Stepping Back from the Ledge

Laura Trujillo has a brutal story.

She was in college (or close to starting) when her mother's new boyfriend began raping her. Trujillo didn't tell anyone. She was relieved to see her mother happy; she didn't want to make waves.

The mom and the boyfriend married. Trujillo went off into the world, married and had four children, and did high-profile work for USA Today.

At some point, she went home to visit her mother, and the Rapist Relative, now-deranged, asked for a kiss. Or something like this. And the question brought forth memories of trauma--and Trujillo found herself disclosing the rape stories to her mother.

Now, for several weeks, the mother remained with her boyfriend. She didn't leave! Then Trujillo wrote a note: "Just so you know, I don't blame you. I'm not angry with you." The mother received this note, considered it for two days, then threw herself from the rim of the Grand Canyon. Her body was recovered by means of an elaborate search-and-hoist mission; she had fallen 100 feet, and she had left several notes of apology before she died.

Trujillo then struggled with her own suicidal wishes, for a long while, and finally emerged from hell to write her book.

Portions are fascinating. Trujillo--a journalist--wonders if discussions about suicide are valuable. One would think YES, but actually, in this Oprah era of confessions, chats about suicidal moments have *not* led to a decrease in suicides. In fact, the number of suicides has gone up. (But perhaps the climb would be *steeper* if chats weren't occurring? Who knows?) Trujillo writes in a stunning way about her grandmother--who is still alive, and who seems to have no ill will toward the rapist (but won't talk to her memoirist grandchild!!!) And Trujillo has an eerie, gripping section on the Grand Canyon; no one fully knows why the canyon exists, even after years of study, and if you visit the gift shop, you may find your mother's suicide discussed in a breezy way in the twenty-dollar guide. (Trujillo never authorized a discussion. For her, finding the guidebook was like an out-of-body experience.)

No one seems to want to criticize this memoir, because of the story it tells, but I'm going to make some difficult observations. I don't blame Trujillo for sloppiness; I do blame Random House, and I blame Trujillo's editor, Kate Medina. At the end of the book, the "gratitude" portion seems to disclose, in a coy way, that Trujillo is now divorced. Given that her husband is a major part of the story, the omission of the husband's "end portion" seems glaring. Additionally, Trujillo writes that we're not meant to speak of "committing" suicide (the right term is ""died of suicide")--but then Trujillo *embraces* the term "commit," and seems unaware of the messiness on the page. Finally, there is a big hole in the analysis of Trujillo's mother. It's possible that Trujillo feels no anger toward Mom regarding the college years--but how about watching your mother *remain married* to the rapist AFTER the rape story gets spilled? How do you wrap your head around that? Trujillo doesn't really "go there," and not addressing the question seems like a major flaw (to me).

When reviews don't raise these last points, I get puzzled.

I wish the drafting had taken one or two more years.

How to Host a Baby

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Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

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My Favorite Pop Song

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Liars and Saints

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