Wanted: Author for New Title on Contemporary Debates Surrounding Legal and Illegal Drug Use

Editor’s Note: Today’s post is from Kevin Hillstrom, the Senior Acquisitions Editor for Government, Politics, and Issues at the publishing house ABC-CLIO. He’s looking for an author to work on a factual book about the debates surrounding legal and illegal drug use. This could be a great opportunity for an early career historian looking to get some publishing experience, or a more established historian hoping to correct some of the misinformation that’s always floating around. Hillstrom’s contact info is at the bottom of this post if you have any questions.

The ABC-CLIO reference publishing company is seeking a qualified scholar to author a “fact-check” book on illegal and legal drug use in America, past and present.

For more than 60 years, ABC-CLIO and its Praeger and Greenwood Press imprints have delivered award-winning collections of digital and print resources for secondary education, higher education, and public libraries. Our mission is to support educators and librarians in their work to foster 21st-century skills, independent critical thinking, and genuine exploration and understanding of the complex issues of our world—past, present, and future.

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Fiction Points: Jamie Beth Cohen

jamiebethcohenJamie Beth Cohen is the author of Wasted Pretty (Black Rose Writing 2019), a YA coming-of-age novel that explores growing up as a girl in a pre-#metoo era. Cohen earned a BFA in English from George Mason University and a master’s degree in higher education administration from City University of New York. Her work has appeared in the Baltimore Sun and Washington Post, at Teen Vogue, in the anthology Crossing Limits: African Americans and American Jews, and elsewhere. She lives in Lancaster County, PA.  

Two nuns and a penguin approach you at a bar, and you tell them you’re a writer. When they ask you what you write about, how do you answer?

I’d probably quote my own bio and say, “I write about difficult things, but my friends think I’m funny!” Seems like a punchline to a joke, right? Hopefully they’d laugh, and if they let me expand, I’d explain that because I’m both a fiction writer and a non-fiction writer, I get to write about a wide range of topics I find interesting. My published non-fiction includes essays on parenting, feminism, Judaism, politics, end of life issues, and more. My published fiction generally centers on teens and twenty-somethings going through growing pains. My debut novel, Wasted Pretty, published by Black Rose Writing in April 2019, is the story of a sixteen-year-old girl who is noticed for her appearance for the first time and all the things that are exciting, annoying and, in her case, dangerous about that moment.

Points is a blog primarily for drug and alcohol historians. What do you think this audience would find most interesting about your work?

Alice, the main character in Wasted Pretty, is not a big drinker, but her best friend Meredith is. Meredith experiments with diet pills and recreational drugs as well. But Chris Thompson, the college guy Alice has a crush on is sober. He crashed and burned during his freshman year, largely due to excessive drinking, so he’s working hard to put himself back together. The more time Alice spends with Chris the more her friend’s substance use bothers her.

Also, Alice’s dad is a gambling addict in the throes of his addiction. There are interesting parallels and counterpoints between what Chris went through as a teenage alcoholic and how he’s handling it and what Alice’s dad is going through as an adult who does not have a handle on his addiction.

Additionally, in one scene, Alice wants to make a “bad” choice. She knows it’s wrong, but she’s determined to do it anyway, so she gets drunk, as if to have some plausible deniability after the fact. However, she’s not prepared for the reality that her bad decision has unintended and far-reaching consequences. Continue reading →

Chipping Away: Opioids, Autowork, and the UAW Yesterday and Today

Editor’s Note: Today’s post comes from one of our newest contributing editors, Dr. Jeremy Milloy. Milloy is the W. P. Bell Postdoctoral Fellow at Mount Allison University. A scholar of work, capitalism, addiction/substance use disorder, and violence, he began studying substance use and the workplace while researching his first book, Blood, Sweat, and Fear: Violence at Work in the North American Auto Industry, 1960-80, published in 2017 by the University of Illinois Press. His current book project investigates the historical relationship between work, capitalism, substance use, and recovery in Canada and the United States, considering how wage labor has influenced substance use, anti-addiction efforts focused on work, the creation of employee assistance programs, workaholism, drug testing, and methadone programs. You can reach Jeremy on Twitter (@jeremymilloy) or by email (jmilloy@mta.ca). And you can look forward to reading more of his work on Points!

