“Sometimes it’s exhausting for me to simply walk into the house. I try and calm myself, remember that I’ve lived alone before. Sleeping by myself didn’t kill me then and will not kill me now. But this what loss has taught me of love. Our house isn’t simply empty, our home has been emptied. Love makes a place in your life, it makes a place for itself in your bed. Invisibly, it makes a place in your body, rerouting all your blood vessels, throbbing right alongside your heart. When it’s gone, nothing is whole again.”
Imagine being married, very much in love, and just starting out your life together. Without warning, this happiness is torn apart, as your spouse is accused of a sexual crime. You know that he is not guilty, but the jury disagree. He is sentenced to twelve years in prison.
“But that was when we thought incarceration had something to do with being guilty or at least being stupid.”
This is the story of Celestial and Roy, a young American couple; she is an artist, he is an executive. They are the embodiment of ‘The American Dream’. Suddenly their lives are torn apart by Roy’s arrest and subsequent conviction for sexual assault.
“But what is real? Was it our uneventful first impression? Or the day in New York, of all places, where we found each other once again? Or did things “get real” when we married, or was it the day that the prosecutor in a little nowhere town declared Roy to be a flight risk?”
It is a story lived by many, and spoken about so little. The normality of life interrupted as a family member is convicted of a crime and sentenced to prison. Loved ones are left behind, desperately trying to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives. and family members are guilty by association, forced serve a silent sentence outside the walls.
“Dear Celestial,
I am innocent.“
“Dear Roy,
I am innocent, too.”
Celestial’s response to Roy reminds us of the pain felt by family members. A pain so acute yet discussed so infrequently in literature.
This story deals with precisely the type of emotions felt when a loved one is in prison. The impossible choices faced by those close to them weigh heavily, and there is little opportunity to discuss the trauma. Whether remaining in a relationship and supporting a family member or not, there is a huge sense of guilt. The guilt that ‘life goes on’ when time stands still on the inside.
“I’m ready. But I can’t lie. Sometimes I feel guilty as hell for just being able to live my life. I didn’t have to tell him that I understood, because he knew that I did. There should be a word for this, the way it feels to steal something that’s already yours.”
I won’t include any spoilers here as I hope that you will read the book for yourselves. In the course of the narrative, we witness the challenges faced by a couple placed into such circumstances, and the brutal impact on their relationship. I will say though, its definitely not a sanitised love story, so if you prefer sugar-coated narratives, this is not for you.
This book came into my life at the end of 2019. It was recommended by a fellow student who was on my creative writing course.
At the time of first reading it, my life was settled, happy and uneventful. I was pregnant with my youngest child, in secure employment working at a college, as well as having my own business plus regular self- employed work. We had our own home, regular holidays and wanted for nothing. My children were happy, settled and looking forward to welcoming a new sibling. I thought that my marriage was good. I thought we were ok.
In the course of reading this book, my life changed, suddenly and without warning.
‘Life imitates art far more than art imitates life’—Oscar Wilde
All of the things that I knew suddenly became unfamiliar. Our security, stability, sanity and my sense of identity was removed, all following a knock at the door at at the start of 2020.
My husband was placed under investigation for viewing illegal images on the open web (and later sent to prison).
My children and I had to flee our home, to a life of uncertainty. We had to leave our lives behind and change our name. We were fleeing not from my husband but from community and vigilante response to his crimes. We were no longer safe in our own home, and lost everything we knew.
Our safety was gone and we were given no protection by the state. We found support from an amazing lived experience community, and via charities because there is no tailored support from the government, despite the fact we were internally displaced.
Whether a loved one is guilty (as my children's father was) or innocent of a crime, it has nothing to do with the family members, who are put through hell. Blamed, scorned, isolated, shamed.
Unsurprisingly, I was unable to finish reading An American Marriage at that time. The book felt like a curse. It was too painful.
Since then, I have been on what seems like a wild, uncharted journey. I have learnt things I never wanted to learn. I have found strength I didn’t know I had whilst also being impacted by the original trauma, and then further trauma which has, at times, been debilitating.
Whilst life has moved forward considerably, to quote Maddie Corman (Accidentally Brave), ‘I am not ok’. There is still so much to process. The fallout of the situation is immense.
And yet, three years on from the knock, and following a breakdown at the end of last year (after my children and I spent two of the coldest nights and days in a no-heat house when I couldn’t afford to replace the broken boiler, and then my car engine failed plus having to rely on a food bank and pantry plus many other reasons) I revisited An American Marriage and I now see some of the beauty, truth and sadness in Jones’ writing.
There is hope and comfort to be found in Celestial’s journey, and the sense that it’s possible to live alongside these triggers.
Life, it seems, will somehow go on.
“Am I different? It has been close to three years, so I guess I have changed. Yesterday I sat under the hickory tree in the front yard. It’s the only place where I find rest and just feel fine. I know fine isn’t a lot, but it’s rare for me these days. Even when I’m happy, there is something in between me and whatever good news comes my way. It’s like eating a butterscotch still sealed in a wrapper. The tree is untouched by whatever worries we humans fret over. I think about how it was here before I was born and it will be here after we’re all gone. Maybe this should make me sad, but it doesn’t.”
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