Escape by Carolyn Jessop

As a work of literature, this book could have used additional editing. As a story, however, it's compelling and disturbing.

Escape is the personal account of Carolyn Jessop's life and eventual escape from polygamy in the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (FLDS). Married at 18 to a man three times her age, Carolyn recounts harrowing memories of abuse in every sense of the word--physical and mental abuse, the abuse of power, and even spiritual abuse. It's truly disturbing when ever she mentions specific dates; it reminds the reader that these events occurred only a few decades ago, and continued into the 21st century.

The story is interesting and somewhat well strung-together. My main issue with the editing was that many details were repeated multiple times, and I felt that some of the stories were redundant, particularly those relating to Carolyn's sister-wives. I also had a difficult time following Carolyn's actual evolution throughout her journey. Perhaps because it's written in hindsight, she chose to emphasize mainly her rebellious qualities (or rather, the situations where she was willing to stand up for herself--regarded as rebellious by her husband and sister-wives). While I'm sure her experiences over nearly two decades of abusive marriage significantly changed her over the years, I felt that since it was being narrated from the already-changed Carolyn's perspective, it was difficult to understand or get a genuine feel for her initial faith in the FLDS religion and culture.

One aspect of the book that I found particularly interesting was how men were also manipulated and mistreated in the FLDS. Since Escape is the story of a woman's experience, it often emphasizes the crimes committed by men in the community, and women are generally presented as mere pawns within a larger power-play. Carolyn does mention quite a few times, however, the abuses that men suffered and how men also served as pawns within the power-structure of the FLDS (particularly when Warren Jeffs came to power). Although her husband, Merrill Jessop, is undeniably a cruel, monstrous person, Carolyn does present us with a sliver of his his own sad story. She describes how as a young man Merrill had fallen in love with a woman, and everything was done to prevent him from marrying her. He was forced into an arranged marriage, was not allowed to see the woman he loved, and was forced time and time again to marry women he did not love or want.

I find it deeply touching that Carolyn included this detail about her husband, who is otherwise described as a cruel, manipulative man, who was essentially a puppet to Warren Jeffs and his power-hungry wife Barbara. Carolyn mentions other crimes committed by the FLDS against men in the community, and these details make her a particularly compelling narrator. Although Carolyn suffered as a woman, she understands the seriousness of the FLDS's crimes from a holistic humanitarian perspective.

The Convalescent by Jessica Anthony

I literally just finished reading this book today during my morning commute on the train. Still not quite sure how I feel about the ending, but I loved the rest of the book. I suppose the ending is kind of amazing because it's so bizarre (although that certainly isn't the only part of the book I would describe that way).

Anyway, The Convalescent is about a small ugly man named Rovar Pfliegman who sells [stolen] meat out of a broken down bus in the middle of a field in Virginia. The narrative jumps back and forth between the history of the Pfliefman's and Rovar's day to day existence and occasionally also his childhood. All of these aspects are seamlessly woven together to create a portrait of a simultaneously humorous and somber existence.

I could probably ramble forever about all the little things in this book that were interesting and funny and contribute to making it totally-worth-reading. However, one thing in particular has been nibbling on my brain as I've been thinking about this book. Rovar is a strange narrator. About 3/4 of the way through the book, he gets a look at his folder in Dr. Monica's office, and sees her notes about him: "Pseudomaniacal tendencies...Invents various illnesses for personal attention...PHYSICALLY, THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH HIM" (187). This blunt note comes as a surprise, as Rovar laments his unfortunate physical state repeatedly throughout the narrative. Is it all a lie? Or do others simply not perceive his pain? Are his claims of disfigurement not physical but rather a metaphorical reflection of himself, or society?

Rovar's reliability as a narrator comes into question, but it's not quite as simple as just that. Since throughout the book he also is relating the history of his people, Rovar's narration also represents a construction of history--an untold history, no less. And with Rovar as the supposed last remaining Pfliegman, he is the only source for this history aside from a book given to him by his grandfather: The Rise and Fall and Rise of the Hungarians by Anonymus (sic) (as for the title...I think that's about right). Throughout the book, it is implied that the weakest members of a society, those whose history is forgotten and left untold, are often the ones who hold society together, the ones who create an invisible skeleton upon which the epic "mainstream" version of history can be constructed. Perhaps not a novel concept necessarily, but Anthony presents it with enough humor and fantasy to make one really wonder what could be missing from our history books, and how that history was decided on.

Aside from the epic question of HISTORY, The Convalescent also simply calls attention to the small things in life--whether the small things are actually things, or even people.

It's a beautiful book and I highly recommend it. The book design and bookjacket are also wonderful so even if you hate reading it, I'm sure you'll at least enjoy holding it.