Among the historian’s most valuable contributions is the knowledge that many current phenomena that seem new have actually been around for quite awhile. So it is with the current opioid crisis, which many have pointed out is a continuation of, not a departure from, longstanding trends in substance use and dependence in North American life. 

The automotive industry is a good example. Today, both the major North American automakers and the UAW have identified opioid-related harms as a significant threat to their workforce, membership, and communities. As journalist Jackie Charniga has shown, the U.S. areas dealing with the most severe opioid-related harms overlap with the areas of the Big Three’s major American manufacturing facilities. Ford and the UAW in 2017 started the Campaign of Hope, which aims to educate and inspire workers to avoid the misuse of drugs. The UAW is bargaining with the Big Three to make more help available for workers and make it easier to access that help while keeping their jobs. Unionists and Ford are even working together to pilot a medical device that could possibly relieve some of the agony of withdrawal. 

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Fiction Points: Sophia Shalmiyev

Sophia-Shalmiyev_c-Thomas-TealSophia Shalmiyev’s first book, Mother Winter (Simon & Schuster 2019), is a memoir of immigration and motherhood. She holds an MFA from Portland State University and a second master’s degree in creative arts therapy from the School of Visual Arts. Shalmiyev was born in the Soviet Union; emigrated from Leningrad to New York in 1990; and now resides in Portland, Oregon with her two children.

Two nuns and a penguin approach you at a bar, and you tell them you’re a writer. When they ask you what you write about, how do you answer?

I write about feminism across genres because closets, gag orders, hangers, boys’ clubs, and a fear of jogging in the park at night are still weapons used against us. Also, inconsolable loss.

Points is a blog primarily for drug and alcohol historians. What do you think this audience would find most interesting about your work?

That my mother was seen as a lost cause, especially because she was a woman with a familial history of alcohol abuse, and no one knew how to help her or have empathy for her plight. I have a line in my book where my father’s university professor back in the Soviet Union instructs him to steal me away from her and give up on his wife getting sober because of some made-up diagnosis called Stage II Severe Alcoholism in Woman. She was considered terminal. I am a product of that traumatic theft, but I also lived without the added chaos of addiction in my household. The violence, poverty, and emotional instability from my father was challenging enough.

What led you to write about drugs and alcohol in the first place?

First of all—a drunk girl is the biggest target for violence. The men who willfully and casually misuse their power will find the sloppy girl with falling lids and swoop in (and there is nothing wrong with being that girl, yet we are judged way more harshly for losing control). What if even one woman ever thought in such a predatory way about men? Not that it has to be that bad, because men just interrupting our fun when we are out and following us around and acting creepy because they hope our defenses are down is scary and a real drag, to say the least. The irony of taking a substance to get loose and forget your troubles only to find more of the same trouble in the form of sexual violence or even a coerced or manipulated experience is my nightmare.mother-winter-9781501193088_lg

I spent my twenties trying to get closer to my estranged mother by taking drugs and drinking to black out. I didn’t know how to survive being motherless and wondered if I am doomed to be just like her–so much of what we are told about addiction is that it is genetic–and, yet, I came through mostly all right somehow. It wasn’t my cross to drag on my back, it turned out, though I do tend to have problematic drinking from time to time.

How would you describe the way that drugs function in your work, whether in terms of thematic concerns or the choices you make about how to craft a narrative? Do you think there are things you wouldn’t be able to explore as successfully if drugs weren’t in your writing arsenal?

I do write in a feverish way, but with a lens trained on reconstruction and a posed, theatrically bratty tone around serious issues–no one with money actually cares that much about studying women’s health. Hahahaha. So, let us die, I guess. Our holes of mystery are vast when it comes to estrogen, socialized subordination, and emotional labor women perform and how that folds into substance abuse and recovery. I have this great insight, through never having to reject my mother because I was taken away from her, the shamed and shunned alcoholic, that allows me empathy and nuance. I often say that a useless woman is a dead woman. That’s a mother under the influence. She must heal herself through community and self reflection, which requires the luxury of alone time and the grace of a collective, but we insist that she shut up and be nice and take care of us instead, dammit. A useless man is a man waited on and soothed; his self-destruction is stoic or romantic. We [women] are garbage if we fail at being clean and come clean as good worker bees and maternal influences.

