James Wasserman (1948–2020)

This "warts and all" account of an American Thelemite's personal quest also chronicles the axial development of the Thelemic movement in the second half of the 20th century, as well as the New York City occult scene of the 1970s. It reads very quickly. The prose is occasionally transparent as the factual condensation of diary data, but the honesty concerning events described is positively bracing. When I first heard announcement of this book's impending publication, I knew I would need to show more have a copy. And now that I've read it, that knowledge is thrice-confirmed by the way that it ties together its fascinating matter through the integral experience of a true magician. Br. Wasserman doesn't hesitate to relay his personal judgments of those characters -- living and dead -- with whom he has interacted, and in those cases where I have my own personal acquaintance with them, I concur with his verdicts. As rewarding as the text is, the many glossy pages of photos are especially gratifying. My Other Reader considered at least one of them "scandalous," and they provide an important set of images to complement the narratives I have been gradually learning for the last two decades. show less

One of the worst "Thelemic" books I've read in recent memory. Wasserman leaves no uncertainty on just how crazy, hateful and megalomaniacal he can be. Here is an example of a magician ruled by his shadow who has barely started doing any meaningful Work upon the path. Unfortunately, he seems quite adept at selling himself and slaves will surely follow this priest. Save your money, this book is utter trash..

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