By: Spencer Doar

It’s easy to write off modern day cereal giveaways — there’s always some extra hoop to jump through before getting the loot.  Gone are the days of instant pleasure from hermetically sealed packages coated in sugar dust. 

But for electro-dance producer Harley Streten, who goes by Flume, cereal was essential in his genesis as an artist.  In his early teens, a Nutri-Grain box bequeathed him a free sample of, well, sampling software. 

In the ensuing years, the now 21-year-old Streten expanded his producing chops on equipment that’s more Kellogg’s HQ than the cheap stuff on the shelves by working newspaper routes, janitorial gigs and one nightmare stint as a server at Hard Rock Café under a manager of sub-par abilities.    

Now, Streten’s on a whirlwind 15-gigs-in-three-weeks tour of the States, a follow-up to a busy European tour. 

“I’m used to being in my room writing,” he said. “Now I’m put in front of so many people.” 

It’s only going to get busier for Streten, as he just agreed to tour in support of English electronic duo Disclosure. (It’ll be interesting to see how long youthful exuberance can keep this kind of schedule afloat.)

But beyond the international travel, not much has changed for Streten. He still has the same friends and lives in the same beach community north of Sydney that he grew up in.  An avid surfer since the age of 8, Streten is reluctant to leave the waves of his youth. 

Water sports aside, the seeming calm that comes over Streten when he discusses his home is indicative of its importance both for mental health, and, less overtly, his musical efforts. 

Mostly absent is the whomp-whomp of dubstep and the unh-tsk unh-tsk common on the European club music scene. 

Rather, Streten leans to the more ethereal and tranquil aspects of electronic dance music — as oxymoronic as that may seem. 

His single, “Sleepless,” embodies all that makes Flume compelling:  a featured artist to add splashes of color and synths chopped and screwed on a sonic scale that won’t be found in Texas hip-hop. 

Much like “Left Alone” and “Bring You Down” off of his self-titled 2012 debut, “Sleepless” induces the type of swaying that gives away concertgoers who’ve had a couple. 

The single “Holdin On,” with its echoed hook and soaring bass, vies with “Sleepless” as his biggest hit yet.  Regardless of success, every day is a surprise reminder that his life on Australian beaches will never be the same. 

“My first festival was when I realized this was big,” Streten said.  “By the end of the set, six or seven thousand people were there. Coming from pub shit — I’d seen web stats and stuff, but the people…”

After so much touring during such a seminal time in his life, it won’t be surprising if Streten’s next venture is of a different tenor — or in a different realm of entertainment entirely. He envisions two or three more albums and then moving on to greener pastures that could include film and ghostwriting. 

What:  Flume

When: Tuesday, 8 p.m.

Where: First Avenue Mainroom, 701 1st Ave., Minneapolis

Cost: $15

Age: 18+

By: Spencer Doar

It’s easy to write off modern day cereal giveaways — there’s always some extra hoop to jump through before getting the loot.  Gone are the days of instant pleasure from hermetically sealed packages coated in sugar dust. 

But for electro-dance producer Harley Streten, who goes by Flume, cereal was essential in his genesis as an artist.  In his early teens, a Nutri-Grain box bequeathed him a free sample of, well, sampling software. 

In the ensuing years, the now 21-year-old Streten expanded his producing chops on equipment that’s more Kellogg’s HQ than the cheap stuff on the shelves by working newspaper routes, janitorial gigs and one nightmare stint as a server at Hard Rock Café under a manager of sub-par abilities.    

Now, Streten’s on a whirlwind 15-gigs-in-three-weeks tour of the States, a follow-up to a busy European tour. 

“I’m used to being in my room writing,” he said. “Now I’m put in front of so many people.” 

It’s only going to get busier for Streten, as he just agreed to tour in support of English electronic duo Disclosure. (It’ll be interesting to see how long youthful exuberance can keep this kind of schedule afloat.)

