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Junky

William S. Burroughs

Paperback | Pages: 208 pages

Rating: 3.83 | 53589 Users | 1533 Reviews

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Title	:	Junky
Author	:	William S. Burroughs
Book Format	:	Paperback
Book Edition	:	50th Anniversary Definitive Edition
Pages	:	Pages: 208 pages
Published	:	April 1st 2003 by Penguin (first published April 15th 1953)
Categories	:	Fiction. Classics. Novels. Literature. American. Contemporary. 20th Century

Narration As Books Junky

Before his 1959 breakthrough, Naked Lunch, an unknown William S. Burroughs wrote Junky, his first novel. It is a candid eye-witness account of times and places that are now long gone, an unvarnished field report from the American post-war underground. Unafraid to portray himself in 1953 as a confirmed member of two socially-despised under classes (a narcotics addict and a homosexual), Burroughs was writing as a trained anthropologist when he unapologetically described a way of life - in New York, New Orleans, and Mexico City - that by the 1940's was already demonized by the artificial anti-drug hysteria of an opportunistic bureaucracy and a cynical, prostrate media. For this fiftieth-anniversary edition, eminent Burroughs scholar Oliver Harris has painstakingly recreated the author's original text, word by word, from archival typescripts and places the book's contents against a lively historical background in a comprehensive introduction. Here as well, for the first time, are Burroughs' own unpublished introduction and an entire omitted chapter, along with many "lost" passages, as well as auxiliary texts by Allen Ginsberg and others.

Point Books Concering Junky

Original Title:	Junky
ISBN:	0142003166 (ISBN13: 9780142003169)
Edition Language:	English
Characters:	William S. Burroughs

Rating Epithetical Books Junky

Ratings: 3.83 From 53589 Users | 1533 Reviews

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Morphine hits the backs of the legs first, then the back of the neck, a spreading wave of relaxation slackening the muscles away from the bones so that you seem to float without outlines, like lying in warm salt water. As this relaxing wave spread through my tissues, I experienced a strong feeling of fear. I had the feeling that some horrible image was just beyond the field of vision, moving as I turned my head, so that I never quite saw it. I felt nauseous; I lay down and closed my eyes. A

After reading this, Trainspotting, and Requiem for a Dream, have decided that injecting heroin is unambiguously awful. (Text is unequivocal that junk is the worst thing that can happen to a man (8).)Non-fictive outworks proclaims that it takes at least three months shooting twice a day to get any habit at all [] no exaggeration to say it takes about a year and several hundred injections to make an addict (xv).Addiction rewrites the corporeal constitution: when you stop growing you start dying.

Other than smoking some in high school and reading some books taking either a sociological or pharmacological approach to the subject, I've never had much exposure to the heroin habit. The pleasure it afforded during a week of adolescent experimentation wasn't captivating and although I've been acquainted with some habitual users, I've never been intimate with one, never lived with one. This semi-autobiographical account is the closest I've ever gotten to how it might feel to be a person with

Well holy shit, high-five to you, early teens me! Though I may have mixed feelings about some things I loved back in my formative, pointlessly cynical years, this rereading experience was actually, well, kinda rad. Can I say that at almost 30? Rad? Or am I getting to where it's like when your folks n' grandfolks try to quote "the hip lingo of the kids these days" and it enters your brain like aural chipboard? This novel held up, is my point. Maybe I'm just an asshole (probable), but Burroughs

Let me start this out by saying that a few years ago, my pancreas tried to kill me. The doctors in the ER decided that I was going to die, so they didn't spare the painkillers. They loaded me up with Dilaudid, and it was one of the greatest experiences of my life. They kept giving it to me, and then surprise! I lived. I kept getting shots of Dilaudid until I realized that the pain was gone, and I no longer needed it. But I considered lying to get another shot. Heh. That was a bad idea, so I

Very. Informative, I dare say. But also truly unique.

Less flouncy/convoluted, and real(istic?) than Naked Lunch or Queer. (True masterpieces these.) Oddly straightforward--espesh for a first novel--it valiantly emerges as some sort of sad recounting of events in all their incendiary yet undoubted existence. So brave, so brave coming out as gay; but for a literary juggernaut, the honest truth of drug addiction MUST be depicted... & that Truth is the passport to the future glories (the aforementioned novels). Articulate clear-headedness here