Misery lit. For a while there it was all the rage. Every book store had a display of the latest tale of real life horror the authors had suffered at the hands of the ones they love. Be it sexual or physical abuse, girls forced into marriages barely into puberty or possibly the scariest of all, a young boy forced to have a lobotomy because his stepmother suffered Munchausen-by-proxy.
All pretty stark and frightening stuff and I admit I was a big fan of this genre for a while there.
It made me so grateful for my own normal, loving upbringing and made me admire tremendously those who suffered such terrible fates and overcame them. Triumph of the human spirit and all that stuff.
But after a time, that despair all began to blur into one. I would finish one of these types of books and not always be able to recall details from them – the agonies started to became “samey” – and isn’t that a terrible reflection to make?
Possibly worse still, I would find myself reading a particular sad anecdote and think “So what, 'Person A' had it so much worse in such-and-such a book.”
And that’s when I knew it was time to stop reading misery lit. When my compassion compass was so desensitised I made the stories compete on a wretchedness scale in my headspace.
That said, there is one misery-lit author who I break my self imposed rule for – Cathy Glass. Cathy has been a foster carer for over 20 years, during which time she has looked after more than 50 children, of all ages and backgrounds as well as raising her own kids. Her books are about the children she has fostered, often with the most heartbreaking stories of abuse. Cathy is fearless in telling it like it is to be a fosterer, including the highs and the hells - nothing is sugar coated but everything is handled sensitively and with compassion. She’s not trying to shock or scaremonger, Cathy is simply telling the stories of the children in her care. Stories we need to hear to see beyond our own happy worlds where such brutalities are unimaginable.
So while my misery-lit days are generally done, I still *look forward* (as much as one can given the subject matter) to the latest Cathy Glass book to hit the bookstands. And in an odd way I’m thankful she is so prolific (she has four books in print so far with at least two more to come in the next two years) because it means I have good books to look forward to, but the flip side is, it means more children are suffering.
All pretty stark and frightening stuff and I admit I was a big fan of this genre for a while there.
It made me so grateful for my own normal, loving upbringing and made me admire tremendously those who suffered such terrible fates and overcame them. Triumph of the human spirit and all that stuff.But after a time, that despair all began to blur into one. I would finish one of these types of books and not always be able to recall details from them – the agonies started to became “samey” – and isn’t that a terrible reflection to make?
Possibly worse still, I would find myself reading a particular sad anecdote and think “So what, 'Person A' had it so much worse in such-and-such a book.”
And that’s when I knew it was time to stop reading misery lit. When my compassion compass was so desensitised I made the stories compete on a wretchedness scale in my headspace.
That said, there is one misery-lit author who I break my self imposed rule for – Cathy Glass. Cathy has been a foster carer for over 20 years, during which time she has looked after more than 50 children, of all ages and backgrounds as well as raising her own kids. Her books are about the children she has fostered, often with the most heartbreaking stories of abuse. Cathy is fearless in telling it like it is to be a fosterer, including the highs and the hells - nothing is sugar coated but everything is handled sensitively and with compassion. She’s not trying to shock or scaremonger, Cathy is simply telling the stories of the children in her care. Stories we need to hear to see beyond our own happy worlds where such brutalities are unimaginable.
So while my misery-lit days are generally done, I still *look forward* (as much as one can given the subject matter) to the latest Cathy Glass book to hit the bookstands. And in an odd way I’m thankful she is so prolific (she has four books in print so far with at least two more to come in the next two years) because it means I have good books to look forward to, but the flip side is, it means more children are suffering.