But beyond the international travel, not much has changed for Streten. He still has the same friends and lives in the same beach community north of Sydney that he grew up in.  An avid surfer since the age of 8, Streten is reluctant to leave the waves of his youth. 

Water sports aside, the seeming calm that comes over Streten when he discusses his home is indicative of its importance both for mental health, and, less overtly, his musical efforts. 

Mostly absent is the whomp-whomp of dubstep and the unh-tsk unh-tsk common on the European club music scene. 

Rather, Streten leans to the more ethereal and tranquil aspects of electronic dance music — as oxymoronic as that may seem. 

His single, “Sleepless,” embodies all that makes Flume compelling:  a featured artist to add splashes of color and synths chopped and screwed on a sonic scale that won’t be found in Texas hip-hop. 

Much like “Left Alone” and “Bring You Down” off of his self-titled 2012 debut, “Sleepless” induces the type of swaying that gives away concertgoers who’ve had a couple. 

The single “Holdin On,” with its echoed hook and soaring bass, vies with “Sleepless” as his biggest hit yet.  Regardless of success, every day is a surprise reminder that his life on Australian beaches will never be the same. 

“My first festival was when I realized this was big,” Streten said.  “By the end of the set, six or seven thousand people were there. Coming from pub shit — I’d seen web stats and stuff, but the people…”

After so much touring during such a seminal time in his life, it won’t be surprising if Streten’s next venture is of a different tenor — or in a different realm of entertainment entirely. He envisions two or three more albums and then moving on to greener pastures that could include film and ghostwriting. 

What:  Flume

When: Tuesday, 8 p.m.

Where: First Avenue Mainroom, 701 1st Ave., Minneapolis

Cost: $15

Age: 18+

By: Spencer Doar

With his shock of white hair and matching mustache, Tom Rush looks a lot like Mark Twain.

Though he’s a musician by trade, Rush actually has a lot in common with the river writer.  For 50 years, the singer-songwriter has held audiences captive with his combination of talent and personality. 

“I figured out early on that if people like you, they’re more prone to liking your music,” Rush said. 

Mostly due to his 1968 album, “The Circle Game,” which featured songs by Jackson Browne, James Taylor and Joni Mitchell, plus his (now) folk standard “No Regrets,”  Rush is regarded as exposing singer-songwriting to widespread audiences.

Since then, Rush has released another 19 albums, including his own favorite, 2009’s “What I Know.”

They’re guitar-driven pieces, with Rush’s thoughts spilling out in the measures, detailing everything from his trouble finding car keys to the nature of romance — all caged in a folksy-blues shell. He’s more of a guy relating his life than a singer performing a song. 

Singer-songwriters are a dime a dozen now, but Rush still occupies a different landscape, one where his congeniality and knack for story-telling reign supreme above the quacks who pick up a guitar and call themselves musicians. 

Though Rush didn’t pick up a guitar first — he learned how to play the ukulele from an older cousin at the age of 10, an activity that made music fun while he struggled through baneful piano lessons. 

The guitar came around age 15, something that he took with him to Harvard. 

After graduating with a degree in English literature, Rush realized that “no one was willing to pay me to read books, but they would pay me to play music.” 

It’s the type of vaguely tongue-in-cheek comment that characterizes Rush and his music. His interludes, where he might mix philosophizing on the nature of the muse with an oddly humorous story about a song for a dead bird, merely add to his legend. 

In fact, his ability to relax an audience like an older, still-funny, down-to-earth comedian is so popular that he sometimes gets requests for his stories. 

Playing with a band in the ’80s, while fun, prevented his meandering tales from taking full form, resulting in the other musicians “looking fidgety.” So he got away from that. 

He’s solo again, which allows him to again integrate anecdotes into his performances of such natural sounding songs — a seemingly effortless exercise for Rush. 

“Song-writing is like coaxing something out of the shadows,” Rush said. “It’s there — you just have to be quiet and listen.”

