This slim volume has a prose style that reminds me of the labyrinth of tiny alleys and streets that form its setting in London. It's a curious book about a former Etonian's struggle with addiction and poverty. Apart from a fleeting glimpse of poor Ann, the book is pervaded by a claustrophobic atmosphere of self-indulgence with few insights. Several times the narrator is saved by an undescribed deus ex-machina.

...I must have relapsed into my former state of wretchedness. Suddenly, however, at this crisis, an opening was made, almost by accident, for reconciliation with my friends. I quitted London, in haste, for a remote part of England: after some time, I proceeded to the university, and it was not until many months had passed away, that I had it in my power again to revisit the ground which had become so interesting to me, and to this day remains so, as the chief source of my youthful sufferings.

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When it comes to reading Confessions of an English Opium Eater the choice of edition is of considerable interest. Short of money and in need to sustain his habit De Quincey wrote it is a frenzy in 1821. More than 30 years later, in 1856, he revised it, and it is widely agreed that in doing so he spoilt it. That is why in most modern editions the text will be that of the 1821 version.

While nowadays there are many books describing first-hand experience with drugs, either describing experimenting with drugs or a life-destroying habit, Confessions of an English Opium Eater was the first of its kind. It set an example to Beaudelaire, Aldous Huxley and Burroughs & Ginsberg to name just a few of the early writers, although they are mainly experimenters who did not suffer a life-long, destructive addiction, with the exception of William Burroughs. The 1970s saw the publication of long-term heroine addicts, often held up to frighten. While the Twentieth century was the age of marihuana, heroine and cocaine, the Nineteenth century was the age of opium.

Thomas de Quincey was not an outlier or exception in his drug habit. The use of opium in the form of laudanum was widespread, and many prominent figures, including Samuel Coleridge struggled with a life-long addiction and had to kick-off to become clean. But Thomas de Quincey was the first to write about it from his own experience. De Quincey also mentions Coleridge in his book, as they were contemporaries and knew each other well.

One of the main tenets of De Quincey about the effects of opium and the kind of hallucinatory effects it brings about is that the user's past is the substrate for their hallucinatory experience. Most of the revisions of 1856 are in adding more biographical detail, to describe the foundations of his life, and thus the foundations of the effects that sprang up into his mind under the influence of the drug.

In the first part, De Quincey sets out to give a short autobiographical sketch. This is followed by a short description entitled "The Pleasures of Opium in which he describes the beginning of his addiction, namely as a relief for a tooth ache and how the prescription opened the doors to "the Paradise of Opium-eaters" (p. 70). In this part he provides some basic facts about the usage and the way laudanum was used, the cost, and he debunks some myths about drug addiction held in his time.

Like Samuel Johnson, De Quincey rose from the state of a tramp to a man at the centre of the literary world. De Quincey had had a good education, but had run away from home. In his later life he became a member of the circle around Wordsworth and Coleridge. The passage about the pleasures of opium has some delightful descriptions of society and cultural life in the late 18th and early 19th century.

De Quincey first started using opium in 1804, and between 1804 and 1812 used is unencumbered and occasionally. However, from 1813 he started taking it daily and developed an unbreakable addiction. He describes this in the next section entitled "Introduction to the pains of opium".

his then, let me repeat, I postulate - that, at the time I began to take opium daily, I could not have done otherwise. Whether, indeed, afterwards I might not have succeeded in breaking off the habit, even when it seemed to me that all efforts would be unavailing, and whether many of the innumerable efforts which I did make, might not have been carried much further, and my gradual reconquests of ground lost might not have been followed up much more energetically - these are questions which I must decline. Perhaps I might make out a case of palliation; but, shall I speak ingenuously? I confess it, as a besetting infirmity of mine, that I am too much of an Eudaemonist: I hanker too much after a state of happiness, both for myself and others: I cannot face misery, whether my own or not, with an eye of sufficient firmness: and am little capable of encountering present pain for the sake of any reversionary benefit.

Like Coleridge, De Quincey was a very erudite man, and it is perhaps not well known that both English writers shared a profound interest in German metaphysics, reading Kant, Fichte, Schelling etc and translated some of their works in English. The prose of De Quincey reflects his broad knowledge of the scholarly side but also the contemporary scene, and good notes as provided by an annotated edition are indispensible.

The final part "The pains of opium" describes how he became fully dependent on opium, taking ever larger doses. It also vividly describes some of his hallucinations, however, this is not the main point of the book as whole. Readers who are specifically hoping to find these descriptions may be underwhelmed by the book. Confessions of an English Opium Eater is a classic because of its masterly prose, describing all aspects of De Quincey's experience with opium, of which the hallucinatory state is a part.

I read two editions of Confessions of an English Opium Eater, as Penguin Books re-issued the book in its Penguin Classics series in a new, and very different edition. Although cataloguing on LT suggests some division, it seems editions are also mixed up quite considerable.

