By: Peggy Sue Wood | @pswediting

Published in 2021, this book is what truly made me fall in love with Nagata Kabi’s work. Before this, I had read her famous My Lesbian Experience with Loneliness memoir-manga and a few other titles, but this one really solidified me as a fan of Nagata’s work.

The story follows her experience with pancreatitis at age 31, and like much of her other work, it is autobiographical in nature.

The book balances comedy with the harsh realities of life, much like the works of David Sedaris—though it’s not overwhelmingly sad or excessively funny. Instead, it strikes a balance. For example, the excitement of being discharged from the hospital contrasts with the crushing realization of living with a body forever changed by the consequences of her over-drinking, a theme Nagata poignantly depicts in this work.

In writing this review, I decided to look up others’ opinions before sharing my own (something I usually avoid for fear of influencing my thoughts). However, it’s been a while since the book was published and I found myself in want of other opinions only to find myself contrasting with other views on the work.

For example, Travis Smith from Cannonball Read wrote, “She ignores the doctor’s advice repeatedly, refusing to adjust her habits according to her new normal, among other things. And… that’s the note we end on. Is it realistic that a person in her situation might simply continue on as if nothing ever happened in the first place? Of course. Though does that make for a satisfying read? Not at all.”

I would argue that this very idea is what makes the work so satisfying because it’s real, and that’s kind of the point of nonfiction. Everyone wants to be better, to improve, and to avoid making the same mistakes that lead to feelings of guilt or poor health. However, changing our habits isn’t easy, and the reality is that most of us struggle with it. Being an adult is hard, and if change were simple, there wouldn’t be so many self-help books or so many people struggling to make it happen. The truth is, change takes time, effort, and often multiple failures before any real progress is made—and that’s exactly what this book shows.

Then there was the review I read from the Boston Bastard Brigade, which stated, “Nagata Kabi continues to be one of this generation’s most unique voices in the comic medium, with My Alcoholic Escape from Reality hoping to be both a wake-up call and a turning point in how to deal with life’s biggest hurdles.” I would strongly disagree with this statement. While Nagata does have a distinct voice, it feels less like a singular, groundbreaking perspective and more like a raw, vocal expression of the struggles many quarter-life adults face today: mental and physical health issues, exploring sexuality, relationship struggles, and more. Her work may not be entirely unique, though her ability to get it published and make her voice so loudly heard is, in itself, remarkable. However, this particular volume isn’t really about overcoming life’s greatest challenges—it’s about stumbling through those hurdles and trying to keep moving forward despite the pain.

I also took issue with Susan’s review from The Lesbrary, where she wrote, “My general recommendation for Nagata Kabi’s memoirs are that they’re good in the same way that Hannah Gadsby’s Nanette is good. They are both queer creators using their most raw edges and pain as entertainment, and cast an uncomfortable reflection back on the audience consuming that entertainment… They are both funny and insightful, and that humour only makes their more serious points hit like a train.” Personally, I don’t find the serious points in Nagata’s work to land with the same force, nor do I find the humor laugh-out-loud funny. Instead, there’s a subtle balance in her storytelling that feels more like a quiet, “Wow—that’s so real.” It doesn’t demand an emotional reaction; it just resonates.

However, I do strongly agree with Susan’s conclusion about the work that I’ll share here: “This ties into the point Nagata Kabi makes about narrative satisfaction—as a story, the most satisfying endings are the ones where she either relapses or recovers, and life isn’t that tidy; instead, it’s a narrative in progress, where she’s trying to be well and at least writing herself a smidge of hope for the future, and I respect that a lot.”

What really stood out to me in this book was the ending, where Nagata completely disconnects from everything else in the story to focus on her desire to love and be loved in a relationship. This felt incredibly authentic. It’s how people think—how we can drift from one concern to another. Life is about figuring out all these different wants, needs, and focuses, and that’s okay.

Compared to Nagata’s other works, this book feels like it goes nowhere. It covers a very short period of time, especially when compared to My Lesbian Experience with Loneliness and I think that’s exactly the point. The message here is that it’s okay to feel like you’re not moving forward. It’s okay to be stuck. You can feel upset about it while also accepting it. The tension between what we want and who we are—that internal conflict—is part of the human experience. Realizing that, perhaps, is a small step toward progress.

Those were my thoughts on the book… what about yours? If you have read this work or another of Nagata’s series, I hope you will share your thoughts in the comments below!

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Copyedited by: Krow Smith | @coffeewithkrow and Katherine Cañeba | @kcserinlee