What do you personally find most interesting about how drugs function in your writing, and where do you see that interest leading you in future projects?

My interest in bringing to life discarded and desecrated bodies will keep being a thread in my next book, a novel called I Married the Butcher to Get to the Bone. Addiction is also about trying to mute the ringing bells of fight or flight so that one can feel peace and ease rather than an alarm going off at all times, screaming hold me. I am fragmented. I also see charm and sense of humor and the adventure my mother (and sometimes I) chased when drinking socially. I took drugs almost exclusively due to peer pressure–welcomed peer pressure. I wanted to bond at all costs, and I wanted to fall down a well in a pile of like-minded bodies with heads dangling.

BONUS QUESTION: Let’s hope that Mother Winter gets made into a major motion picture. If you have your choice, which is it, and what song do you fantasize about hearing as the credits roll?

X-Ray Spex, “Germ Free Adolescents

Points Interview: David Courtwright

Editor’s note: Points author interviews begin with a set question: Describe your book in terms your bartender could understand. David Courtwright said he preferred conversations with bartenders. He talked to his about The Age of Addiction: How Bad Habits Became Big Business (Belknap Press, 2019). 

Screenshot 2019-07-16 08.40.48Bartender: I hear you have a new book.

Courtwright: Just came out in May. I’ll have the draft IPA.

What’s the book about?

How addictions multiplied throughout human history. Even before civilization people discovered pleasurable drugs and pastimes like alcohol and gambling. They went on finding new ones. They traded, refined, manufactured, and digitized them to the point that we live in an age of addiction. Think about it. When you heard the word “addiction” forty years ago, what came to mind? 

Drugs. Heroin. Junkies. Juicers, only back then we called them alcoholics. 

Google the word now and you’ll find addiction to sugar, video poker, computer games, social media, internet porn, shopping, tanning, you name it.

Could be hype.

Some of it is. And some of it is science. Nora Volkow, the director of the National Institute on Drug Abuse, promotes food-addiction studies.  

What’s food got to do with drugs?  

Our brains—well, some brains—react to food packed with sugar, salt, and fat like it was booze. People can lose control over eating the way they lose control over drinking. They join groups like Food Addicts in Recovery Anonymous

They’re like AA? 

Right down to the lingo. And it goes beyond eating.  When I told friends I was writing a history of addictions, they all said, “You’ve got to include kids glued to their phones.” So I did. Behavioral addictions have become social facts.

What’s history got to do with social facts?

Historians explain their origins and how they changed over time. In The Age of Addiction, it’s a long time.

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Points Bookshelf: “The Age of Addiction” by David Courtwright

Editor’s Note: It’s David Courtwright week on Points! Today we feature a review by contributing editor Brooks Hudson, a PhD student in history at Southern Illinois University, of Courtwright’s most recent book, The Age of Addiction (Harvard University Press, 2019). We’ll follow Hudson’s review with an interview with Courtwright on Thursday. Enjoy!

Screenshot 2019-07-16 08.40.48In Age of Addiction, the acclaimed historian David Courtwright dips his toes into familiar waters, analyzing the history of the brain reward mechanism through its component parts: pleasure, vice, and addiction. The book expands on earlier attempts, such as John Burnham’s Bad Habits, which investigated America’s evolving attitudes on everything from alcohol and drugs to gambling, swearing, and sex. Building off and updating Burnham, Courtwright injects fresh blood into the discussion, mapping the newest additions to our pleasure palettes. Courtwright catalogs sugary sweets formulated by Nestlé and Kraft, delineates digital subcultures such as the frenzied World of Warcraft, and documents young men’s sexual fetishes—with Pornhub substituting as both sex education and a how-to manual—while still leaving room for gambling, an ever-changing issue as states embrace sports betting following last year’s Murphy v. NCAA decision. Courtwright draws our attentions to the vast “pleasure meccas” erected of late, updating parts of his previous book Dark Paradise (Harvard University Press, 1982) as opioids have returned to the headlines too.   

