The 80 years since this book was published haven’t changed a thing about the alcoholic experience. What does feel slightly dated is the way Jackson writes dipso Don’s train of thought, and especially the dream scene. Too much telling vs. showing? A minor complaint though, and I did love his reverie of Cleopatra, her matchless beauty a metaphor for the bottle. The action of Don’s spree  — his repeated careenings from bar to liquor store to temporary unconsciousness, his tragicomic search for a pawn shop on Yom Kippur — is terrifyingly out of control. Absolutely a classic booze novel.