What: Tom Rush

When: 7:30 p.m., Thursday

Where: The Cedar Cultural Center, 416 S. Cedar Ave., Minneapolis

Cost: $30-$40

Ages: All ages

By: Spencer Doar

With his shock of white hair and matching mustache, Tom Rush looks a lot like Mark Twain.

Though he’s a musician by trade, Rush actually has a lot in common with the river writer.  For 50 years, the singer-songwriter has held audiences captive with his combination of talent and personality. 

“I figured out early on that if people like you, they’re more prone to liking your music,” Rush said. 

Mostly due to his 1968 album, “The Circle Game,” which featured songs by Jackson Browne, James Taylor and Joni Mitchell, plus his (now) folk standard “No Regrets,”  Rush is regarded as exposing singer-songwriting to widespread audiences.

Since then, Rush has released another 19 albums, including his own favorite, 2009’s “What I Know.”

They’re guitar-driven pieces, with Rush’s thoughts spilling out in the measures, detailing everything from his trouble finding car keys to the nature of romance — all caged in a folksy-blues shell. He’s more of a guy relating his life than a singer performing a song. 

Singer-songwriters are a dime a dozen now, but Rush still occupies a different landscape, one where his congeniality and knack for story-telling reign supreme above the quacks who pick up a guitar and call themselves musicians. 

Though Rush didn’t pick up a guitar first — he learned how to play the ukulele from an older cousin at the age of 10, an activity that made music fun while he struggled through baneful piano lessons. 

The guitar came around age 15, something that he took with him to Harvard. 

After graduating with a degree in English literature, Rush realized that “no one was willing to pay me to read books, but they would pay me to play music.” 

It’s the type of vaguely tongue-in-cheek comment that characterizes Rush and his music. His interludes, where he might mix philosophizing on the nature of the muse with an oddly humorous story about a song for a dead bird, merely add to his legend. 

In fact, his ability to relax an audience like an older, still-funny, down-to-earth comedian is so popular that he sometimes gets requests for his stories. 

Playing with a band in the ’80s, while fun, prevented his meandering tales from taking full form, resulting in the other musicians “looking fidgety.” So he got away from that. 

He’s solo again, which allows him to again integrate anecdotes into his performances of such natural sounding songs — a seemingly effortless exercise for Rush. 

“Song-writing is like coaxing something out of the shadows,” Rush said. “It’s there — you just have to be quiet and listen.”

What: Tom Rush

When: 7:30 p.m., Thursday

Where: The Cedar Cultural Center, 416 S. Cedar Ave., Minneapolis

Cost: $30-$40

Ages: All ages

By: Spencer Doar

With his shock of white hair and matching mustache, Tom Rush looks a lot like Mark Twain.

Though he’s a musician by trade, Rush actually has a lot in common with the river writer.  For 50 years, the singer-songwriter has held audiences captive with his combination of talent and personality. 

“I figured out early on that if people like you, they’re more prone to liking your music,” Rush said. 

Mostly due to his 1968 album, “The Circle Game,” which featured songs by Jackson Browne, James Taylor and Joni Mitchell, plus his (now) folk standard “No Regrets,”  Rush is regarded as exposing singer-songwriting to widespread audiences.

Since then, Rush has released another 19 albums, including his own favorite, 2009’s “What I Know.”

They’re guitar-driven pieces, with Rush’s thoughts spilling out in the measures, detailing everything from his trouble finding car keys to the nature of romance — all caged in a folksy-blues shell. He’s more of a guy relating his life than a singer performing a song. 

Singer-songwriters are a dime a dozen now, but Rush still occupies a different landscape, one where his congeniality and knack for story-telling reign supreme above the quacks who pick up a guitar and call themselves musicians. 

Though Rush didn’t pick up a guitar first — he learned how to play the ukulele from an older cousin at the age of 10, an activity that made music fun while he struggled through baneful piano lessons. 

The guitar came around age 15, something that he took with him to Harvard. 

