“Romance has killed more people than Cancer. Ok…maybe not killed but dulled more lives. Removed more hope, sold more medication, caused more tears.” I finished reading Diary Of An Oxygen Thief ages ago, and I swore I’d write about it because the book is so damn good. Written by an anonymous author, the tale follows the life of an Irishman who works in advertising and travels from London to the Midwest to Manhattan chasing … actually, I’m not sure what. I was going to say love but I could just as easily say life.
“Love, hate, what’s the difference?”
Diary Of An Oxygen Thief is one of the best books I’ve read all year — or, dare I say, in the past couple years. The writing is good. The story’s compelling. I couldn’t stop reading and re-reading it because I over-identified with the characters. The messy lives, the fucked up relationships and the pain of realizing at the very second you think you’ve got the love shit figured out, you couldn’t be more painfully wrong.
“”I liked hurting girls,” is the novel’s oft-quoted first line. Reading the book’s first few pages, I figured it could’ve only been written by a sociopathic asshole. But, I still loved it. That might say more about the types of guys I like rather than the book. I’ve historical allowed men to disappoint me because I was in love with who I wanted them to be (or who they were on rare occasions) rather than their actual character.
“‘Hurt people hurt people.’ I see now that I was in pain and wanted others to feel it, too. This was my way of communicating.”
Here in New York, I once slept with a British dude who told me: “I like you. You’re not beautiful, but you’re cute.” In Chicago, I stayed in a relationship with a man for MONTHS after he repeatedly screamed at me like I was a fucking child as he explained: “This is the worst it’s gonna get, Twanna. I’m never going to hit you. All couples argue.” Of course I screamed back and, eventually, broke up with him. I have friends, family members and FBC readers who could tell even more fucked up stories about the things they’ve done and/or allowed to be done to them in relationships.
“They say you’re not punished for your sins, you’re punished by them.”
When I first moved to NYC, I felt like I was caught in a clothes dryer spin cycle in my love and professional lives. I had a job. I didn’t have a job. I lived in the West Village. I moved to Hell’s Kitchen. I left Manhattan. I was going back to school to collect yet another degree. I was sick of taking classes. And, perhaps, not entirely coincidentally, I went on tons and tons of dates — an average of 1 – 3 new ones each week. Not all of them were fantastic. Seriously, sometimes I read over some of my old posts about guys I went on dates with and I’m like What. The. Hell was I thinking?!!? I remember there was a Swiss guy who was so unremarkable that I could only remember his name started with a K. Was it Klaus? Kevin? Keith? Fuck if I know. But, this I know for sure: I’d take New York’s life/love madness over my mundane Midwestern past any day. As many of you already know, I grew up in Illinois — Smalltown, USA central. The writer really nails that world. The tightly wound lives. The deceit. The heavy addiction of “normalcy” and the denial of any dysfunction.
“But, fuck it, the big toothy smiles, the thick needy niceness. That crazy over-awake stare. I still don’t know what that was. Zoloft. Stupidity? In New York, everyone just looks hurt. It seems more honest. Maybe I just identified with them.”
And, I love New York too. For the same reasons. Anyway. Whether you live in New York or elsewhere, I highly recommend this book. If you’re not into reading about fuck up relationships, you might like Diary Of An Oxygen Thief for the insider’s view of the advertising world.
“Advertising is false. Once you know that, you’ve got a chance.”
Interesting quote because, when I agreed to review the book, I didn’t know if it was a memoir (true) or novel (false). Generally speaking, I don’t read fiction because there are so many amazing real life stories that resonate with me more fully. But, the more I read Diary Of An Oxygen Thief, I wondered: Would I change my opinion of this book if it I knew it was a novel? Reality is what you believe it to be. Or, to quote The Matrix: If real is what you can feel, smell, taste and see, then ‘real’ is simply electrical signals interpreted by your brain. So, yeah, get the book. And, of course, if you haven’t already seen The Matrix, rent it. (The two aren’t connected; I just have a horrible habit of relating every life experience to specific film quotes.)