Let me invite the skeptical reader to ask the obvious question: hasn’t this always been the case? Courtwright would agree, but with a caveat. To conclude “more of the same” ignores three critical distinctions. First, the rate “hedonic change” has accelerated, Courtwright likening it to the rapid pace of technological change, following its own “Moore’s Law of brain reward” (164). (Moore’s law, first delineated in 1965, predicted that the speed and capability of computers would double every two years due to advancements in the number of components per integrated circuit; in the past half-century, this has proven to be untrue: computer speed now doubles much more rapidly.)

Second, pleasure and vice are more diverse and ubiquitous, appealing to specific subsets of the population. Third, and most significantly, pleasure and vices are meticulously engineered by companies with billion-dollar marketing and advertising budgets. In effect, this means that Big Pharma, Silicon Valley and the food industry have grown much more efficient at weaponizing our weaknesses against us, and reaping the profitable rewards. This asymmetry means companies are able cater and concoct an ever-widening array of products and pleasures, while conveniently sidestepping externalities and effects on global health. Whereas earlier eras met vice with reluctance, if not with outright resistance, today the tendency is on an opposite trajectory: vice is both normalized and accepted. 

 

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David Courtwright

The Age of Addiction hones in on the brain reward system’s “big bang” moment, tracing it back to the agricultural revolution. What characterized pleasure, vice and addiction then was limited. People dabbled with local food-drugs but had little else at their disposal. Pleasure was in its infancy. Gambling, for instance, consisted of improvised devices: “sticks, shells, fruit pits,” and the occasional animal bone. Questions of accessibility or affordability were not yet part of the vocabulary. From the agricultural revolution on, the story follows a familiar trajectory: the invention of new technology, innovative forms of transportation, and specialized knowledge that built up networks for global trade, transforming rickety ship with a few luxury goods into colossal container ships packed with the inexpensive goodies we all enjoy today. 

The second half of the book deals with changes over the last hundred years or so. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries pleasure, vice and addiction seeped into urban areas, leaving few places or people untouched by their influence. In response, anti-vice reformers rallied and challenged vice’s legitimacy and sought to ban or suppress commodities like narcotics and alcohol and activities like prostitution and gambling. Reformers, as Courtwright sees it, have been unfairly maligned and should be given a second hearing, or at least some credit for enacting regulatory measures that curbed use and resulted in improvements to public health. He argues that we should not separate some reform measures and label them “progressive” (among them, sewage and water infrastructure and vaccination efforts) from their other attempts to eliminate vice. In practice the desires that propelled one propelled the other activities as well, all with the aim of improving public health and safety. Yet the gains made by anti-vice reformers were partial. They failed, as Courtwright documents, for multiple reasons: from internal divisions, corporate resistance and government ambivalence on the one hand, and from their desire to raise revenue on the other. 

Neoliberalism was in its ascendancy by the late twentieth century. It brought with it a new figure, the “vice entrepreneur” who pushed and profited from packaged delights. Courtwright coins the term “limbic capitalism,” described as “a technologically advanced but socially regressive business system in which global industries, often with the help of complicit governments and criminal organizations, encourage excessive consumption and addiction.” Limbic capitalism refined the art of exploiting brain reward and weaponizing it against consumers, perhaps best captured by the Pringles slogan: “Once you pop, the fun don’t stop.” This corporate slogan distills the limbic capitalisms formula: hook customers, encourage them to indulge, rinse and repeat—or, in short, reap the rewards and ignore responsibility for subsequent externalities. Limbic capitalism continues as a force to be reckoned with. It has aided overeating, led to distracted driving, compulsive porn consumption, and other ills. And all of it was intentionally constructed to be this way, causing some of the biggest public health problems globally, according to Courtwright. 

