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70 of 74 people found the following review helpful
5.0 out of 5 stars TRUST ME -- the book is EXCELLENT
What prompted me to write a review for this book was how much I love it, and how many bad reviews its gotten. People say Wurtzel is selfish, narcissistic, self-centered, and completely focused only on herself and her own life. YES folks, it's a memoir about HER life and HER drug addiction. What people don't understand is that depression and addiction are two VERY...
Published on February 28, 2007 by Cornflake Girl

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18 of 22 people found the following review helpful
1.0 out of 5 stars ENOUGH, ALREADY, PLEASE
Stoned or sober, Wurtzel herself can be so selfish, so nasty and so pampered -- she checks into $450-a-night hotel rooms on a whim, gives drug dealers her publisher's FedEx account number and leans on friends so heavily that they wind up more haggard than Wurtzel herself -- that even readers who've gone through a similar hell may find it difficult to relate Wurtzel's...
Published on April 29, 2004 by Nancy Burmeister


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70 of 74 people found the following review helpful
5.0 out of 5 stars TRUST ME -- the book is EXCELLENT, February 28, 2007
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What prompted me to write a review for this book was how much I love it, and how many bad reviews its gotten. People say Wurtzel is selfish, narcissistic, self-centered, and completely focused only on herself and her own life. YES folks, it's a memoir about HER life and HER drug addiction. What people don't understand is that depression and addiction are two VERY self-centering things. Depression is, in its nature, the inability to get out of onesself in order to exist in the world. I am, like Wurtzel, an only child. I was also an addict and I also suffered from depression. I think you need to really understand what it is like to endure these things before you can truly comprehend that she is not a bratty woman, still looking for her mommy and daddy's affections -- as critics will have you believe -- she was suffering, and she bleeds her heart open to you, the reader, in ALL her books. She spares nothing, she embarasses herself, humiliates herself, she is not saying I am Elizabeth Wurtzel and I have no flaws, I am perfect. She is saying, I am Elizabeth Wurtzel and THESE are my flaws, THESE are my imperfections, perhaps you can learn from them. It's a MEMOIR folks, it's ALL gonna be about HER life and HER gripes, and HER suffering. That's not narcissism. That's honesty.
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42 of 49 people found the following review helpful
5.0 out of 5 stars Read this BEFORE reading "Bitch: In Praise of Difficult Women", August 5, 2005
It's funny, but every Elizabeth Wurtzel review I've read (including reviews on Prozac Nation the film) is one extreme or the other. The people who trash her work always whine about the same things: it's self-absorbed, she's a brat, omg my friend's-brother's-nephew's-playmate's-mother's-hairdresser went through like WAY WORSE STUFF THAN HER!!!111

Look, folks, this a writer whose first novel was her memoirs about depression. Depressed people and addicts are not pleasant to be around. They're frustrating, demanding, unreliable, irritating and they make you want to scream at them to make them "normal". That seems to be the biggest problem that people have with her books - she doesn't sugarcoat anything and she doesn't try to make depression or addiction look glamourous. If this doesn't sound like something that will interest you, don't even bother reading it, because I can guarantee that you'll hate it.
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43 of 53 people found the following review helpful
5.0 out of 5 stars Reading Wurtzel's two memoirs paints a fascinating portrait (whether or not you like her on a personal level), December 13, 2005
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Wurtzel's second memoir is account of her fall into Ritalin addiction (crushing and snorting the pills) and then cocaine addiction, all while writing her bestseller Bitch: In Praise of Difficult Women. She isolated herself in Florida, obsessively writing and re-writing drafts of her book. She freely admitted her addition and planned to get clean "as soon as the book was done." She convinced friends and family to look the other way as she used drug in front of them. At one low point before her first stint in rehab, she was essentially living at the NY Doubleday offices, disheveled, attempting to edit her book, and having cocaine delivered to the lobby by courier service. It was amazing what a large scale she got codependency to work for her.

Wurtzel enters rehab, lives in a halfway house, relapses, and tries alternate forms of treatment on the long road to sobriety. At one point, she finally gets a therapist who pushes her beyond her eloquent speech and word play. Wurtzel has to come to terms with her "terminal uniqueness," which a lot of addicts suffer. Wurtzel really *is* special, talented, and respected worldwide, but when it comes to her addiction, she's no different from anyone else. She also learns that there are no reasons why an addict uses, that addicts use because they are addicts, and any reason for using can be invented. She plays games, comparing heroin and cocaine and deciding her cocaine addiction is "better" because it is of the mind, not of the body like heroin. She comforts herself because you can't OD on Ritalin and cocaine like you can on other drugs.

