Thursday, December 29, 2016

"Shot in the Heart" by Mikal Gilmore.

Because so much of the world is news it is useful to simply excise the world from your head and nest. I like to nest at the traditional times when everyone else does. I simply stop writing. I might read for a bit and then I drop the words there as well. While I was nesting this time around I read a book called "Shot in the Heart" by Mikal Gilmore. It is quite a story. Because all families are not perfect the memories of most of us are tainted ones. This family's memories are more than tainted or rubbed to blear. They are simply horrific.

I don't want to talk about the individuals or their abuse. It's too hard to delve into the reasons why parents and specifically husbands become warped. Maybe they themselves were destroyed as children and then have to destroy everyone else as adults as a matter of survival. I don't know. I read this book because of the ones who survived.

The ones who survived paid a higher cost than the ones who died. They have tried to reason out horror, abuse and deaths but they haven't been able to do this. I don't think any reasonable rational human being can make sense out of chaos and fragmentation. That they survived is the story and that they remember those who died as broken human beings is yet another story.

So many times we see murders committed and wonder to ourselves why? How? And what lead to the place of rupture.  In this book it took many years of desensitization and abuses before a child became a man who would go on to kill to ensure that he would be killed himself.  A society built on killing is only able to be survived ultimately according to the coda of the most damaged citizens by getting that society to kill them.

It's a sad business. I was saddened by the waste of lives. By the brutality of parents towards their children. By the sheer horror of the lives of some of us.

In the end, the story rolls away on the railway track to the distance. I come back to myself. I look at my sons. I feel the web of our family life and our extended family. I wonder if Gary Gilmore would have turned out as a gifted contributor to society rather than a murderer if he had been born into a web that held him secure, held him with respect, held him with all of its strength and courage to make him into the man he could have been.

Some stories are deserts. This one is a desert. And what could have bloomed into life is long since gone. But at least there is a record of the desert and the few who survived the journey across it.

Well written book. Worth reading. Not all murderers are born. Some are created. 

No comments:

Post a Comment