I read a newspaper every day, scanning the headlines and
picking out the stories that interest me. I shake my head at the misery people inflict on each other, and then turn the page. I couldn't do that
this week.
About five years ago, an old Victorian mansion, long chopped
up into apartments, was sold to a developer, who tore it down and built five
McMansions. Buyers of the properties were required to sign a covenant
prohibiting certain behaviors, such as parking a boat in the driveway, designed
to maintain the value of the new homes.
The new houses came with side effects. For the first time
neighbors had water in their cellars after it rained, the result of all that
paving for the new street and driveways in the small development. A
few neighbors also grumbled that even though the street was private and
residents were expected to bring their trash to the sidewalk, the trash
collectors still drove down the short street, our tax dollars at work. Other neighbors lost their sunny back yards, which were now cast in shadow most of the day.
This development is barely three houses away from me, just
across a small one-way street. I walk past this cluster of new homes almost
every day, and my husband passes it three times a day when he's out walking the
dog. The houses are occupied by families with children of all ages. The lawns are well kept. And yet . .
. And yet . . .
On Monday a man walked into the Beverly Police Department
and announced he had just killed his wife. The police apparently, according to
one news story, asked a few questions before heading out to the house. There
they found his wife's body with no pulse but still warm. The EMTs managed to
revive her enough to get a pulse and took her to the hospital, less than two
miles away. She never regained consciousness and died on Friday. She was the
mother of two young boys.
The woman had quit her job two years ago to stay home and
write. She and her husband separated a year ago but had tried to reconcile in
September of this year. She completed her first novel, published it with
Amazon, and started her second book.
The published novel is titled The Price of Fame. On the cover is the picture of a woman lying
face down, apparently after an assault, with her clothes fallen away. If I were writing this in a novel, I couldn't describe a murder and include that scene without a reader complaining, considering it contrived or worse. Again according to one news
report, the police did not find signs of a struggle.
Since retiring I have kept up with some of my former colleagues and volunteer activities, including work on a committee to end domestic violence. We talk about warning signs and appropriate responses that won't make the home situation worse, or put the woman in danger.
On the quiet lane three houses from where I live, no one heard the man strangling his wife. No one knew she
was in danger.
Over the years I have refused to read mysteries in which one
woman after another is murdered or debased in the opening pages (or even
later). I consider such fiction exploitive and repulsive. But what is the
difference between one murder and thirty?
I sometimes wonder if writing crime fiction is a sign of my
own callousness. I think I'm addressing issues of justice and the way life
takes strange and startling turns and challenges us to face an ugly reality or
our own weaknesses. Before I knew the woman down the street had died, I printed
out a next-to-final draft of a new mystery novel. Here it sits on my desk,
almost three hundred pages waiting for a final read-through. I am uncomfortably
aware that my next reading will be different from my previous one. Beyond that
I'm not sure what I think.
That is quite a chilling story. I can imagine you find it unsettling--I get chills just reading it.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Kathleen. Hard to imagine what it must be like for her family now.
ReplyDeleteLovely piece of writing, Susan, and troubling. I can imagine how this incident must have touched you. Awesome that you work to eliminate domestic violence in this world. A tough challenge, I suspect, although I believe things are better now in this country than they were 50 years ago. Would you agree?
ReplyDeleteYes, I do think things are better if only because more people are aware of domestic violence and it is no longer condoned as a "private" matter. Increased awareness and greater confidence in young women has changed the environment for women. But we still have a long way to go. Thanks for commenting.
ReplyDeleteSusan,
ReplyDeleteIn our quiet residential neighborhood in Central NJ, some years ago, two separate murders occurred. They were both shocking. You never know what happens behind closed doors!
Jacquie, I have been wondering if anyone knew how dire things were. Yes, it's surprising what happens. Thanks for commenting.
DeleteI feel for you and for your neighbor. I don't know if I'm rationalizing here, but I feel that the murders and corresponding mysteries that I make up are completely removed from the horror that is reality. Plus I can use my storytelling to help raise consciousness about things like domestic violence. I hope that helps.
ReplyDeleteI also think I'm raising readers' awareness about things like domestic violence and the damage that greed, etc., can do to people. I don't think it's rationalizing. Thanks for stopping by.
DeleteYeah....its bad all over but really difficult when it hits close to home.
ReplyDeleteTake time out to b-r-e-a-t-h-e before you tackle that project.
PamT
I just sat down to get to work on my final read-through. So, yes, deep breath. Thanks, Pam.
DeleteThis is so sad, Susan. We had a murder of his mother by a fifteen year old boy around the corner, not too long ago. It was horrifying. I think writing crime fiction can be a good thing because I've always maintained that I've learned more about life and people and places by reading a lot of fiction than by any other way. Knowledge is power.
ReplyDeleteI completely agree with you on the value of reading fiction. I also think that the drive to write fiction overrides just about everything else in me. But I still can't imagine waking up one day to the news that a teenage boy in the neighborhood had killed his mother, though we've had some pretty unhappy teenagers in our area. Thanks for commenting, Jan.
DeleteSusan, ironically, I've been thinking about the same thing. Since we moved to our very small town, I've learned of numerous meth houses that are within blocks of my home. One was right across the street! I knew something was going on, it was suspicious as you-know-what--a veritable McDonald's of cars going in and out day and night. It took us two years to get them to move, putting pressure on the home owner (they were renters), constant calls to the police, etc. They were finally evicted, and set up shop not far away. There are others here, too--and everybody knows about them. There were instances of family violence, disturbances, the elderly people next door were afraid to go out on their porch, etc. I've really been wondering--why do I want to write about crime? I have to say that it's changed the things I write, and why I write them.
ReplyDeleteThat is a very interesting comment, Bobbi. I hope you'll write about this in greater detail because I think you're coming close to something important to all of us. The way the meth house has taken over the neighborhood and the length of time it took to get rid of it says a lot about how our society is functioning. It must have been a nightmare for you as well as the elderly folks. Thanks for sharing this.
DeleteSusan, the horrible act of someone taking another person's life seems to be something that happens to other people far away -- until it happens close to home. That has happened to me twice, so I understand how sobering it was for you. It can -- and should -- impact how we write.
ReplyDeleteYou got right to the point, Earl. We cannot be untouched when such horrible experiences become part of our own lives. I can't tolerate the crassness of some fiction, and I don't want to find that in mine. Thanks for commenting and sharing your own experiences.
ReplyDelete