Old Books

I recently ran across a copy of a book that had been read by me and most teenage girls: Go Ask Alice. It was strange to see that haunting black cover and to be immediately transported to 1980, the year I read this book. Of course I read it for the titillating sexual references and the thorough analysis of drug use. This book, along with Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret, were the touchstones of my adolescence. Salinger would follow shortly thereafter, but these two books were ones I read late into the night, holding my breath in fear of being discovered by my parents.

I saw this copy of Go Ask Alice in a hip clothing store in Soho, of all places. I wasn't surprised since they were featuring a new line of clothes designed by an actress known more for her style than her acting. She, like so many young girls growing up in the late 70's and 80's, had obviously found this book to be one of those seminal discoveries of her life. No need to ask whether I bought it since my original copy was long lost or packed in boxes stored in my parents basement. Not only did I buy it, but I came home and reread it, this time with different set of eyes. Yes, I'm a wee bit older this time and a bit more experienced. Regardless, I still flipped through those pages quickly, practically devouring the words.

The first thing that struck me was how implausible it was that these entries were written by a young teenage girl. Believe me, I still have my diaries from high school. And they are not nearly as eloquent or well written, and I was a better writer than most of my peers. Diaries tend toward the minutiae. This book seemed to be tackling big humongous themes of social unrest, social upheaval, all experienced through the eyes, even if they were clouded by drug use, of a young teenage girl. Right, highly improbable.

When I'd read the original copy, I didn't give much thought to the accuracy of its authorship. It was sold as a real diary written by someone named, Anonymous. And most of us read it as such. The underlying message of drug use being bad was accepted as truth since Anonymous supposedly dies a few weeks after her last, rather upbeat, entry. OK. Let me just say the anti-drug message of the book didn't do much to deter my own experimentation with drugs, which followed shortly after I'd read this cautionary story.

Now as an adult my curiosity was piqued. Who was this Anonymous? Since the book came out during an era where only three networks and two or three local channels existed, the media storm that would have followed didn't occur. Instead, the book became the source of local fights about the First Amendment as communities banned the book from the shelves of local libraries. But again, these were local fights, and not likely covered by Walter Cronkite and others. Imagine this book coming out today with our 24 hour news networks, of which we now have a dozen. There is no way the 'author' of such a controversial book could hide, even under a quarry of rocks, without being hunted down and found.

I did a Google search and discovered that the book was purportedly written by its editor, who is a devout Mormon. Not too long ago, another writer, most likely the ghost writer, was discovered as the other author of this book. In light of the writer, the Mormon one, the book's message of anti-drugs is all the more understandable. True, the author was writing in response to the late 60's and early 70's when our cultural understanding of America was splintering beyond recognition. Does all of my new knowledge about its authorship change the impact this book had on my adolescence? No. I read it as truth. And in truth, I read it for the salaciousness of it all. And not too soon after, I was taking my first puffs.

Now with a child, I am wracked by how to answer that inevitable question "did I use drugs?" If asked this many years ago, I would have said veracity would be the only solution to being able to have an honest dialogue with your child about this very important subject. But now as a parent, that notion seems fraught. It feels like hypocrisy of the worst kind to tell your child, "yes I used drugs, but you shouldn't use them". Somehow such an admittance feels like you've lost your moral authority to have any say in this matter. As if you are giving your child permission to try since you had and survived. See, how impossible this is for someone who had experimented quite happily and blindly?

My new copy of Go Ask Alice will now join my collection. I'm glad to have rediscovered it again, and to have read it through these older eyes and through the reading glasses I now have to wear. It was something to be transported to 1980, lying on my bed, my bedside lamp on, flipping the pages as quietly as I could deep into the night. Being so quickly transported to your childhood is a rare occurrence these days, especially for me since I am feeling so adult of late.