After Prozac Nation and over the years, many readers have commented that Wurtzel is a whiny narrator. She is indeed. Depressed people are whiny and inherently unlikable, and it comes across in the narrative. Depressed drug-addicted people? Even more self-absorbed and irritating to be around. The strength of Wurtzel's book(s) is that she places the reader directly in that whiny, self-absorbed place. She lets us in to her insane mind games justifying her addition. Anyone recovering from addiction or dealing with an addict will see recognizable elements here.

My recommended reading order for newbies to Elizabeth Wurtzel is (1) Prozac Nation (ground-breaking work with a personal portrait of depression before the days of safe anti-depressants), (2) More, Now, Again (watch that person from Prozac Nation fall again and again into drug addiction), and (3) Bitch (read the book she wrote when she was high on Ritalin and cocaine, the book the obsessively re-edited in drug-addicted isolation).
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18 of 22 people found the following review helpful
1.0 out of 5 stars ENOUGH, ALREADY, PLEASE, April 29, 2004
This review is from: More, Now, Again: A Memoir of Addiction (Hardcover)
Stoned or sober, Wurtzel herself can be so selfish, so nasty and so pampered -- she checks into $450-a-night hotel rooms on a whim, gives drug dealers her publisher's FedEx account number and leans on friends so heavily that they wind up more haggard than Wurtzel herself -- that even readers who've gone through a similar hell may find it difficult to relate Wurtzel's experiences to their own. Were her publishers also stoned?
Something has gone terribly wrong with this book. The problem goes back to one of the most basic questions you encounter in writing classes: How do you create a "boring" character without being a terrific bore yourself? She succeeds admirably; she succeeds too well. Elizabeth Wurtzel has set out to create a selfish, shallow, repetitive, exasperatingly stupid, hideously self-centered, morbidly narcissistic, excruciatingly dull, pre-recovery persona.
I honestly had no idea that this sort of material could actually get published. Reading the first 329 pages of this book is like nothing so much as listening to a girlfriend from Hell yammering on endlessly about every aspect of her pitiful life. It's a form of rampant egotism, the belief that even your shopping lists will be of interest to people.
Like all narcissists, she suffers from a basic lack of empathy. ''I've never been much interested in terrorism. It seems like someone else's problem,'' she says of the Oklahoma bombing trial. ''The victims of Timothy McVeigh start to really irritate me,"
Wurtzel cannot write and certainly never touched the depths of addiction, and found little worth recording in the shallows. A better title would have been Me, Myself, I.
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9 of 10 people found the following review helpful
3.0 out of 5 stars Self-absorbed, or the nature of the beast?, November 20, 2003
Firstly, I do have to agree that Elizabeth Wurtzel comes off as very self absorbed, and in Prozac Nation, almost whiny. However, I can't help but feel thats the nature of the beast.
Mental Illness often creates an enormity of self absorbion, I speak from experience. From what I've read of my own issues, and from reading her books, I do wonder if she has depression on its own, or has a personality disorder on top of things. Narcisistic PD, or Borderline PD? I'm no expert, but there were bits in More, Now, Again that suggest symptoms of either.
Drug abuse can also create a great deal of self obsession; junkie logic is a law unto itself, and as a junkie, you do become a me me me more drugs person.
I found Prozac Nation interesting, as it showed the full ugliness of depression, and how it affects those around you. Yes it was whiny, but thats what depressives can be like.
As for More, Now, Again... It made me realise I had a problem with drugs, and I had to go do something about it. And it, like Prozac Nation, was whiny and self absorbed, but yet again I know many junkies, and that is what they're like.
I think that although there is whinging and whining, and self absorbion throughout BOTH her "memoirs", I (and I'm not an optimist) believe that she is writing the ugly truth, without sugar coating. Depressives and drug users are notorious for being self absorbed, and she is no exception. I like the fact she gets into the nitty gritty, and doesn't hide the worst of her behaviour from the reader.
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11 of 13 people found the following review helpful
1.0 out of 5 stars puhleese, April 11, 2004
By A Customer
This review is from: More, Now, Again: A Memoir of Addiction (Hardcover)
This woman would be pitiful if she were not so apallingly arrogant. She is genuinely sick; however, one cannot feel sorry for her in the face of her meanspirited remarks. She has had every advantage, yet she obviously learned nothing at Harvard. She boasts that she is the leading non-fiction writer of her generation and that she is the 'prettiest girl she knows." This is good because no one else thinks so. She may have a ph.d. in the reader's digest or in junk food, but she certainly is not worldly, knowledgeable or scholarly. I haven't read one good review of any of her books. How in heaven's name could this sloppy work have been published? The publishers were evidently high as well. I feel sorry for the poor trees that sacrificed their lives for the paper.
