Many will see André as a monster -- and he certainly did monstrous things, and abused his psychic power over others monstrously. But I see him as a tragic character, a man so split off from himself that he could offer actual help and insight to the same people he was twisting around within the spell he cast, so much so that they would let him lead their daughter to his bed. Repeatedly. Dr. Gabor Maté, a specialist in trauma whom I've recently been reading and listening to, describes this as "spiritual bypass." He also points out what I've recognized feels true: that much of childhood trauma comes from having to make the impossible choice between our two most basic needs: first, attachment, without which we can't survive when we're young, and authenticity: our real, gut feelings, our true wants and needs. The drive for attachment is so strong that we can give up our authenticity to maintain it, without at all recognizing that we're doing so -- and being young, we assume it's because there is something wrong or lacking in ourselves, not the people we depend on for survival. I so hope you don't still believe that you bore any responsibility because you think you'd "always been seductive" (if true, that was an adaptation, not a fault). Your piece is so beautifully written, so shattered and layered the way memory is, and so honest. I see why this story has been a work of a lifetime.
Thanks, love, for your appreciation of the writing. I think you probably know I'm not writing in ways that can be summarized in analytic language. The second part of this piece will interest you, I think, along the lines you remark on in your thoughtful commentary. In looking back, I am inventing as I write now, in the moment, and trying to dramatize a scene or a moment. I don't really know how the little girl I once was felt about the things I mention, but I think I can taste them, sometimes. No, I don't in any way feel responsible for what happened with André. I think I meant nothing to him. There is a long conversation with my cousin in Part Two I think is illuminating and powerful, and she is powerful in her words. I'm glad this piece worked for you as a piece of writing.
As Jan commented, it would have been quite easy to depict Andre has nothing less than a monster. Nothing more than a monster. You went for something more here, and I feel grateful that you trusted your readers - us - with it.
Thanks for this wonderful understanding of what I am looking to accomplish. I think it was important to take time with the readers before sharing a piece with this kind of subject matter, because as I'm sure you can tell, I don't want to summon responses with a single emotion.
I needed to read this. I thank you for writing and sharing it. I am looking at behavior I tolerated and engaged in from as many angles as I can now, as well. Trying to better understand others and myself as I contemplate the stories that just want to be told, like a seed swallowed, that despite our body’s efforts to digest it and pass it through, just wants to become a tree. Somehow I am learning to let it grow and coexist with this huge tree growing in and out of me. Andrés are out there. I’ve known one or two. What they do is count on nobody ever writing about them.
Troubling, complex and tragic. If you wrote this as fiction, every editor in the world would say, “too much. Improbable. Dial it back.”
My favorite words: “I didn’t believe in André the way my mother and sister appeared to do. I was more questioning in general. It was part of the wait a minute and no of my personality.”
“Doubt is the beginning of freedom and loneliness”. Yes, Laurie, it is and it’s an observation that explains a lot about my life. Thank you for putting it into words. It means a lot. I love how you write completely devoid of pathos. It’s left me with a lot of feelings, this piece. I will be thinking about it for weeks.
Thanks, Heather, Part Two will come on Monday after our first Art Lab residency at our house in Hudson! Very pleased the writing speaks to you as it does.
Great writing here. Just spooling it out, the thing itself. And by doing simply that, it becomes so much more powerful than if it were decorated with metaphor, rumination, insights. There is so much to learn from your writing. Very much looking forward to Part 2.
This was…I don’t know how to feel or talk about this. It is powerful and I am honored to read it, but I don’t have the words for the complex maelstrom of feelings it creates in me. It makes me want to weep, and it reminds me of girlhood, and it conjures a place of muted colors and whispers that might be secrets kept from self. I don’t even know what I’m saying other than this makes me feel without language. That sounds stupid. I am astonished into stupidity.
Good distinction . . . although, on second thought, maybe all enchantment through language shares some elements? In Part Two, coming next, my cousin makes clearer how he used coercive control, something writing can't do. Thanks for this comment and for being "captivated."
Damn. What an amazing story that is amazing because of its ordinariness. That’s what comes across so brilliantly. The narrative distance is captivating and intriguing. Damn, Laurie.
You nailed the technique perfectly. Please come to a Zoom conversation some time if you like, where I talk about craft. This would be an interesting approach to open up technically. Thanks so much! xxL
I loved the way you wrote this true story, bouncing around in time, considering all the pieces. I like the way it doesn’t feel sad to me—just true and lived.
And oh my lord!! That man!!! Every time you write about him I hear yet another unbelievable thing that I know is real.
Dear Kenneth, Don't feel guilty! I love you for feeling anything strong in response to the writing. That's what it's there to do. I want you to decide the meanings of the words you question, for yourself. Don't you think people enter a room with a weather condition hanging over them? Thanks for being a reader. And if you'd like to come to a Zoom conversation, that's where I talk more about my ideas on craft. All best, Laurie
The power of a completely confident man over people who want to believe in something is both shocking and so common that it doesn’t live comfortably in any category, as you’ve elucidated in this chapter. We see it in national politics, in smaller cults like your extended family’s, and in marriages. I was in such a marriage at a young age. I still wonder that it happened. I admire your bravery as a writer, and of course your skill.
