She is honest, blunt, and straightforward about everything so we get a very good look at what she went through. The many disturbing parts of the book only make the story more real and true. The things that she attempts to explain about the crazy life of a drug addict is something that the media will never uncover. Her style of writing is simple and to the point and her explanation of self destruction is something that every reader can relate to on some level. She not only discusses the life of heroin use but she dwells into much deeper topics such as the economics and psychology of the addiction. She clearly shows that she isn't afraid to tell the truth which provides for an extremely compelling and daring analysis.

How to Stop Time was a good read. It was one of those books, that you would be assigned to read in a Rhetoric class, and you keep reading over the assigned pages, because it is so interesting. It is especially interesting to someone who has never done heroin. Ann Marlowe does not glorify nor does she speak down upon the drug. It may seem as though she does both, but she is just telling of a personal experience she has had.
This is not a book that I would read again, I only like to read books once, if I did read books more than once, this would be one of them.

Small wonder that the NYTimes praised this little tome- it's an elitist valentine to the city and hipster culture that spawned its own elitist ennui. Marlowe writes decent prose, but her pinned-pupil navelgazing gets taxing real quick, as does the irritatingly unfocused pseudo-philosophy that comprises around a third of the book. Marlowe seems like the sort of person you'd try desperately to avoid at a cocktail party (or in a cop spot, for that matter): a narcissistic, world-weary poseur, witlessly droning on about her Harvard education and her uber-hip (but ill-defined) underground ties, and wearing her psychic track marks like a badge of worth. Yes, it is formatted unusually, and there are some surprises within the little anecdotes that make up the dictionary entries. It's also an atypical way to approach addiction - from within, from a thoroughly middle-class standpoint - and Marlowe even raises a couple interesting points about the nature of habit and need. But the whole exercise feels hollow; one gets the feeling that she started doing heroin because she _wanted_ to become addicted, not for the warmth and the rush and the urgency of the high, not for the transcendence and vision of the ruined ecstatic junkie, but because she just didn't have anything else to write about. Perhaps next we'll see a book structured as a thesaurus about her harrowing caffeine addiction. Count me out of the bloodless solipsism displayed here; I'll take Denis Johnson's groping, fallen desperates (or, in a more closely related vein, D.F. Wallace's hyper-eloquent and witty recovering addicts) over Marlowe's well-dressed neurotics.