The two Penguin Classics editions are complementary, and it is worth reading both of them. Both editions are based on the 1821 version of De Quincey's Confessions of an English Opium Eater.

The 1971 edition (reprinted in 1986) was edited by Alethea Hayter. This edition has an introduction of about 25 pages, followed by the 1821 text of Confessions of an English Opium Eater taking about 90 pages, which is followed by two interesting appendices and a short section of notes, including notes on both appendices. Appendix A consists of notes, letters and articles commenting on the 'confessions' between 1821 and 1855. They include comments by other writers who mentioned the work or comments by De Quincey. Appendix B consists of a selection of substantial revisions that De Quincey made in the 1856 revision. As mentioned above, it is widely considered that the revisions had a spoiling effect. They are seen as distractions and dilutions of the original text. They mainly consist in adding more biographical detail, sometimes of a rather sentimental nature.

In 2003, Penguin Books published a new edition in its Penguin Classics series. The new edition is entirely different from the 1971 edition. The 2003 edition was edited by Barry Milligan. Like the 1971 edition it takes the 1821 version of Confessions of an English Opium Eater as its basics text (88 pages). This is preceded by a much longer introduction by the editor, in 44 pages.

Obviously, his opium addiction was a life-long obsession to Thomas De Quincey. The Penguin Classics 2003 edition is an extended edition, and the extension is reflected in the title of the edition, namely Confessions of an English Opium Eater and Other Writings. The other writings consist of two sequels that De Quincey wrote, namely Suspira de Profundis and The English Mail-Coach. It seems a wry biographical detail that De Quincey’s son Horace De Quincey died in military service in China in 1842 during the Opium War.

As mentioned above, one of the main tenets of De Quincey about the effects of opium and the kind of hallucinatory effects it brings about is that the user's past is the substrate for their hallucinatory experience. Suspira de Profundis is an unfinished fragment of about 100 pages, intended as a sequel to the ‘Confessions’. It consists of two parts, the most substantive of which is Part 1 “The affliction of childhood”. Although unfinished, it was published in Blackwood’s in 1845.

Although Thomas de Quincey was not a Victorian writer, some of his later works appeared during the Victorian period. The English Mail-Coach, or The Glory of Motion is a kind of long essay of 55 pages about transportation in the 18th and early 19th centuries. It is of interest to readers of early Victorian fiction because it describes the experience of travelling by mail-coach. During the first quarter of the 19th century this mode of transportation was soon replaced by the rail roads. Both the mail-coach and the rail roads as an up-coming phenomenon played an important part in early Victorian writing, particularly as the rail roads enabled characters in Victorian fiction to swiftly travel between London and the countryside. De Quincey wrote this as a sequel to Confessions of an English Opium Eater because it illustrates a further element of his autobiographical experience underlying his hallucinations.

The 2003 edition of Confessions of an English Opium Eater and Other Writings is concluded with a short appendix of some short sections on “Opium in the Nineteenth Century”, “Opium and the medical professions” and “Opium and the orient” followed by notes. ( )

[Reviewed as part of The Illustrated Book Club. Contains some mild spoilers]

This has been on my to-read list for many years. Apart from the title, which is intriguing enough, the author himself seems equally intriguing. A highly-educated and prodigious classical scholar - he was fluent in Greek at 13 - and on chummy terms with the likes of Wordsworth and Coleridge, De Quincey's confession promises to be of a higher calibre than your run-of-the-mill addiction story - and it is. He writes beautifully, if a little long-winded and pompous at times, and his general attitude to drugs and addiction seems enlightened. He dismisses contemporary medical opinion as prejudiced and uninformed. Opium itself, he argues, is not an intoxicant (like alcohol), does not promote lethargy, but rather lifts the spirits, enriches the imagination and clarifies the intellect. Which is fine, as Hamlet might say, were it not that it gave bad dreams. And, of course, it is highly addictive. So, night (and day) terrors, gut wrenching withdrawal symptoms, but otherwise to be recommended - sort of. Which I guess colours his recommendation somewhat.

The review here is of the first (1822) edition, which is the only one I could find for Kindle. It's shorter by two thirds than the second (1856) edition, and (somewhat) less long-winded. However, it does lack some of the detail of the latter - such as facts about De Quincey's family life (the 1st ed. doesn't mention that he had siblings, that I can recall), and goes further to explaining how he ended up where he was. That said, it does also go on at some unnecessary length on abstract topics that aren't really as engaging as De Quincey probably thought they were (well, what I've read of it, anyway...).

Overall, worth reading the first edition, where there are some really beautiful passages of description and entertaining monologues.

Gareth Southwell is a philosopher, writer and illustrator.