Thanks for this brilliant comment. My writing takes no courage, by the way. My only conscious concern is write a piece of writing needs to arouse the reader’s interest. I’m glad I stirred yours.
You've captured the dissociation that tends to occur in children and young teenagers who experience things they both strangely comprehend and cannot comprehend at all. The interweaving of scenes with your dying sister implies and implicates several levels of grief. all to the point here.
Just curious: Perhaps this will be made clear in Part Two, but I did wonder what the role is of your distancing yourself from a long-time friend. Is this to emphasize a kind of pulling back, or of reticence, or of a need for distance?
By the way, I'm very glad you avoided terms like "abuse" and "trauma" (yes, even though I just used the word "dissociation...." Thanks.
It is a tremendous story about a monster, affectively written. I never had agreed with the philosopher Hannah Arendt's expression "banality of evil," which is used here in the comments. It flowed in the historical case of war crime, then and now; it flowed in personal case of your family and "Dear Andre." Your philosophical estrangement of the main character as "Dear Andre" and horrible state of his patients is functioning very well in the piercing meaning of your story. Dear Andre performed evil deeds, giving him pleasure, but perfectly knowing about his criminality. Thank you for such a perfectly written painful personal story. Larisa Rimerman
This is astonishing, and it’s made even more so because of the restraint with which it is told. I like to think this couldn’t happen in today’s world, but of course it could and most probably does. Collusion, secrets, fear, a kind of induced hypnosis or denial still exist within families and communities. Looking forward to Part Two.
Fascinating. I get the impression that Andre presented himself with an abundance of self-confidence to establish the trust that he misused. I'm eager to read part two.
Loved this sentence: "My aunt was beautiful with a fluttering, anxious smile, as if she felt her beauty was nearing its sell-by date."
Many will see André as a monster -- and he certainly did monstrous things, and abused his psychic power over others monstrously. But I see him as a tragic character, a man so split off from himself that he could offer actual help and insight to the same people he was twisting around within the spell he cast, so much so that they would let him lead their daughter to his bed. Repeatedly. Dr. Gabor Maté, a specialist in trauma whom I've recently been reading and listening to, describes this as "spiritual bypass." He also points out what I've recognized feels true: that much of childhood trauma comes from having to make the impossible choice between our two most basic needs: first, attachment, without which we can't survive when we're young, and authenticity: our real, gut feelings, our true wants and needs. The drive for attachment is so strong that we can give up our authenticity to maintain it, without at all recognizing that we're doing so -- and being young, we assume it's because there is something wrong or lacking in ourselves, not the people we depend on for survival. I so hope you don't still believe that you bore any responsibility because you think you'd "always been seductive" (if true, that was an adaptation, not a fault). Your piece is so beautifully written, so shattered and layered the way memory is, and so honest. I see why this story has been a work of a lifetime.
Thanks, love, for your appreciation of the writing. I think you probably know I'm not writing in ways that can be summarized in analytic language. The second part of this piece will interest you, I think, along the lines you remark on in your thoughtful commentary. In looking back, I am inventing as I write now, in the moment, and trying to dramatize a scene or a moment. I don't really know how the little girl I once was felt about the things I mention, but I think I can taste them, sometimes. No, I don't in any way feel responsible for what happened with André. I think I meant nothing to him. There is a long conversation with my cousin in Part Two I think is illuminating and powerful, and she is powerful in her words. I'm glad this piece worked for you as a piece of writing.
Oh, it worked for me on more levels than that. Kudos.
Wonderful.
You hit the nail and drove it all the way through the board.
Thanks hugely.
As Jan commented, it would have been quite easy to depict Andre has nothing less than a monster. Nothing more than a monster. You went for something more here, and I feel grateful that you trusted your readers - us - with it.
Thanks for this wonderful understanding of what I am looking to accomplish. I think it was important to take time with the readers before sharing a piece with this kind of subject matter, because as I'm sure you can tell, I don't want to summon responses with a single emotion.
The ordinariness of being a monster.
I suppose so . . . also something else coming in Part Two.
I needed to read this. I thank you for writing and sharing it. I am looking at behavior I tolerated and engaged in from as many angles as I can now, as well. Trying to better understand others and myself as I contemplate the stories that just want to be told, like a seed swallowed, that despite our body’s efforts to digest it and pass it through, just wants to become a tree. Somehow I am learning to let it grow and coexist with this huge tree growing in and out of me. Andrés are out there. I’ve known one or two. What they do is count on nobody ever writing about them.
Indeed, wait until you read part two!
Troubling, complex and tragic. If you wrote this as fiction, every editor in the world would say, “too much. Improbable. Dial it back.”
My favorite words: “I didn’t believe in André the way my mother and sister appeared to do. I was more questioning in general. It was part of the wait a minute and no of my personality.”
Thanks so much. You probably already know I would never take that kind of bad advice from an editor. Part two on Monday.
