Madeleine McCann

The new Madeleine McCann documentary makes a striking observation. A scholar of abductions is speaking. "There's something about certain disappearances. A disappearance can GO VIRAL. That's when people everywhere can't stop talking about the disappearance. And I think the distinguishing factor is: a part of the disappearance that feels universal. A part that makes the reader say, That could happen to me."

In other words, disappearances happen all the time. We don't talk obsessively about every single disappearance. There's sometimes an insinuation that the McCann story gets so much attention simply because the kid in question was reasonably wealthy and white. (In other words, if McCann had been black, we wouldn't be talking about her.) I'm not sure the story is that easy. I think a main reason people respond so forcefully to the McCann details is that a part of us can imagine being as negligent as Dr. and Dr. McCann. Famously, crazily, the two McCann parents left their daughter in a hotel room on her own so that all the adults could go off and drink nearby. That's when the abduction happened.

We judge the parents--so self-absorbed!--and we also secretly think, Yep, I could be in that boat, as well. (This reminds me of the Lorrie Moore story where the narrator wonders if her baby's cancer is cosmic retribution for certain non-maternal behaviors. Leaving a bowl of Cheerios on the floor for the baby. Joking: Happy? We just want him to be rich!)

The McCann story is especially horrifying because the McCanns themselves became targets of speculation soon after the kidnapping. Some people believe that the two wealthy doctors accidentally murdered their own child, then staged a cover-up. Imagine losing your daughter, having your own negligence exposed on a universal scale, then getting told that people think you actually offed your daughter in a moment of stunning (additional) carelessness. And that people think you're nefarious enough to draft an elaborate, imagined abduction plot as a way of removing suspicion from your own behavior. The mind reels.

I suspect we'll never really get an answer in the Madeleine affair. Who knows? In the meantime, we get odd bits of insight into human behavior. A Portuguese reporter profiled in the new McCann documentary describes her profession. She doesn't have a strong grasp on English, so she uses unintentionally awkward phrases. "I am always being drawn to truth-finding, even in my childhood. I am always hoping I find the story beneath the lies. The BENEATH truth."

She means to say: "the truth beneath the posturing." But, in her halting English, "beneath" becomes an adjective. The "beneath truth"--the ore at the center of any well-reported story. The account of how people actually behave--the account that cuts through the thicket of human nonsense, the thicket of self-justifying, self-exonerating stories people invent in which they *seem to* behave in respectable ways.

Smartly, the McCann documentary-makers seize on that phrase--"the BENEATH truth." It becomes the title of the first installment of the new McCann documentary. We're all digging, digging--trying to find the valuable thing *beneath* life's false and glittery surfaces. That's fascinating to me--always has been, always will be.

(P.S. I know I'm mixing metaphors. Ores! Thickets! I just get excited.)

How to Host a Baby

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Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic. She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...

Liars and Saints

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