After graduating with a degree in English literature, Rush realized that “no one was willing to pay me to read books, but they would pay me to play music.” 

It’s the type of vaguely tongue-in-cheek comment that characterizes Rush and his music. His interludes, where he might mix philosophizing on the nature of the muse with an oddly humorous story about a song for a dead bird, merely add to his legend. 

In fact, his ability to relax an audience like an older, still-funny, down-to-earth comedian is so popular that he sometimes gets requests for his stories. 

Playing with a band in the ’80s, while fun, prevented his meandering tales from taking full form, resulting in the other musicians “looking fidgety.” So he got away from that. 

He’s solo again, which allows him to again integrate anecdotes into his performances of such natural sounding songs — a seemingly effortless exercise for Rush. 

“Song-writing is like coaxing something out of the shadows,” Rush said. “It’s there — you just have to be quiet and listen.”

What: Tom Rush

When: 7:30 p.m., Thursday

Where: The Cedar Cultural Center, 416 S. Cedar Ave., Minneapolis

Cost: $30-$40

Ages: All ages

By: Spencer Doar

With his shock of white hair and matching mustache, Tom Rush looks a lot like Mark Twain.

Though he’s a musician by trade, Rush actually has a lot in common with the river writer.  For 50 years, the singer-songwriter has held audiences captive with his combination of talent and personality. 

“I figured out early on that if people like you, they’re more prone to liking your music,” Rush said. 

Mostly due to his 1968 album, “The Circle Game,” which featured songs by Jackson Browne, James Taylor and Joni Mitchell, plus his (now) folk standard “No Regrets,”  Rush is regarded as exposing singer-songwriting to widespread audiences.

Since then, Rush has released another 19 albums, including his own favorite, 2009’s “What I Know.”

They’re guitar-driven pieces, with Rush’s thoughts spilling out in the measures, detailing everything from his trouble finding car keys to the nature of romance — all caged in a folksy-blues shell. He’s more of a guy relating his life than a singer performing a song. 

Singer-songwriters are a dime a dozen now, but Rush still occupies a different landscape, one where his congeniality and knack for story-telling reign supreme above the quacks who pick up a guitar and call themselves musicians. 

Though Rush didn’t pick up a guitar first — he learned how to play the ukulele from an older cousin at the age of 10, an activity that made music fun while he struggled through baneful piano lessons. 

The guitar came around age 15, something that he took with him to Harvard. 

After graduating with a degree in English literature, Rush realized that “no one was willing to pay me to read books, but they would pay me to play music.” 

It’s the type of vaguely tongue-in-cheek comment that characterizes Rush and his music. His interludes, where he might mix philosophizing on the nature of the muse with an oddly humorous story about a song for a dead bird, merely add to his legend. 

In fact, his ability to relax an audience like an older, still-funny, down-to-earth comedian is so popular that he sometimes gets requests for his stories. 

Playing with a band in the ’80s, while fun, prevented his meandering tales from taking full form, resulting in the other musicians “looking fidgety.” So he got away from that. 

He’s solo again, which allows him to again integrate anecdotes into his performances of such natural sounding songs — a seemingly effortless exercise for Rush. 

“Song-writing is like coaxing something out of the shadows,” Rush said. “It’s there — you just have to be quiet and listen.”

What: Tom Rush

When: 7:30 p.m., Thursday

Where: The Cedar Cultural Center, 416 S. Cedar Ave., Minneapolis

Cost: $30-$40

Ages: All ages

By: Joe Kleinschmidt

Susannah Cahalan found two red dots on her arm one morning in February 2009. She figured she had bedbugs like many New Yorkers at the time. After several fumigations and increasing anxiety, Cahalan’s mental state unraveled. She was obsessed.

 “Looking back, that seemed to be the beginning of these paranoid thoughts that started entering,” she said.

The then-24-year-old grew increasingly fearful. As the red marks on her arm faded, her paranoia escalated.

