Alice Sebold was forced to the glass-covered ground in a tunnel outside of Syracuse University.  Jennifer Schuette was thrown away in an overgrown field on top of an anthill.  Both women were raped and savagely beaten.  For Alice: punches and kicks to the face, for Jennifer: a knife slash across her throat, leaving her for dead.  Before the attack, Alice was an eighteen-year-old freshman celebrating her last day of finals.  Jennifer was an eight-year-old girl asleep in her bed.  Though the incidents occurred nine years apart, both women emerged from their nightmares with a label that will celebrate their strength yet mask the years of pain hidden beneath.  Alice and Jennifer are survivors.

According to the National Institute of Justice and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, one out of every six American women will be the victim of an attempted or completed rape in their lifetime (Author’s Note: Does the use of a clinical term like “completed” make anyone else’s stomach drop slightly?).  While cynics may claim, “there are lies, there are damn lies, and then there are statistics”, there is no denying the one in six can’t account for all the cases that go  unreported.  After all, what must the pressure be like for the 73% of victims raped by someone known to them, 7% of which are violated by their own family members?

The same studies suggest that one in thirty-three American males will be similarly victimized in their lifetime.  As a male who has not experienced anything like the pain described above, I can honestly say I have no f*ing clue how it feels, what to do, or where to go.  I just have no f*ing clue about any of this.

In the improvisational theatre troupe I help direct, I describe the feeling of being raped thusly: that moment during an arm wrestling competition when you can’t possibly win. There are less than forty-five degrees separating your forearm from the table.  Your opponent has dominated you, may even be toying with you.  No matter what, you are going tolose.  From a structural level your arm is not designed to respond to what your brain is signaling, pleading for it to do.  The brain stops fighting a second before it receives the painful sensation of knuckles being driven into the ground.  It’s over.

See?  I told you I just have no f*ing clue about any of this.  I can type it up in a dramatic fashion but at the end of the day I will never understand the horror. I use metaphor and sentence fragments to disguise my inability (not my lack of desire) to truly empathize.  Just because I can type up my thoughts convincingly doesn’t mean they’re worth a damn (Author’s Note: This is the Internet).  The typical treatment for someone like me, therefore, is to split me off as a member of the group who simply “Doesn’t Get It” (made up of men everywhere), existing separate and apart from the victims of the crime, that elite fraternity who “Get It”.

Then something happens that forces the issue into everyone’s consciousness, like the breaking news story of an arrest in the nineteen-year-old case involving Jennifer Schuette.  The link gives you the opportunity to learn about a brave young girl who, despite being left for dead with her vocal box cut through, fought hard enough to not only survive, but to regain her voice and use it to speak out for victims silenced by the evil that exists in this world.

After reading a story like that the concept of moral absolutes tugs violently on the loose string at the center of my liberal ideologies.  Some things are just evil; wrong is too soft a word for it. The accused is said to have mended his “old ways” referring to his actions (with this accusation they could be better described as proclivities) involving kidnapping, sexually assaulting, and slitting the throats of young women.  No matter your left stance, it’s tough to argue that rehabilitation is something reserved for the young woman, not the perpetrator.  He doesn’t get rehabilitation in my book. He gets prison, he gets the chair, he gets…

And therein lies the problem.  All of the passionate dialogue over rape concerns the perpetrator while the victim is left to become synonymous with the charges.  She exists only in terms of the details of the case, potentially her demographics if they make for more interesting copy.  There is no discussion on how to see her through the aftermath, we feel powerless in that area.  Instead we speak of revenge, something we can externalize to rid ourselves of the guilt we feel inside.

A case like Jennifer’s is unique.  We learned her name because she came forward and asked for her story to be told.  We see her face because she has bigger balls than ACDC.  Her story came up in the newspaper again because, nineteen years later, they caught the bastard.

In a more ideal world the nineteen-year delay would be the most extreme oddity in this situation (Author’s Warning: More statistics coming up.  Last ones, I swear).  However, according to the National Center for Policy Analysis (Author’s Note: See, told you), a reported rape has a 50.8% chance of arrest, if arrested there is an 80% of prosecution, if prosecuted there is a 58% chance of conviction, if there is a felony conviction 69% of the convicts will spend any time in prison.  All of these numbers seem fairly respectable, yet the percentage of perpetrators in a reported rape case who survive the statistical gauntlet long enough to see prison time is a terrifying 16.3%.  Not quite two out of every ten.  As a son, a brother, and, God willing one day, a father I can’t even begin to fathom.

So as someone who “Doesn’t Get It” but isn’t Captain Barbossa (Author’s Quote Because I Can’t Find a Youtube: “I feel… Nothing”), what can I do to reconcile these things?  I’ll never understand what this woman went through but how can I get just a glimpse beyond the article and into the Hell that must have been the last two decades of her life?

Enter Lucky, the memoir of author Alice Sebold beginning with her rape during her freshman year of college and ending before the completion of her best-selling debut novel, The Lovely Bones.  I love memoirs for the same reason I love documentaries: every once in a while you get to witness a piece of the truth.  Not a commentary on some larger, deeper meaning behind human existence, just a simple piece of the truth from a subject too exhausted to hide it anymore.  Lucky has a few of these moments hidden within a tight narration that can range from captivating to frustrating.

