I encountered Angelhead a couple of years ago, I don't remember just how. I remember the experience as claustrophobic, ecstatic, painful, and finally cathartic. Angelhead is the story of Michael Bottoms' descent into madness.
A few days ago Rosemarie took it out from the library, not remembering (because of her ongoing series of ECT sessions) that we had read it earlier. She has a nearly boundless - or boundariless - capacity to identify with the pain of others, and is having difficulty with the story Greg Bottoms tells in Angelhead as his brother Michael spirals down into schizophrenia.
Last night we spent some time talking about this.
"You need to keep some distance from these people," I said. "Michael's illness is not yours. His brother Greg is writing with the perspective of two decades of living and growing since this all happened."
She nodded. "But I just think of the family, of their father trying to give the boys a better life, and then Michael turning out that way... ."
"And...", I said. "...and then what?"
"It's not fair," said Rosemarie.
“What's not fair?”
“That it should turn out that way.”
Our conversation went far into the night. We talked about identifying ourselves with tragedy in the lives of others, and about keeping a distance, a perspective, a sense of judgment, a personal boundary.
No, it's not fair. God never promised us that the world would be fair. I'm not even sure that this world was created fair from the beginning. Job had more guts than I when he screamed for God to show up and defend Himself in court; I could not, I cannot, do that. I've never been able to get beyond just hunkering down and accepting my toothaches or whatever. I've never complained about what's fair, in life, and what isn't.
Angelhead is a supremely painful and brilliantly written tale. Its author says it is “creative non-fiction.” It is, for me, writing that forces me to pause every few pages. I need to absorb, to ruminate, to reflect, to shape myself into the story I am being told.
The story of Angelhead, and the writing in it, are of a sort that move me deeply, and always have. Some movies have the same effect on me. It is the combination of personal candor and reflective judgment that gives these things a human solidity; on encountering one, my visceral response is: here, on the other end of these words, is a solid human soul, a human shape, one of God's creatures living and looking out upon the world just as do I.
8:57:15 PM 
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