Cahalan’s symptoms mirrored bipolar disorder or schizophrenia early on, but later the writer’s erratic behavior gave way to violent seizures. Blood and foam spurt out of her mouth at one point, prompting her family to seek a neurologist.

During a month-long hospital stay, she was strapped to her bed and nurses had to tackle and sedate her after she attempted to escape her room.

Cahalan documented the experience in her memoir, “Brain on Fire: My Month of Madness,” which is out in paperback this week. Looking back, Cahalan said she still struggles to identify with her old self.

“The way I feel about it is that a very close friend went through it,” she said. “It’s not a stranger per se, but it’s not me.”

Cahalan consulted doctors, family and friends to piece together “Brain on Fire,” but later realized they left out some grim details. Medical records and surveillance video documenting her stay revealed the grave nature of her madness.

Because the young New York Post reporter could not quite come to grips with the disease, Cahalan originally needed to dissociate herself from the writing process.

“For the reader, it didn’t work,” she said. “But for me, I had to write initially in third person. That’s how I felt about it.”

Cahalan was misdiagnosed several times before she found out she had a rare illness called anti-NMDA receptor encephalitis. One doctor quickly pronounced Cahalan was simply experiencing alcohol withdrawal. Another pointed to schizophrenia. Her symptoms, from psychotic behavior and catatonia, eventually led her to Dr. Souhel Najjar.

The neurologist closely monitored Cahalan and decided the illness was physiological. When Najjar drew the outline of a circle on a notepad for Cahalan, he told her to draw the numbers of a clock. After she drew one through twelve on only the right side of the clock, Najjar knew he had a clue.

 “No one with a psychiatric condition would draw a clock like that,” Cahalan said. “It also is proof that the right side of my brain was impaired in some way.”

Najjar said Cahalan's brain was "on fire." To quench the flames, Najjar quickly put her on a series of steroids and medications to alleviate the swelling in her brain. She recovered within a year of the diagnosis.

“Brain on Fire” weaves a medical mystery with a compelling memoir, a scientific story palpable for most readers. Cahalan’s memory might not fill in all the blanks of her lost month for a truly personal recollection, but the factual tale catches fire in its poignant conclusion.

The book sheds light on the harrowing consequences of misdiagnosis. Alluding to the fate she narrowly avoided, Cahalan’s story appeals to the stark difference in treatment of a mental illness.

“The care was different,” she said. “It wasn’t overt, but there was a looming threat that they were going to send me to a psychiatric ward.”

What: Susannah Cahalan reading

Where: Magers & Quinn, 3038 Hennepin Ave. S. Minneapolis

When: August 16, 7 p.m.

By: Joe Kleinschmidt

Susannah Cahalan found two red dots on her arm one morning in February 2009. She figured she had bedbugs like many New Yorkers at the time. After several fumigations and increasing anxiety, Cahalan’s mental state unraveled. She was obsessed.

 “Looking back, that seemed to be the beginning of these paranoid thoughts that started entering,” she said.

The then-24-year-old grew increasingly fearful. As the red marks on her arm faded, her paranoia escalated.

Cahalan’s symptoms mirrored bipolar disorder or schizophrenia early on, but later the writer’s erratic behavior gave way to violent seizures. Blood and foam spurt out of her mouth at one point, prompting her family to seek a neurologist.

During a month-long hospital stay, she was strapped to her bed and nurses had to tackle and sedate her after she attempted to escape her room.

Cahalan documented the experience in her memoir, “Brain on Fire: My Month of Madness,” which is out in paperback this week. Looking back, Cahalan said she still struggles to identify with her old self.

“The way I feel about it is that a very close friend went through it,” she said. “It’s not a stranger per se, but it’s not me.”

Cahalan consulted doctors, family and friends to piece together “Brain on Fire,” but later realized they left out some grim details. Medical records and surveillance video documenting her stay revealed the grave nature of her madness.

Because the young New York Post reporter could not quite come to grips with the disease, Cahalan originally needed to dissociate herself from the writing process.

