Stella, in her forties, decides to lift the veil on a traumatic childhood by filing a complaint. Thirty years after the incest, will the judicial system be able to grant the compensation sought? And does writing constitute, in itself, an outlet, or even an indictment even more effective than a statement in court?
In Burn everythingLucile de Pesloüan, a French author based in Montreal, invites the reader to enter the crazy waltz of someone who seeks, against all odds, to make peace with the unthinkable. Because, quickly, the situation turns against her: the family resents her for wanting to shatter an already precarious balance, based on willful blindness. “How far will we go to defend the indefensible?” Those around her pull together to avoid the breakup – a defense mechanism that seems to be shared by several families of victims.
Speaking about incest, so that it stops, thus seems to constitute the heart of the author’s approach, or at least of the narrator, who today fights the passivity of adults who ignored her cries of alarm when she was little, and the cowardice of those who continue to excuse the behavior of her family’s aggressors.
Of course, all the underlying problems are added to this nightmare, both past and present, such as sexism, lack of listening and hatred towards women. Should we recall that femicides are still commonplace in our Western countries, and that the most atrocious abuses occur behind the most beautiful closed doors? This is also not without resonance with current events in France, as the trial of Dominique Pelicot is taking place, this man accused of having drugged and raped his wife for more than a decade by men recruited on the Web.
This novel of violence that is meant to be restorative is written in free verse, opening the door to a certain poeticization of the subject, perhaps to soften its obviously upsetting side. However, here, the free verse does not lead at all to a cryptic message: this hard-hitting book does not beat around the bush to name evil. The words are raw, they are there and they press where it is painful, depicting harsh, brutal scenes. Nothing is camouflaged, nothing is left to interpretation. Everything is clear and limpid, the horror story of a childhood spent in a “disturbed, dysfunctional, depraved” family is rendered without ambiguity. This is not a book to read before going to bed.
Fortunately, Stella rebuilds her confidence in discussion circles and support groups, gradually discovering a sprawling network of women who come to alleviate the pain of abandonment by her loved ones.
” [J]I feel like we’re holding hands / like a network of resistance fighters / we move forward while thinking / we shout so that our screams can be heard / PROTECT THE CHILDREN.”
The question remains open: how can we “properly” protect our little ones without suffocating them and transmitting trauma to them? And above all – the author herself emphasizes this – the real problem comes from elsewhere.