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10 of 12 people found the following review helpful
3.0 out of 5 stars Not quite addictive, July 9, 2002
This review is from: More, Now, Again: A Memoir of Addiction (Hardcover)
Reading an Elizabeth Wurtzel book is like watching a slow-motion train moving towards a stalled car: you don't really want to look because of the impending crash, but you look anyhow. Her latest book, "More Now Again" is a peculiar look inside the mind of a repeat addict, which has some definite bumpy spots sprinkled with insight.
It begins as Wurtzel is seemingly clean of her drug addictions, until she is prescribed Ritalin for an attention-span problem. However, she soon began crushing the pills and snorting them, as she once did cocaine, because she missed sniffing things. Soon cocaine and stolen pills are back in her life, as she ends up stuck in obsessive behavior patterns, engages in inept shoplifting, and spins back into the world of addiction.
Wurtzel is alternately annoying and sympathetic; she frankly admits to handicapping marriages whenever she can, and to stealing when big-store clerks don't serve her fast enough, though she claims to scrupulously not steal from small stores. At the same time, there is something pitifully sympathetic about her spiral into addiction and the humiliating arrest when she was unable to stop sobbing. It's difficult to explain exactly what qualities in Wurtzel are either annoying or endearing, because of the blatant honesty with which she presents unsympathetic facets of herself such as, for example, her rantings about how she feels for Timothy McVeigh. There are passages where readers will sympathize with Wurtzel's long-suffering mother, who wants her to be "normal."
However, her descriptions of both drug addiction and the psychological state that drags certain people back to it is both harrowing and revealing. We see Wurtzel obsessively underlining interesting passages in a book and tweezing her legs to the bone, but walking around with filthy hair and a shirt stained with spilled coffee and tea. However, she does not go to the other extreme, which too often ends up glamorizing addiction; rather, she tells the reader plainly and calmly what she does, without overemphasizing it. Only occasionally does her prose lapse into a sense of true panic and/or despair. In one particularly affecting passage, she describes the mindset of a repeat addict: "It's the stuff people can handle that makes addicts get high. We get high over nothing."
Perhaps the best look at Wurtzel is the picture on the back cover. Though at first glance she seems like a conventionally pretty blonde with artfully-arranged hair, makeup and clothing, her large, heavily dark-rimmed, staring eyes add an air of bizarre sadness to her face.
Her writing style has an addled air most of the time, as if she were still on drugs as she wrote it. The frequent lapses into self-examination are sometimes interesting but sometimes merely seem self-indulgent. However, they never lack in response quality: whether it is an angry bristling or nods of sudden understanding, the readers WILL react with one emotion or another.
Love her or loathe her, Elizabeth Wurtzel provides a bizarre, sometimes disgusting look at addiction in this follow-up to "Prozac Nation." Her fans will enjoy it, her detractors will be revolted by it, and newcomers may not be sure what to think.
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31 of 41 people found the following review helpful
2.0 out of 5 stars Why do you think they call it junk?, February 26, 2002
By 
Eric Krupin (Salt Lake City, UT) - See all my reviews
(REAL NAME)   
This review is from: More, Now, Again: A Memoir of Addiction (Hardcover)
Henry Miller wrote, "No one - not even God - knows what a man suffers on the inside." So I'll give Elizabeth Wurtzel, the human being, the benefit of the doubt and assume that her pain (whose nature is never made quite clear, but seems to have something to do with her mother not understanding her) is as authentic and deserving of our human sympathy as that of Diana Spencer (whose death Wurtzel mourns, "just because she was so pretty"), the World Trade Center victims (to whom Wurtzel is apparently indifferent, but who probably weren't that good looking on average), or, for that matter, you or me.
On the other hand, Elizabeth Wurtzel, the narrator of this book, had better hope that God loves her because it's not likely that too many other people will. (Her editor, who lets Wurtzel hole up in the publisher's offices during her terminal coke binge to insure the completion of her second book, doesn't count.) To describe her as "narcissistic" would be hopelessly inadequate. Enraptured self-involvement on this scale approaches the sociopathic. It would be one thing if the self being celebrated were a writer as insightful and masterly as, say, Colette. But when the best you can muster is urban-zingy wisecracks, not infrequently plagiarized from rock lyrics (note to Wurtzel: if you're going to rip off a Paul Westerberg lyric - i.e. "waitress in the sky" - it's not very smart to epigraph your chapter with another Paul Westerberg lyric), the result is pretty pathetic.