“For the reader, it didn’t work,” she said. “But for me, I had to write initially in third person. That’s how I felt about it.”

Cahalan was misdiagnosed several times before she found out she had a rare illness called anti-NMDA receptor encephalitis. One doctor quickly pronounced Cahalan was simply experiencing alcohol withdrawal. Another pointed to schizophrenia. Her symptoms, from psychotic behavior and catatonia, eventually led her to Dr. Souhel Najjar.

The neurologist closely monitored Cahalan and decided the illness was physiological. When Najjar drew the outline of a circle on a notepad for Cahalan, he told her to draw the numbers of a clock. After she drew one through twelve on only the right side of the clock, Najjar knew he had a clue.

 “No one with a psychiatric condition would draw a clock like that,” Cahalan said. “It also is proof that the right side of my brain was impaired in some way.”

Najjar said Cahalan's brain was "on fire." To quench the flames, Najjar quickly put her on a series of steroids and medications to alleviate the swelling in her brain. She recovered within a year of the diagnosis.

“Brain on Fire” weaves a medical mystery with a compelling memoir, a scientific story palpable for most readers. Cahalan’s memory might not fill in all the blanks of her lost month for a truly personal recollection, but the factual tale catches fire in its poignant conclusion.

The book sheds light on the harrowing consequences of misdiagnosis. Alluding to the fate she narrowly avoided, Cahalan’s story appeals to the stark difference in treatment of a mental illness.

“The care was different,” she said. “It wasn’t overt, but there was a looming threat that they were going to send me to a psychiatric ward.”

What: Susannah Cahalan reading

Where: Magers & Quinn, 3038 Hennepin Ave. S. Minneapolis

When: August 16, 7 p.m.

By: Joe Kleinschmidt

Susannah Cahalan found two red dots on her arm one morning in February 2009. She figured she had bedbugs like many New Yorkers at the time. After several fumigations and increasing anxiety, Cahalan’s mental state unraveled. She was obsessed.

 “Looking back, that seemed to be the beginning of these paranoid thoughts that started entering,” she said.

The then-24-year-old grew increasingly fearful. As the red marks on her arm faded, her paranoia escalated.

Cahalan’s symptoms mirrored bipolar disorder or schizophrenia early on, but later the writer’s erratic behavior gave way to violent seizures. Blood and foam spurt out of her mouth at one point, prompting her family to seek a neurologist.

During a month-long hospital stay, she was strapped to her bed and nurses had to tackle and sedate her after she attempted to escape her room.

Cahalan documented the experience in her memoir, “Brain on Fire: My Month of Madness,” which is out in paperback this week. Looking back, Cahalan said she still struggles to identify with her old self.

“The way I feel about it is that a very close friend went through it,” she said. “It’s not a stranger per se, but it’s not me.”

Cahalan consulted doctors, family and friends to piece together “Brain on Fire,” but later realized they left out some grim details. Medical records and surveillance video documenting her stay revealed the grave nature of her madness.

Because the young New York Post reporter could not quite come to grips with the disease, Cahalan originally needed to dissociate herself from the writing process.

“For the reader, it didn’t work,” she said. “But for me, I had to write initially in third person. That’s how I felt about it.”

Cahalan was misdiagnosed several times before she found out she had a rare illness called anti-NMDA receptor encephalitis. One doctor quickly pronounced Cahalan was simply experiencing alcohol withdrawal. Another pointed to schizophrenia. Her symptoms, from psychotic behavior and catatonia, eventually led her to Dr. Souhel Najjar.

The neurologist closely monitored Cahalan and decided the illness was physiological. When Najjar drew the outline of a circle on a notepad for Cahalan, he told her to draw the numbers of a clock. After she drew one through twelve on only the right side of the clock, Najjar knew he had a clue.

 “No one with a psychiatric condition would draw a clock like that,” Cahalan said. “It also is proof that the right side of my brain was impaired in some way.”

