Widow Basquiat is a memoir, but a memoir by proxy–the personal story of Jean-Michel Basquiat’s on-again-off-again lover Suzanne Mallouk in the context of Basquiat’s tumultuous career, which was plagued by insecurity, drug-addiction, and the pressures-both real and imagined-projected onto him amidst the ’80s New York art scene. In fact, if there existed such a thing as the photo negative of that genre, this book would be it-an animal in a league of its own. What I love about Widow Basquiat is that it’s a different kind of memoir, a fresh departure from the near formulaic, run-of-the-mill confessionals we’ve grown so accustomed to reading over the past decade or so. It comes out in the United States this month.
This year, I’m reading and re-reading Jennifer Clement’s Widow Basquiat which is easily my favorite book of 2014, though it’s been around in the UK for years. The year before that I dug into Rolando Hinojosa.
Last year I read all of Larry Heinemann’s books.
I do the opposite of what you’re supposed to do in November-I take a writing break and read all month instead. National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo for the uninitiated) is about as appealing of an idea as having a month-long dental procedure and about as equally fun to be around. I’m always looking for a stellar book come November.
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