This is a great advertisement for opium, in that De Quincey starts out being the former public school acquaintance hitting you up for a kid and trying to entertain for his (opium) supper with louche tales of WHERE HE'S BEEN, but is kind of too affected and up his own ass to get off the ground--but then he gets on to telling you what it's like to be an "eater" and the whole thing just takes flight. That kind of enthusiasm for your subject matter you just can't fake. ( )

"...here was the secret of happiness, about which philosophers had disputed for so many ages, at once discovered; happiness might now be bought for a penny, and carried in the waistcoat-pocket; portable ecstasies might be had corked up in a pint-bottle; and peace of mind could be sent down by the mail."

My favourite sentence of the book.

I pecked at this one, bored by most of it. Though, it was thrilling to find my home so unchanged-- Hounslow is still scary; most druggists are quite helpful and London can drive you to addiction. ( )

"First published in 1821, it paved the way for later generations of literary drug users, from Baudelaire to Burroughs." Whee!

While this is maybe not indispensable, it's also not more than 100 pages, so it gets five stars based on its ratio of awesomeness vs. time commitment. And it is pretty awesome. De Quincey is funny and weird and literate, and the roots of all kinds of drug stories - from those quoted above to Trainspotting and, oh, A Million Little Pieces - are clearly visible.

In one of those proud yet crushing moments where you realize that thought you were so psyched about of has, as Public Enemy said, been thought before: I've always thought that people get more honest when they drink, so if that nice new friend of yours gets weirdly mean and creepy when he's drunk, you might want to think twice about inviting him to your wedding. And here's de Quincey: "Most men are disguised by sobriety; and it is when they are drinking that men display themselves in their true complexion of character."

That's from page 46, in the middle of an absolutely glorious comparison of the effects of wine and opium. One of my favorite passages because, unlike opium, I'm quite familiar with the effects of wine. "The pleasure of wine is always mounting, and tending to a crisis, after which it declines." Really, there's no sense quoting more of it; the whole two pages is great.

If you're interested in drugs, or wine, or the idea of a counter culture, or pretty writing, or the history of opium and its significant effect on the world, this is worth an afternoon. ( )

This is as much a treat for the prose style as it is for the hallucinatory detail.

The edition I received from the library (dating from the 1890s!) is in two parts. The first is the 'Confessions' as shown in the title, and is split into three further parts - a biographical sketch of the author's life, and The Pleasures and Pains of Opium, respectively. His descriptions are long-winded and evocative. Time and space slow down, and he felt lifted up to a supreme pleasure, where all pain was gone.

Then once the drug wears off, you spend all night wishing you want to die and your body rebels against you. But I'll let de Quincey describe that better.

The second part of the book is called Suspiria de Profundis, or 'Sighs from the Depths'. This is a fragmentary, yet brilliant series of descriptions on the hallucinations he saw and heard while under the influence. Roman goddesses, sunken cities, German mountaintops, human memory, and so forth. A dark fragmented phantasm.

Don't do drugs kids! Opium was perfectly legal when the author took it, and all of its cousins - like heroin - are still too dangerous. Unless you're Vollmann, who can shrug off cocaine like the rest of us drink coffee (so I hear). But you're not. Seriously, don't do it. I beg you. It'll wreck us lesser mortals and shatter our minds and mortal bodies. Don't even do it for the chance that you'll produce some real neat art for it. It's not worth it. The good creativity and emotion will fade away into a broken memory soon enough and all that's left of you is dying. ( )

A descrição de trinta anos de vício em ópio - o narrador chegou mesmo ao ponto de comê-lo - originalmente publicado na Inglaterra vitoriana.
Excelente estilo. ( )

Witty and erudite, if prone to fits of self-indulgent loquacity. This is the drug confessional that begat a whole genre, but the author is strangely coy about the details of his experiences, both positive and negative. ( )

Most likely my favorite autobiographical essay, for many reasons, but ultimately not because Quincey delicately describes the persuasions of a most desirable experience I have found myself in but more because he sets the scene for a man who would want to feel "agitated, writhing, throbbing, palpitating, shattered" in the mental faculties that were only heightened by his usage of the drug, at the time one that was not proper to write about.

I’m not sure if the group Death in June named themselves after the following passage but I shall quote:
June, 1819.
I have had occasion to remark, at various periods of my life, that the deaths of those whom we love, and indeed the contemplation of death generally, is (caeteris paribus) [‘other things being equal’], more effecting in summer than in any other season of the year.

De Quincey's explanation of why this is the case is phenomenal, but the album "But, What Ends When the Symbols Shatter?" suffices to aurally describe his words. ( )

The ultimate story of drug addiction in the 19th century. Although it claims to be designed to warn readers of the snares of opium use, it still manages to make the habit sound appealing at times. A fun read, and worth digging for. ( )

3.25 ( )