I was going to get the book, A Little Life, after a lot of people recommended it to me. My favorite genre of books are dark fiction and non-fiction books that go into the psychological plagues trauma brings upon a persons mind. I read them too to examine how an author dissects a traumatic event or events and brings the characters into those situations and how the characters progress. What always shocks me is seeing how other people react to these books. I suffered severe childhood trauma in various different ways. So reading these books is sometimes comforting, sometimes I read them with the intent to relate to a character, in the thoughts of the character towards an event that others might not have thought one would even experience. But watching some peoples reactions to books like A Little Life, and becoming nauseous or being in disbelief, I find it shocking. What are the experiences of people who read books who did not read it with intent to relate to the character. Why did you pick the book up? Im interested to see the other side of the coin. Does the emotional experiences of the characters resonate with you? Do you see any parallels within your our own life and the characters?
I can kinda relate to this, though I mostly had this type of reaction after reading My Dark Vanessa and seeing all the “this book shattered me” comments whereas I was like: “I mean yeah it was a bit triggering but also very #relate lmao”. Us folks with CPTSD can be very good at dissociating through trivialisation/dark humour so maybe that’s part of what’s going on?
This is a really good point. There have been a few books so far that I’ve read (I go in blind!) and I don’t end up having the same reaction as most people. I’ve been recently DX’d with CPTSD and it tracks. Most of what I’m reading isn’t scratching the itch that I have to experience horror and nothingness. Not sure why that’s the goal, but here I am!
Back in the 80s I went to e e the movie Streetwise with my.girlfriend at the time and.our gay friend. It’s a documentary about street kids in Seattle, and it pulls no punches. Halfway through the film, he starts giggling. I’m tearing up at the misery and shame these children were going through, and this guy is giggling. I was annoyed and offended. Later I learned that he himself had been a homeless child prostitute, and he was laughing because what he was watching was familiar and relatable in a way it could never be for me.
So I try not to judge people for laughing at horror.