Consisting of less than three hundred pages, the main story of Lucky can be, and was in this writer’s case, a single-sitting affair that keeps you up into the wee hours of the morning.  Sebold in no way buries the lede (Author’s Note: It’s spelled correctly.  Ask Alex, he lives for that sort of thing) as she launches into a no-holds-barred account of the events of that night, complete with graphic descriptions of the acts themselves and their effect on her body, the body of a virgin.

For anyone with a weak stomach for such imagery the introduction may be difficult for you do get through.  For anyone who felt a little uncomfortable when the third sentence of this post revealed it’s topic to be rape, the introduction may be necessary for you to get through.  Another memoirist on the subject, Patricia Weaver Francisco, believes that many people view rape as a form of particularly bad, particularly hurtful sex.  Sebold’s account demonstrates with frightening clarity that, even though sexual organs are involved, no element of sex as we understand it survives the savagery of rape.

She intersperses the internal thoughts of the reader who, either through their own denial or through the hope that this will eventually turn into a fiction novel where someone, anyone comes to save the day, wonders why she doesn’t keep fighting tooth and nail.  She presents herself as shutting down to the reality of the situation stating, “I would die by pieces to save myself from real death”.  She did whatever it took to survive.  Alice is a survivor.  It’s just one of those things that the people in my group will never understand.

Survivor.  It’s why friends and family generally discuss the incident in hushed tones, as though not talking about it would save Sebold rather than isolate her.  Those who don’t get it only focus in on the results, “She made it, she’s alive so let’s not make her go back to that place”, while the victim is left alone in her view that survival was a choice rather than a gift.  Gifts come free; choices have consequences.

We see those consequences throughout the remainder of the book as the narrative goes chronologically through her return home and the accompanying interactions with her family, her return to Syracuse and the interactions with her friends, the legal proceedings surrounding her case, and finally her life after college.  It’s in these environments that the truth sometimes sneaks out, often during her interactions with other characters and their inability to cope with the powerlessness that washes over them in her presence.

The most frustrating parts of the memoir are when Sebold, for lack of a better term, is being a complete jerk to anyone trying to help her.  While one could comment on the honesty required for the author to paint her friends and family in a positive light while presenting her own bitchiness unfiltered, you just can’t help but want more of her as a character. She is clearly an enlightened woman, capable of articulating her thoughts, she simply… can’t.  It’s just one of those things that the people in my group will never understand.

Perhaps that complaint is one of the things that makes the book so compelling; there is no heroine, just a woman trying to deal with her own survival.  She is as raw as her writing style and the need for warm fuzzies is satiated by her depiction of those who became closest to her during her trials.  I guess the reader just craves that transformation in Sebold because of the aforementioned powerlessness.  Bad things happened to Alice so we want desperately for good things to happen to her. 

Lucky is ultimately successful because, when confronted with an overwhelming subject matter, it chooses to focus on the people.  We learn Sebold’s thoughts not through numerous prolonged diatribes as can sometimes be found in memoirs, but through her interactions with others.  For those who have ever had an English teacher worth their spit: Sebold doesn’t simply tell us about how the rape changed her life, she shows us.

She shows us that you don’t escape from Hell; you claw you rway back one day at a time because, according to Sebold, “you save yourself or you remain unsaved”.  It’s just one of those things that people in my group will never understand.  I pray to God we never have to.

So I know I didn’t do a pre-gaming column this week.  I get it.  I suck.  I also know I need to write the other half of the gangs article (which thus far has been a much bigger project than I anticipated).  Shut up.  I know these things.  I also have a whole other book to talk about because the subject matter is currently in the news.   There’s so much shit to do my bloggin’ has been cloggin’.  Even my jokes are lame now. I hate me.

So of course, with all that stuff to do, it would take something I found pretty fascinating to distract me from the task(s) at hand (Author's Note: or a shiny ball of foil).  Enter the Roman Polanski nonsense.

DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU GET OFFENDED EASILY.  AS THOUGH YOU WOULD STOP READING AFTER I SAID SOMETHING LIKE THAT. 

For those who haven’t heard, the Academy Award winning film director has been arrested after previously (previously as in 1977) pleading guilty to raping a thirteen-year-old girl after having taken naked photos of her.  I’m not for this.  Like I’m really, really against it.  I’m pretty sure 99.9% of the general public and 63.5% of Polish-French film directors share my sentiments.  If there was ever an anti-version of the song My Favorite Things, like in a never before seen directors cut of The Sound of Music, child pornography and rape would be in the first verse.

I just feel the need to strongly establish that what he did was wrong, because I’m not writing a scathing post about his special place in hell (Author’s Note: He'll definitely get one,  I've heard Satan is a big fan of the flick Rosemary’s Baby.  Gave it two hooves up.  [Author's Disgust: See what I mean about the jokes?]).  I’m writing because of a condemnation of the members of Hollywood who have come out in support of Polanski by a conservative blogger for CNN.com named Roland S. Martin.