“Limbic capitalism” differs from capitalism through its route of administration: brain reward and its repetition. But is limbic capitalism more predatory or detrimental to public health than the routine behavior of say, Big Pharma or the climate catastrophe wrought by the fossil fuel industry? And does that matter? These are some questions that lingered. One feature that works in limbic capitalism’s favor it is that it is easy to understand, meaning there is less asymmetry of information—risk, for instance—when buying cigarettes or alcohol than in other transactions, like purchasing health insurance, signing financial contracts, or whatever it is we are agreeing to when we hit the “agree” button after every iPhone update. The book’s last line recommends that “we should be against excess,” which, in general, is sensible. But as a concrete matter, policy implications and what limiting excesses means in practice—preference for punitive or health-oriented approaches—also matters but gets less attention. Courtwright offers solutions: government regulation, restrictions on advertising, targeted taxation, and education campaigns. All of these could be good, depending on a lot of other things. 

Like any book, Age of Addiction has shortcomings, many of which might be exposed by the authors and thinkers he cites. Critics of the brain disease model will be disappointed there is not a full airing of arguments made against it, such as Marc Lewis’s The Biology of Desire. Stanton Peele, mentioned twice, will likely continue to have his reservations about this book over exposure and accessibility. This same could be said for Bruce Alexander, whose book The Globalization of Addiction disagrees with Courtwright when Courtwright argues that exposure is a driving force for addiction — Alexander’s other writings suggest that exposure is a secondary or tertiary concern.

Courtwright also perhaps missed an opportunity in his exploration of vice, a very elastic category, limiting it only to individuals and excluding corporate persons. Vice is defined as “bad for the individual, bad for other people, bad for the social order, or some combination of the three” (emphasis mine). Vice looked at through the lens of greed would have been an edifying avenue for him to pursue: patients rationing insulin, some dying; the “public health” consequence of things like the EpiPen, a drug that sells for several hundred of dollars while its active ingredients cost pennies. This could have played to Courtwright’s advantage, given that he uses the idea of “nudges.” Everyone can get behind Courtwright’s goal, which ultimately is about improving public health, but if public health continues to be mostly privatized, preventing people from accessing essential services—mental health services, medication, and the rest—many of the issues discussed will unfortunately remain unresolved. 

 

Fiction Points: Karen Hugg

huggKaren Hugg writes literary mysteries and thrillers inspired by plants. Her first novel, The Forgetting Flower (Magnolia Press, April 2019) is the first in her Botanique Noir trilogy and centers on a fictional amnesia drug sold out of a plant shop in Paris. Hugg formerly worked as an editor and now specializes in ornamental horticultural and is a master pruner. She earned her MFA from Goddard College and has had work published in the anthology Rooted: The Best New Arboreal Nonfiction and elsewhere. She lives in Seattle. 

 

Two nuns and a penguin approach you at a bar, and you tell them you’re a writer. When they ask you what you write about, how do you answer?

Ha! I actually went to Catholic school for many years so I’ve interacted with plenty of nuns in my life (not so much penguins). At any rate, I’d say I write literary mysteries and thrillers inspired by plants. I’ve been a writer since I was a child and became a professional gardener as an adult. Several years ago, plants started slipping into my stories. I realized the best way to spread my passion for plants was to write about them in exciting ways that embodied the fascination I felt for them. That led to start speculating about plants that didn’t exist but could. And that was the seed (no pun intended) for The Forgetting Flower.

But I don’t just write about plants. I write about human beings too. The people who care for the plants, the dilemmas they face, their flaws and conflicts. People are interesting because they’re complex and I try to bring that to the page too.

Points is a blog primarily for drug and alcohol historians. What do you think this audience would find most interesting about your work?

That The Forgetting Flower is, in part, about the addiction and trade of a flower. It’s somewhat similar to marijuana or heroin made from poppies in that it has a natural origin. But the story really isn’t about the plant but rather what’s done with it. For instance, the plant in the book, Violet Smoke, produces flowers that give whoever inhales its scent amnesia. People forget the last thing they were thinking of. This, as addiction experts would know, could be very handy. People might want to forget certain traumatic or inconvenient events in their life. And my characters do just that in this novel within the dark framework that sometimes accompanies drug addiction: the monetary costs, the desperation to obtain it, the deterioration of a livelihood, the black market on which it’s sold. Continue reading →