For its unapologetic examination of trauma, witty takes on the beloved idols of pop, and contributions to the genre of memoir, Myriam Gurba’s autobiographical novel Mean is a must-read, writes J.P. Tamang.
I realized the cop didn’t worry me. I believed that I was going to make it to New York, even if I got thrown in jail for a night. It would only be a minor delay on the way to Larson, the boy I could not stop thinking about.
I wasn’t sure what I had agreed to, but I would have followed Krish almost anywhere. He taught me that when a client leaves their cash in their car they probably don’t have any and that it’s more dangerous to steal from other hookers than it is to steal from johns. He taught me that intuition wasn’t something with which you were born, or could even develop, but that it was a symptom of getting yourself into stupid situations.
At first, stealing from johns was a perk of the underworld cash economy. If I felt as though they hadn’t paid me enough I could swipe something extra. No need for collections agencies. I never called it stealing. It was “remedial compensation”.