Najjar said Cahalan's brain was "on fire." To quench the flames, Najjar quickly put her on a series of steroids and medications to alleviate the swelling in her brain. She recovered within a year of the diagnosis.

“Brain on Fire” weaves a medical mystery with a compelling memoir, a scientific story palpable for most readers. Cahalan’s memory might not fill in all the blanks of her lost month for a truly personal recollection, but the factual tale catches fire in its poignant conclusion.

The book sheds light on the harrowing consequences of misdiagnosis. Alluding to the fate she narrowly avoided, Cahalan’s story appeals to the stark difference in treatment of a mental illness.

“The care was different,” she said. “It wasn’t overt, but there was a looming threat that they were going to send me to a psychiatric ward.”

What: Susannah Cahalan reading

Where: Magers & Quinn, 3038 Hennepin Ave. S. Minneapolis

When: August 16, 7 p.m.

By: Joe Kleinschmidt

Susannah Cahalan found two red dots on her arm one morning in February 2009. She figured she had bedbugs like many New Yorkers at the time. After several fumigations and increasing anxiety, Cahalan’s mental state unraveled. She was obsessed.

 “Looking back, that seemed to be the beginning of these paranoid thoughts that started entering,” she said.

The then-24-year-old grew increasingly fearful. As the red marks on her arm faded, her paranoia escalated.

Cahalan’s symptoms mirrored bipolar disorder or schizophrenia early on, but later the writer’s erratic behavior gave way to violent seizures. Blood and foam spurt out of her mouth at one point, prompting her family to seek a neurologist.

During a month-long hospital stay, she was strapped to her bed and nurses had to tackle and sedate her after she attempted to escape her room.

Cahalan documented the experience in her memoir, “Brain on Fire: My Month of Madness,” which is out in paperback this week. Looking back, Cahalan said she still struggles to identify with her old self.

“The way I feel about it is that a very close friend went through it,” she said. “It’s not a stranger per se, but it’s not me.”

Cahalan consulted doctors, family and friends to piece together “Brain on Fire,” but later realized they left out some grim details. Medical records and surveillance video documenting her stay revealed the grave nature of her madness.

Because the young New York Post reporter could not quite come to grips with the disease, Cahalan originally needed to dissociate herself from the writing process.

“For the reader, it didn’t work,” she said. “But for me, I had to write initially in third person. That’s how I felt about it.”

Cahalan was misdiagnosed several times before she found out she had a rare illness called anti-NMDA receptor encephalitis. One doctor quickly pronounced Cahalan was simply experiencing alcohol withdrawal. Another pointed to schizophrenia. Her symptoms, from psychotic behavior and catatonia, eventually led her to Dr. Souhel Najjar.

The neurologist closely monitored Cahalan and decided the illness was physiological. When Najjar drew the outline of a circle on a notepad for Cahalan, he told her to draw the numbers of a clock. After she drew one through twelve on only the right side of the clock, Najjar knew he had a clue.

 “No one with a psychiatric condition would draw a clock like that,” Cahalan said. “It also is proof that the right side of my brain was impaired in some way.”

Najjar said Cahalan's brain was "on fire." To quench the flames, Najjar quickly put her on a series of steroids and medications to alleviate the swelling in her brain. She recovered within a year of the diagnosis.

“Brain on Fire” weaves a medical mystery with a compelling memoir, a scientific story palpable for most readers. Cahalan’s memory might not fill in all the blanks of her lost month for a truly personal recollection, but the factual tale catches fire in its poignant conclusion.

The book sheds light on the harrowing consequences of misdiagnosis. Alluding to the fate she narrowly avoided, Cahalan’s story appeals to the stark difference in treatment of a mental illness.

“The care was different,” she said. “It wasn’t overt, but there was a looming threat that they were going to send me to a psychiatric ward.”

What: Susannah Cahalan reading

Where: Magers & Quinn, 3038 Hennepin Ave. S. Minneapolis

When: August 16, 7 p.m.