I finally got up the courage to read A Child Called It this morning and am glad I did.  I nearly bought it when it first came out, but was scared off because it is about one of the worst documented cases of child abuse, and I didn't want to read anything depressing. So, while I felt a bit guilty reshelving it to go in search for lighter reading, I justified it with the thought that you don't have to read sad stuff just because it's there.  And the author would never know/care. 

I was wrong about the book being sad though.  Shocking and horrifying yes, but the author becomes such an amazing man that any sadness is superceded by awe.  This was a truly brilliant kid.  He had guts and determination beyond imagining and a survivor's instinct at 9 that surpasses mine at 22.  Also it's written in simple, fast-flowing language which spares the reader by not requiring him/her to return to the trauma again and again.  By the end, I was so curious how he (Dave Pelzer) accomplishes such a drastic change in life that I picked up the sequel The Lost Boy.

Already this is far more fulfilling than the Freud and Nietzsche I mentioned a couple posts ago.  It makes me realize that tragic and depressing are not the same thing.  One has a tendency to refocus you, remind you of your priorities and how trivial most of the things you concern yourself with truly are.  The other simply preaches a message of futility, perhaps with a few good lies thrown in.  You walk away semi-convinced that nothing is worth caring about, or at least nothing you've cared about in your more idealistic moments.  (I use the word idealistic loosely.  By this I don't mean storming off to random battles with windmills.  I mean those moments when we are willing to look at something with clear eyes and aren't blocking it with irony or cynicism, fun as those things can sometimes be.)

Another thing A Child Called It really impressed on me is how hurtful a thing it is to be a coward.  It may appear that cowards do no harm, or at least very little, but in fact, in the eyes of a victim, the one who stands aside out of fear can be even more devastating than the tormentor.  One comes to expect that the tormentor will show no pity.  Bystanders, however, are expected to be more human, to recognize that evil is being done, and, even if heroics are not possible, at least not to look the other way with a sigh of despair or worse, mild accusation for the victim.  Something for me to consider.  I don't believe I've ever had the opportunity to walk away from something so blatant as this story, but courage isn't exactly my forte either. 

Anyway, I've gotten lots of food for thought from this book and recommend it to anyone with two hours to spare.