Cookie Mueller was a rare bird, indeed. Although a dark-hearted urban creature of Manhattan, she was also a natural-born writer, and more than that, a risk-taker who made no apologies and was able to maintain an insightful eloquence about her mistakes and triumphs.
What triumphs could those be, you ask? A junkie freak with a penchant for public urination? Her written documentation is the parallel of the photography of Diane Arbus, Nan Goldin and Mary Ellen Mark. She reported her milieu without much sympathy and her readers are the wiser for it.
Don't read this if: you are squeamish about drugs, ambivalent sexuality or bodily functions. Also don't attempt it if: you tend to glorify the rot of drug addiction, death, and/or perversion. Either way, you'll be disappointed. Do read it if: you're a fan of the unvarnished stuff of life, told in fanciful reportage, with little self-consciousness.
I think Cookie would approve if I close by saying that these collected essays are perfect toilet reading.