This memoir, like the title denotes, weaves in and out of sexual escapades and drug addiction whimsically. Many of his stories, if looked through a different lens, would seem depraved and abject. But he’s able to distill these anecdotes to their comedic core. At one point, I casually glazed over a moment of pedophilia without realizing the egregious nature of whatoccured . A tutor molested him, touching his private parts. The moment struck a tone of nonchalance as if it was an usual occurrence in Brand’s life, mere commonplace that older people sometimes take advantage of your innocence. A couple hundred pages later he was in an Istanbul brothel, having sex with one woman while his father, who came in and out of Brand’s life, was now going in and out of another prostitute another across the room. Such are the wonderful, wholesome stories that abound in his Booky Wook.