Hi,
I know I don't write in this forum a lot, but I do read it a lot, and Peter often adds my comments to his posts...
So anyway, I wrote the following letter to Orson Scott Card this week. I sent it through his website, where I read the review, so I don't know if he'll even see and/or read it. All the same, it's about something that has been bothering me for a few weeks, and I wanted to get some input from other people on the subject, so here it is. You can read the original review here:
http://www.hatrack.com/osc/reviews/everything/2005-01-09.shtml and he repeats his endorsement here:
http://www.hatrack.com/osc/reviews/everything/2007-01-14.shtml The actual book in question was an OK minor-character-in-a-fairytale-becomes-heroine-of-fantasy-novel outing, but it was very dark, I didn't like the main character, couldn't believe in the motivations of several supporting characters, and hated the ending.
Dear Orson Scott Card:
After reading your review of Mira Mirror, I checked it out from the library and read it. I pretty much agree with your review right up until the ending.
When Mira realizes that the witch is her "sister" who's still around after all this time, she naturally compares their relationship to the relationship of the two girls whose lives she's messing with. She sees that they can overcome the damage done by lies and betrayal because they truly love and trust one another. That's fine -- even if I find it hard to believe the series of events that led to this relationship.
The problem comes when Mira discovers, in her own memories, that all her “sister” needed from her was that same unconditional love. Then, when she offers it at the climax, it magically fixes everything and redeems everybody and they all die happily ever after. I agree that love can be powerfully transformative, and that just loving somebody regardless of their faults is, in general, a good way to be happy in life.
But Mira's sister was evil, manipulative, abusive murderer. All through her childhood, Mira loved and trusted her against all rational reason to do so. The fact that there was a noticeable barrier between them was not Mira's fault for not loving enough, but her sister's fault for constant betrayal.
I have read several of your essays that condemn "evil" books and movies for subtly perpetuating lies that lead to violence. I remember hearing you speak years ago (at Life The Universe & Everything at BYU) about how the redemption at the end of Return of the Jedi ignored the fact that Darth Vader was a genocidal warlord cut from the same cloth as Hitler’s general Herman Goering, and that just suddenly saying he was sorry wasn't good enough.
This book is evil in exactly the same way. It perpetuates the lie that if an abused person could just love their abuser enough, they'd change and become the good person that only the abused seems to be able to see. This is the lie that keeps women going back to abusive boyfriends and husbands even after they've had broken bones or worse. This perpetuates the lie that the abusers tell their victims--that the abuse is somehow their fault.
It may be possible that you didn't see this because you've never been in a position to see that sort of relationship in action. If you've never been abused, then that's a wonderful thing. I hope you'll thank your lucky stars, and then stop recommending books that glorify the "noble self sacrifice" and "unconditional love" of victims who are so blinded and trapped by their abusers that they keep going back for more until it kills them (other notable works in this category that are often glorified, though not necessarily by you: the musical Oliver! and Shel Silverstein's The Giving Tree).
The thing is, that I have been there. I was emotionally and physically abused by my college roommate. I say this, not to get your pity, but to let you know that I know from experience how incredibly hard it is to get out of this sort of relationship. Jenny was the very best friend I had ever had in my whole life, and I still mourn losing her friendship more than I regret getting divorced from my first husband--and this is the person who regularly had me in tears for days, sleeping under my desk at work, and afraid to come home until I could work up the guts to apologize for saying the sort of thing that would make her hurt me. We don't need more books out there--especially ones marketed to preteen girls--that tell people like me that we could have made everything all better if we'd just love the person more.
I'm sorry if I've annoyed you by writing this letter -- I know you were expressing your opinion about a book that to you seemed to show the "healing power of love and kindness." I've tried for weeks to just get over it and let it go. But I respect you too much not to let you know when something you say (innocently in all probability) could cause more harm than good, and I hope you'll take this letter in that spirit.
