Your Voice in My Head

June 27, 2011
Forrest's memoir of suffering from mania, bulimia, and self-mutilation is written with such candor, humor, and lush, sensual prose it becomes, quite surprisingly, a rich, often riotous, pleasure to listen to. A British transplant to New York City at 22, on contract with the Guardian and completing her first novel, Forrest notices that her "quirks had gone beyond eccentricity" and she dissolves into self-loathing and self-destructive relationshipsâuntil she makes a fortuitous connection with her "savior," a psychiatrist, Dr. R. The unsparing, unsentimental narrative is beautifully served by Forrest's reading. Her voice is low, halting; she confides rather than narrates, and she switches easily from the confessional mode to rollicking sendups of her family members and friendsâher father's Sean Connery brogue, her grandmother who sounds like a Yiddish Prunella Scales, her squeaky baby sister, and every variety of New York accent. Less impressive, and more than slightly offensive, however are her depictions of minorities. Her crude "Chinese" and "Indian" accents are cringe inducing. An Other Press hardcover.

March 1, 2011

Screenwriter and novelist Forrest (Cherries in the Snow, 2005, etc.) delivers an intense story of madness and redemption.

Though the author, a transplanted Brit, was enjoying some success as a writer in New York City, she writes, "my quirks had gone beyond eccentric, past the warm waters of weird to those cold, deep patches of sea where people lose their lives." She was cutting, bingeing and purging, clinging to disastrous relationships and feeling suicidal. She found help with Dr. R., but still attempted suicide soon after starting to see him. During the next decade, Dr. R. became her friend, mentor and life raft. Forrest says much about Dr. R., but concludes, "I liked how he saw me. It's that simple." After eight years of therapy, Dr. R. died without warning; Forrest learned of his death through an e-mail. Angered and confused by being left behind so abruptly, many of her old habits returned. Still, Dr. R.'s voice remained in her head—sometimes speaking though her cat—gently easing her pain, giving her strength. A famous movie star, GH, became her lover and just as quickly left her. Forrest's narrative follows the now-familiar arc of being lost then found, but the profoundly precise writing sets it apart. The author provides plenty of pop-culture references and name-drops like crazy—Heath Ledger, Brad Pitt, Gloria Steinem—but readers are never sure if these people are actually there. Does she really see Monica Lewinsky each time she is crying in a West Village café? There are mysteries here, but a pervasive honesty as well.

A brilliantly realized memoir of surprise and startling beauty.

(COPYRIGHT (2011) KIRKUS REVIEWS/NIELSEN BUSINESS MEDIA, INC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.)

May 1, 2011
Forrests compelling memoir chronicles her struggles with depression and self-harm, and the relationship with her psychiatrist, who was one of the driving forces in her recovery. At 22, Forrest has moved from England to New York City, a gifted writer about to publish her first novel, yet desperately lonely and in a cycle of cutting and bulimia. She finds herself at the doorstep of Dr. R, an affable psychiatrist, who works with her through a failed suicide attempt and a string of destructive relationships. Eight years later, she is devastated when she learns that Dr. R has unexpectedly succumbed to lung cancer. He had never indicated to his patients that he was ill and leaves a significant void in Forrests life. Further, Dr. Rs death occurs just as she is involved in an intense relationship with a well-known actor. When the relationship fails, she is left to navigate her ensuing heartbreak without the help of Dr. R. Forrest turns an unsparing eye on her difficulties and details her struggles, and healing, with honesty and vitality.(Reprinted with permission of Booklist, copyright 2011, American Library Association.)