The Pharmacist
Justin David
What a great heavy sweaty sexy book this is, based around the utterly compelling relationships between Billy, a young man drawn into the sphere of Polari speaking, strikingly debonair Albert — The Pharmacist — a compelling and damaged older man and drug dealer. Set deep in east London, they first meet in Columbia Road Flower Market, pre gentrification and drowning in drugs and sex this is Harold & Maude meets Aldous Huxley. The narrative swirls, dips, rages and explodes across a landscape of enlightenment and change and author David’s prose manages to capture the throbbing urgency of the chemical indulgences deeply entwined with the passion of these two men. This isn’t chemsex, this is a new drug, exploding across London. The dialogue is electric and funny, although the humour is often dark, queer and uncomfortable, perfectly Queer.
David captures the crepuscular geography of Shoreditch with a loving grace, takes in The Royal Oak pub, filled with it seriously diverse queer patrons, noting sunshine brickwork and the dust of generations of Londoners. This is a story of real contact, and physical presence, these men meet, touch, live, share space – physical space – and being visible is urgent and necessary. As Billy learns more of his much older lovers’ life the focus of this short book changes, as the ecstasy thumps through his body he begins to understand how accumulated loss can define you.
By parts astonishingly tender and brutally honest The Pharmacist should be on every gay mans reading list. It’s a seriously impressive book, which pulls you deliriously down into drugged up sensual exploration and fucks you senseless. It also reminds us of what we’ve lost, and that’s a sadness worth reflecting on. Recommend.
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