Review for My Dark Vanessa: Inescapably Stagnant

I’m not really sure how to start this one. I guess I should obviously start by saying that I’ve just finished Kate Elizabeth Russell’s My Dark Vanessa, and that it’s evidently left me a little speechless. No matter how many bullet points and notes in the margins are written, I don’t think that anyone can impartially separate themselves from such a detailed and accurate description of what it looks like to be a survivor of sexual trauma. What I really would like to begin with, then, is a word of caution for anyone who has experienced or is triggered by pedophilia, grooming, manipulation, rape/assault, or addiction as Russell is unforgivingly truthful and staggering in her descriptions of them. However, it is still an incredibly well written book, and there are still a number of layers that deserve to be noticed and expanded on.

A general description of this novel would say that it is about a young girl, Vanessa Wye, who starts her tenth grade year as a lonely, angry, insecure student and is manipulated and groomed to be the subject of her teacher, Jacob Strane's, desire. The novel takes place in Maine and flips between timelines to follow the entire storyline of how Vanessa navigates what happens to her; how this one man entwines himself in her every move, thought, and other romantic and sexual engagements for over a decade.

At somewhat of a simpler level, to me, this novel is really about people. How they cope, interact, and are raised to react to the hardest conversations and events that will doubtless transpire. My experience with the main character, Vanessa, was interesting in that she always managed to get under my skin for the most banal of reasons. I think that this also reflects most of the other side characters’ interactions with her too. Regardless, every time the book snaps back from 2017 to the early 2000s, Vanessa seems erroneous in calling herself “bratty” and it irks me when she does things like purposefully not dry off her body before walking across the house, only to tear into her mother disrespectfully for buying greasy pizza instead of something healthy. For a family that is supposed to be financially struggling, this seemed out of touch to me, and there were subsequently a few other moments that I thought to be disconnected from Russell’s picture of a lower-middle class family. Although, it is entirely possible that my reaction was a direct result of knowing that I would’ve suffered some real consequences above simple disappointment if I had been so blatantly rude to my mother.

I think, though, that since the novel is in her perspective, this is how we’re supposed to view Vanessa: as a lost young girl, struggling to find meaning and connection outside of the lines of poetry she writes in her notebooks. In the reviews I’ve read for this novel, most folks have, perhaps unknowingly, spoken of fifteen-year-old Vanessa as more of a woman than what she actually is: a child. She acts out, her temper flares, and she grasps for attention from those closest to her because that’s what most lonely kids do at fifteen, and it struck me as odd to see reviews assert that she engages in a “relationship” or “love affair” with Jacob Strane when such a sophisticated title cannot exist between a 40 year-old man and a tenth grade student. Her shock whenever he calls her his “girlfriend” reflects this. What I think is critical to remember about Vanessa, then, is that as soon as Strane takes advantage of her, she cannot move forward. She is stuck believing that all of her value remains permanently in the pocket of 2001 Vanessa, and 2001 Strane too, which is why our relationship to her in both timelines is so strained: we want to see growth and progress in someone who just isn’t ready for it for most of the book. I think it’s also why this book seems so long to many, because the trauma is inescapably stagnant. The length, then, reflects truth that is uncomfortable yet necessary.

The other character that I want to briefly talk about is Strane. For much of the novel, Vanessa continues to defend him, and for readers who inherently want to believe protagonists, it’s easy to fall into the trap of finding sympathy for him. However, without spoiling anything, I would like to raise the point that, even when Vanessa is most encapsulated, Russell’s characterizations of him still make him monstrous. This is not a character that is meant to have any sort of sympathy found in him, and neither is Henry, her college professor, for that matter. They are both reflections of what manipulation and grooming look like. At the risk of spoiling more than I need to, I’ll stop my ramblings on Strane there. Rest assured, though, that there are vast multitudes to say about him in terms of his manipulation and grooming that are well embedded into Russell’s pages. The book drips with disgust for him and I hope that you see that when and if you pick up the novel. I would add, though, that Russell is genuinely masterful in her characters, and the way that she writes manipulation into Strane so it is visible to the reader and not to Vanessa is brilliant. It gives the reader a sense of entrapment and cognisant helplessness that stops them from putting the book down, eager for that breakthrough moment.

Aside from the stark reality and gripping truth of her characters, though, Russell’s imagery and diction in Vanessa’s moments of dissociation are heartbreaking and beautiful. Her consistent return to natural settings like storms, food, the forest outside her house, and the intermingling relationship of water and air are intricately delicate and succinctly describe dissociation in a way I’ve never seen or had the words for myself. It is as though in those moments, Vanessa is the space between water and air, existing outside of any logical description and more importantly outside of herself; untouchable, protected in a way that her body never could have been. Further, and forgive me for spoiling, but the most beautiful moment of the book for me was the small conversation that she has with her mother about forgiveness towards the end of the book. Here, she transforms her dissociative visions of nature into a grounding technique and plants her own words of reconciliation into her stomach in hopes that they will “take root and grow.” It is quite literally the growth that the audience has been waiting for.

There is so much more to talk about in this novel. Perhaps the most important to me being how Vanessa's queer bildungsroman is literally stolen from her. How one man's actions made her feel like her feelings towards other girls in the novel were unimportant and miniscule compared to what was actively happening to her. It was one of the most heartbreaking aspects to me. There is also the relationship to drugs and alcohol, the countless literary and cinematic references, the discussion of what consent looks like, and how trauma can physically manifest itself into one's appearance and surroundings to talk about. But I think I’ve rambled on long enough and that all these aspects are probably best experienced first hand.

I’ll just end by saying that this is an incredible piece of fiction that reflects truths hard to digest. If you aren’t ready, then don’t pick it up. If you are, please do. It’s worth it.