In it, Khakpour describes years of severe ill health that expressed itself in numerous symptoms, both physical and psychiatric a slew of doctors, therapists and, frankly, quacks, who proposed a wide variety of diagnoses and treatment plans and near unending rootlessness, as Khakpour, having emigrated with her family from Iran as a child, moved between Los Angeles, New York, Pennsylvania, New Mexico and Germany. Instead, Sick is the story of different kind of triumph, and one certainly less congenial to the fantasy of perfect wellness. The Book I Sold was never written past a barebones proposal”. The Book I Sold might even imply you can do it too.
“I mean, what a fake book that would have been.” In the epilogue to Sick, she describes that imaginary book as “a story of triumph, of how a woman dove into the depths of addiction and illness and got well. “I laugh sometimes thinking about that book that I would have written,” she tells me from Glendale, California, when we speak on the phone. P orochista Khakpour has views about what she refers to as The Book I Sold – as distinct from Sick, the book that she actually wrote.
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