The first time I read Juliet Escoria's Black Cloud was just after its release in 2014. At first blush, I was dazzled by Escoria's punky, sexy goth-girl aura. It was as if a Suicide Girl had written a novel(la). Certainly, Escoria's online profile, which featured the author splayed in all manner of suggestive poses, contributed to this vibe. Even more appealing was Escoria's sparse prose tinctured with an almost exultant hurt, not to mention the ease with which she could intersperse disaffected sex scenes in her narratives. Straddling New York and L.A. cityscapes, she conjured (for me, at least) the portrait of a young woman enigmatically capering in bob-cuts and chokers between cosmopolitan mis-en-scenes. She was, in 2014, the kind of girl I wanted to connect with in mutual ennui, and in my first read-through, I felt as if this was happening. In short, Juliet Escoria was a fantasy.
The second time I read Black Cloud by Juliet Escoria (that is, Juliet Scum, for non-Spanish speakers) was just last week. This time around, I saw the book more clearly for what it is: the stark, uncompromising account of an addict and her personal undoing(s). It is not sexy at all. Why would we expect it to be? On the contrary, Black Cloud catalogues a deep lack of fulfillment with relationships on levels sexual, emotional, and existential. It is about being jerked around by fellow addicts, finding only bottomless hollows in boyfriends, girlfriends, family, and everyone in between. "Connecting" with anyone is, as per Escoria's work, all but impossible; sex, drugs and, hell, even wholesome pursuits all lead to dead-ends.
Juliet Escoria is no fantasy. Her capacity for tracing the emptiness of addiction (and the wider world outside it) is about as real as it gets. Hopefully other readers will get that on their first read-through. I suppose my recent re-reading is inflected with post-#MeToo sensibilities. More palpably, I think it indexes my own growth--or my own giving up--and the solace that comes with it. I don't know if Juliet Escoria has grown up or given up or what, but I hope she's found some kind of solace, too.