“Doubt is the beginning of freedom and loneliness”. Yes, Laurie, it is and it’s an observation that explains a lot about my life. Thank you for putting it into words. It means a lot. I love how you write completely devoid of pathos. It’s left me with a lot of feelings, this piece. I will be thinking about it for weeks.
Thanks, Heather, Part Two will come on Monday after our first Art Lab residency at our house in Hudson! Very pleased the writing speaks to you as it does.
Great writing here. Just spooling it out, the thing itself. And by doing simply that, it becomes so much more powerful than if it were decorated with metaphor, rumination, insights. There is so much to learn from your writing. Very much looking forward to Part 2.
Thanks, this is a rich and insightful comment. Please come to a Zoom conversation, where we talk about these kind of techniques.
This was…I don’t know how to feel or talk about this. It is powerful and I am honored to read it, but I don’t have the words for the complex maelstrom of feelings it creates in me. It makes me want to weep, and it reminds me of girlhood, and it conjures a place of muted colors and whispers that might be secrets kept from self. I don’t even know what I’m saying other than this makes me feel without language. That sounds stupid. I am astonished into stupidity.
It doesn’t sound stupid. I try not to get in the way of the reader’s feelings. Thanks for this wonderful comment. Part two coming Monday.
I am captivated by this writing, although not in the same way he captivated all of you, as a cult leader does.
Good distinction . . . although, on second thought, maybe all enchantment through language shares some elements? In Part Two, coming next, my cousin makes clearer how he used coercive control, something writing can't do. Thanks for this comment and for being "captivated."
Damn. What an amazing story that is amazing because of its ordinariness. That’s what comes across so brilliantly. The narrative distance is captivating and intriguing. Damn, Laurie.
You nailed the technique perfectly. Please come to a Zoom conversation some time if you like, where I talk about craft. This would be an interesting approach to open up technically. Thanks so much! xxL
I went to one of your recent zooms! Definitely will attend.
Please email me, and I will put you on the list. Thanks: lauriestone@substack.com
I loved the way you wrote this true story, bouncing around in time, considering all the pieces. I like the way it doesn’t feel sad to me—just true and lived.
And oh my lord!! That man!!! Every time you write about him I hear yet another unbelievable thing that I know is real.
Thanks, love. I will post PART TWO next time. So far, people seem to be understanding what I want to achieve in writing this way. Much love, L
I feel a bit guilty to say that i loved it because it’s a sad story. But i did. Thank you for sharing.
Also can someone explain the prompt a bit? What is meant by ‘weather’ of another person?
And what does a first-rung friend mean?
Dear Kenneth, Don't feel guilty! I love you for feeling anything strong in response to the writing. That's what it's there to do. I want you to decide the meanings of the words you question, for yourself. Don't you think people enter a room with a weather condition hanging over them? Thanks for being a reader. And if you'd like to come to a Zoom conversation, that's where I talk more about my ideas on craft. All best, Laurie
The power of a completely confident man over people who want to believe in something is both shocking and so common that it doesn’t live comfortably in any category, as you’ve elucidated in this chapter. We see it in national politics, in smaller cults like your extended family’s, and in marriages. I was in such a marriage at a young age. I still wonder that it happened. I admire your bravery as a writer, and of course your skill.
Thanks for this brilliant comment. My writing takes no courage, by the way. My only conscious concern is write a piece of writing needs to arouse the reader’s interest. I’m glad I stirred yours.
You've captured the dissociation that tends to occur in children and young teenagers who experience things they both strangely comprehend and cannot comprehend at all. The interweaving of scenes with your dying sister implies and implicates several levels of grief. all to the point here.
Just curious: Perhaps this will be made clear in Part Two, but I did wonder what the role is of your distancing yourself from a long-time friend. Is this to emphasize a kind of pulling back, or of reticence, or of a need for distance?
By the way, I'm very glad you avoided terms like "abuse" and "trauma" (yes, even though I just used the word "dissociation...." Thanks.
The narrator is saying she doesn’t want to be a second-rung friend any longer.
It is a tremendous story about a monster, affectively written. I never had agreed with the philosopher Hannah Arendt's expression "banality of evil," which is used here in the comments. It flowed in the historical case of war crime, then and now; it flowed in personal case of your family and "Dear Andre." Your philosophical estrangement of the main character as "Dear Andre" and horrible state of his patients is functioning very well in the piercing meaning of your story. Dear Andre performed evil deeds, giving him pleasure, but perfectly knowing about his criminality. Thank you for such a perfectly written painful personal story. Larisa Rimerman
This is astonishing, and it’s made even more so because of the restraint with which it is told. I like to think this couldn’t happen in today’s world, but of course it could and most probably does. Collusion, secrets, fear, a kind of induced hypnosis or denial still exist within families and communities. Looking forward to Part Two.
Yes, well said. Part two on Monday.
Fascinating. I get the impression that Andre presented himself with an abundance of self-confidence to establish the trust that he misused. I'm eager to read part two.
Loved this sentence: "My aunt was beautiful with a fluttering, anxious smile, as if she felt her beauty was nearing its sell-by date."
Yes, exactly.