"More, Now, Again" does represent an artistic advance for the authoress, inasmuch as her photograph appears on the back cover rather than the front, and that she doesn't appear nude in it. (It is a large color photograph that takes up the entire back of the dust jacket, and she does pout rather come-hitherly in it, but still.) But how well can you identify with an addiction narrative when hitting bottom consists of - I swear I'm not joking - sleeping through an opportunity to do a photo shoot for Coach bags?
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117 of 162 people found the following review helpful
2.0 out of 5 stars deja vu all over again., June 5, 2003
I don't get it.
I don't like Elizabeth Wurtzel. I don't think she's a very good writer; her prose is sloppy, her metaphors are mixed (if they make any sense at all), and there's really never much of a point to what she writes. She certainly doesn't sound like a very good person, either. She's a narcissist of the highest order, so completely convinced of her own brilliance & importance that she's managed to pen (and publish) TWO biographies in the space of twelve years; she's shallow; and she's a neurotic drug addict who sleeps with married men.
But, still, I bought "More, Now, Again," well aware of all her shortcomings.
Elizabeth Wurtzel has charisma. It's because of her charisma--her annoying yet compelling presence--that gives her hoardes of teenage fans, and literary critics that can't seem to get enough of slagging her. Maybe her charisma is the result of being gorgeous. People like to see pretty people in pain; it's much easier to sympathize with someone who is easy on the eyes than someone who is not. You can't find an article or fansite for Ms. Wurtzel that isn't loaded with pictures, and she's appeared on every single one of her book covers, pouting in a highly stylized Hollywood way.
Whether "More, Now, Again" is a good book isn't really important--it's just an excuse to vicariously live her charmed existence (New York City lofts, condos in Florida, loads of friend and supporters, enough money to support a cocaine habit, designer bags & shoes & clothes, etc.) For the record, "More, Now, Again" is good in the beginning, and loses steam when Wurtzel goes into treatment. Her huge ego starts to take over. She tries to seduce men in rehab, boo-hoos over her weight gain, talks endlessly (in quotation marks--other people supposedly say these things) about how wonderful a writer she is, how smart she is, blah blah blah. It's hard to feel sorry for her, but it's easy to pulled in by her.
Actually, she inadvertantly touches upon an actual Issue of Addiction. She's completely self-absorbed, and believes herself superior to nearly everyone. Those other idiots ended up in rehab because they're pathetic. She ended up in rehab because she was IN PAIN and TROUBLED and NEEDED AN OUTLET. Typical addict behavior. She means to make the audience sympathize with her, but instead she ends up taking you into the mind of an addict. An average addict, no different from the rest.
She just happens to have a deal with a major publishing company and a stylist.
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8 of 10 people found the following review helpful
4.0 out of 5 stars Escapist page-turner plus dark insight, February 18, 2002
By 
Bruce_in_LA "reader_in_LA" (los angeles, ca United States) - See all my reviews
This review is from: More, Now, Again: A Memoir of Addiction (Hardcover)
Wurtzel spins a tale that brings several harrowing years of her life vividly into the mind of the reader. Creative, bright, driven, and always close to the edge, speed addiction completely takes over her life for a couple years, eclipsing people and food and most events like going outside. I loved a number of insights and turns of phrase I hope I'll remember for years. (Complaining that she can't go to Betty Ford because she dislikes the name of one nurse, she adds, "I'll never make it in rehab with this attitude. On the other hand, without this attitude [and her life in shreds], I wouldn't need to be in rehab." Her style is at its best in describing her darkest addiction experiences almost as if we're reading a diary - quite a trick, particularly when she bumps up against real people and things in her strung-out state and they insert into the narrative like gawky Martians. How it seems clever and rational for a bright Harvard girl to be living in a Florida strip motel as a hollow-eyed, anorexic shell and going to six different emergency rooms for the same problem in three weeks; how to explain while thrown in jail for shoplifting that you need to snort speed or your head will explode, and you'll call the ACLU. The story takes her on through several cycles between rehab's and twelve-step programs and relapses, but the ultimate recovery story was as moving and convincing as any. "Less than Zero" meets Ann Sexton meets Eric Bogosian meets Leaving Las Vegas....
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More, Now, Again: A Memoir of Addiction
More, Now, Again: A Memoir of Addiction by Elizabeth Wurtzel (Hardcover - January 8, 2002)
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