Originally published in Verbicide issue #9

Rowdy’s Press, 132 pages, paperback, $12.95

I’ll be honest: I can’t stand punks. I like so-called “punk rock” (whatever that means in the ever-capricious and ever-(de)evolving definition of it in these modern times). I like catching a good show. But I can’t stand most of them. I’ve seen punks destroy both public and private property in D.C. and I’ve had lazy, jobless punks ask me for spare change at St. Marks, who sarcastically sneer a “thank you” when I just stare at them. And there’s nothing worse than a punk who’s telling you what punk is. I’d love to stab those types to death endlessly with rusty screwdrivers and then reanimate them just so I can relive the pleasure of doing it again. I have no friends who are punks, unless you count the friends I have who saw punk as a phase in life rather than a way of life (albeit a phase that they consider an integral part of their lives that they honor, since it forged them into the people who they are today).

Despite my opinion of punks, I will say this: their solidarity deeply moves me, and Aimee Cooper’s book Coloring Outside the Lines not only goes straight to what punk meant to her but straight into the human heart. To say that this book is strictly for a “punk” audience severely limits its power (I sure as hell ain’t a punk); it goes over any boundaries defined by a “punk” audience, who would probably be unworthy of reading it anyway. It’s more than just about punk in the early ’80s; it’s about the urgent needs within every human to belong to a family, an anchor that everyone can fall back on when everyone and everything around you has failed.

Coloring Outside the Lines is a sketch and reflection of Cooper’s life within the punk rock subculture of Los Angeles, and each chapter is written with efficiency and grace, yet at the same time it’s fun to read. The people and stories are so memorable that you’ll want to share them in a conversation with someone, like that scene in the hospital, where Aimee encounters “the only heavy metal fan with a muscle.” I had to reread that chapter, among others, because the first time around it was hilarious. The second time around it was tender and illustrated the essential elements of punk: loyalty and solidarity (which, by the way, isn’t characteristic of just punk, ya know).

The book is also filled with memorable characters, like Maggie, who reminded Cooper of “a spinning top — all energy, but with no real direction.” As I read about these people, a strange thing occurred: I found myself caring about punks. Really! I did! If I had met these people in real life — face to face, with my attitudes toward life now — assuredly I’d want to body slam each and every one of them. (Well, except for Aimee. She was cool.)

Coloring Outside the Lines deserves to be read in one sitting. I read this book in five hours. I would’ve read it in three if I didn’t keep rereading my favorite chapters and paragraphs. I put down the book midway and told myself that I’d finish tomorrow, but the rhythm and structure of the novel would’ve been broken if I’d done that, so I kept going, and the primary motivation was Cooper’s skillful structural narration. It took me up, then down. Up, then down. It had me laughing aloud at some parts, widening my eyes at others, and rereading sentences and paragraphs because they were just so damn gratifying to read again.

I highly recommend Cooper’s book. For me, as a memoir, it’s right up there with Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast: it’s simple, entertaining, well written, and, most importantly, you’ll feel as if you’ve grown older and wiser just by reading it. In the last chapter, Cooper writes, “If asked today what it was like to be a punk rocker in the early ’80s, I’d probably answer…that there is no one answer. How could there be?…But in the end, we really were all just small pieces of an incredible puzzle….So I finally got my adventure — because really, that’s what it was. Not a lifestyle. Not a core being. It didn’t define me. I could leave it behind, and move on to the next new and wonderful experience.”

Speaking as a non-punk rocker, I loved reading this book. Not only is it an honest account of punk in the early ’80s, it gets right to what human beings are about and what they learn as individuals and members of a group, guaranteeing its timelessness as a classic. If I were a punk, it would be a book I’d want to grow up with, something to read every five years. But even though I’m not, I still would, because it’s not just for punks — it’s for anyone who’s ever felt alienated and has sought and found solace with those like-minded.

And punks who are telling you what punk is should be spanked with this book.