As the one liberal of www.thebaltimorons.com (tell your friends) I have to say I am in complete support of this guy’s opinion.  I disagree with almost everything he has to say in almost every instance imaginable, this just happens to be the exception.  Something universally reviled like the harming of a child will bring everyone to the center of the aisle so they can take turns beating the crap out of him. 

To Woody Allen, Martin Scorsese, Harvey Weinstein, and anyone else who has decided to wear “Free Polanski” paraphernalia: Don’t be stupid.  He’s not Nelson Mandela or Gandhi; he’s Detective Revi from Rush Hour 3.  Save the outrage for when something outrageous happens, like when a child molester roams around freely for thirty-two years before being brought to justice.

It’s not their actions that I found fascinating however, members of Hollywood always seem to feel the world would be better off if they could just share whatever it is they’re not being paid to be think.  ATTENTION MOVIE PEOPLE: Remember when we gave you those awards and showered you with praise?  It was because you weren’t being you.  For an hour and a half onscreen you ceased to exist and we were so happy we gave you a trophy.  Live your personal life accordingly.

Sorry, I got distracted. So it wasn’t the actions of the Hollywood elite that got my attention, nor was it the actual writing of Mr. Martin (Author’s Note: You could tell he spoke for the indignation of the common man because he used the terms “hell” and “damn”.  Edgy.).  No my friend(s), I got riled up when I noticed the comments left by readers just like you and me.  Let’s take a look, shall we?

An insightful commentator by the name of “Michael Hsu” proclaimed:

Hollywood is racist! Had it been a black man who raped a 13-yr old white girl, the black man would’ve been hung! (Just look at the US history books for numerous examples of this.) But, somehow because Roman was white, that’s OK?

You’re damn right Michael, why I… wait, what?  Did you just play the race card when no one of color had anything to do with the story at all?  They’re called the history books for a reason sir, I’m not sure they should be used as judicial precedent for current legal proceedings.  Could you imagine if he was right though? What’s the more shocking news story: Tyler Perry Pleads Guilty to Molesting Underage Girl?  Or is it:Tyler Perry Arrested By Swiss Government and Promptly Hung In Effort to Be “Old School”?  I’d say it’s a wash.

Next up we have the ominous sounding “Eyes Wide Open” who details that:

When the infamous Texas sodomy case was overturned by the SCOTUS (Supreme Court of the United States) many people predicted that it wouldn’t be long before pedophilia was an accepted practice.
Well, you now have PROOF…

Hell yeah, finally, someone who gets… excuse me?  So you’re saying that the actions of one man thirty-two years ago were predicated on the fact that, starting in 2003, people would have their sexual behavior protected as private under the United States Constitution? (Author’s Aside: Can you believe it took until 2003 for this to be legalized fully?  From all the pornographic movies I watched in high school I could be an accessory to like 3,000,000 crimes. Too much?  You’re right.  More like 2,500,000.)  Between the sodomites of “Eyes Wide Open” and “Michael Hsu’s” hung black man, we’ve almost got a sexy party!

Now we’ve come to my personal favorite, “La Viro” who asks the question on everybody’s mind:

Why is it that Jews think they are above the law?  If a gentile had raped a 13 year old girl and then fled the country, the Jews in Hollywood would be calling for his head on a platter...   It’s disturbing that the legal system has become a place where there are one set of rules of Gentiles, and another, more privileged set of rules for Jews.

Really? REALLY?  I feel like this would be what the court transcript looked like if Roman Polanski were being prosecuted by Borat.  This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, there’s no way the head of a Gentile child rapist is kosher.  If the Hollywood Jews do get his head on a platter, do the Jews outside of Hollywood get his foreskin on rye?

As you can see I just wrote three individual jokes instead of an actual paragraph; there’s no way to write a coherent response to the incoherent ramblings of an anti-Semitic idiot.  Speaking of which, we’ve arrived at the dumbest post of all:

The article may have merit but the comments are laughable. Blame the Jews? Blame the whites? Blame the liberals? Blame the sodomites? The anonymity provided by the Internet is a great security blanket for the hatred our culture has for itself. When something shocks or horrifies you, express your outrage, but do it rationally. Open your mind instead of opening fire.

What is so incredibly stupid about that comment you ask?  It was written by “Dan”.  That’s right, your second favorite author in the whole entire site (third if you count Zak’s comment on my most recent post) was so taken aback with the ignorance displayed by people sharing the same Internet that he felt compelled to enlighten them.  I was so concerned with getting my message exact that, upon discovering that whites and sodomites rhyme (coincidence?) I had to break them up with liberals to create the most powerfully worded message possible.  My thoughts were going to change lives.

Then it hits you: anything written on any Internet messageboard ever is completely and utterly pointless.  It doesn’t matter how eloquently you write them, your words are immediately preceded by someone who uses emoticons, immediately followed by someone who spells the word tonight, “2nite” and are only read by people who are either surrounded by cats or are angry their parents won’t let them get another cat.  There is absolutely nothing to be gained from trying to enlighten someone who hasn’t seen natural light in three and half years, yet I still had to try. 

It is the white, Gentile, sodomizing man’s burden.