Book-It 'o12! Book #48
The Fifty Books Challenge, year three! (Years one, two, and three just in case you're curious.) This was a library request.
Title: Life After Death by Damien Echols
Details: Copyright 2012, Blue Rider Press
Synopsis (By Way of Front Flap): "In 1993, teenagers Damien Echols, Jason Baldwin, and Jessie Misskelley, Jr.-who have come to be known as the West Memphis Three-were arrested for the murders of three eight-year-old boys in Arkansas. The ensuing trial was marked by tampered evidence, false testimony, and public hysteria. Baldwin and Misskelley were sentenced to life in prison; while eighteen-year-old Echols, deemed the “ringleader,” was sentenced to death. Over the next two decades, the WM3 became known worldwide as a symbol of wrongful conviction and imprisonment, with thousands of supporters and many notable celebrities who called for a new trial. In a shocking turn of events, all three men were released in August 2011.
Now Echols shares his story in full-from abuse by prison guards and wardens, to portraits of fellow inmates and deplorable living conditions, to the incredible reserves of patience, spirituality, and perseverance that kept him alive and sane while incarcerated for nearly two decades.
In these pages, Echols reveals himself a brilliant writer, infusing his narrative with tragedy and irony in equal measure: he describes the terrors he experienced every day and his outrage toward the American justice system, and offers a firsthand account of living on Death Row in heartbreaking, agonizing detail. Life After Death is destined to be a riveting, explosive classic of prison literature."
Why I Wanted to Read It: I first became aware of this case when I was only sixteen. I saw the first two documentaries (Paradise Lost) and they had a huge impact on me at an extremely turbulent point in my life.
I've always been political, but that gave me the final nudge towards something like actual, grassroots activism, and it was the first specific cause with which I got involved.
How I Liked It: I came to this book fascinated to finally hear what I thought would be Damien Echols's side of the whole affair, the three ring circus of the trial, the vigil for his freedom (if it would come) in prison, discovering his wife Lori, and the moment of freedom.
I actually got none of that.
It's not really the memoir it's promoted as being. Apparently several sections of material have been published before in his previous (presumably) little read self-published memoir Almost Home.
The book starts strong, alternating between his life story and life on Death Row (he was writing in what was presumably the present). But as his life story progresses, several factors I was curious about, mainly the day to day of the trial, the aftermath, his reaction to seeing the documentaries that would recruit so many people to his case, his impression of meeting his wife, his moment of freedom, among many others, go, well, overlooked.
Aside from the notable omissions, Echols's style of writing can veer off too frequently into the pretentious, often seeming desperate not to portray himself as what he is: a high school graduate from a failed school system with no formal education besides that, from an area that's practically a living stereotype of itself, a mass group of uneducated, uncouth, unclean, and unproductive bigots offering nothing to society.
He disparages of those who send him Jesus tracts in prison, picturing
“an overweight housewife with dishwater-colored hair licking the envelope with a look of smug satisfaction on her face.” (pg 63)
For all his shaming, he betrays his own small-mindedness about gender and masculinity (for example), characteristic of the stereotype he so clearly wants to avoid. His only difference is that his misogyny is dressed up with a thesaurus and the almost amusing overly-cautious language of the teenage poet.
“Mothers are odd things. We're quick to think of their nurturing aspects, but there is also some sort of strange darkness there. It tends to be much stronger in connection with sons than with daughters. It's easy for a mother to cross an invisible line and enslave a son with kindness. There's nothing more revolting than a man incapable of slipping his mother's apron strings. He will always revert back to a boy in her presence. I see boys with unnatural attachments to their mothers all the time. It's a sign of the times in which no one ever grows up. We live in soft times.” (pg 275)
His misogyny disguised as astute observation returns to his home town again.
“People in places like West Memphis don't like anything that stands out, including intelligence and beauty. If a woman is smart enough to take care of her body so that she doesn't become a sexless lump, she will get looks of hatred from the local women. They will cast the evil eye at her as they help themselves to another plate of biscuits and fried pork chops. If a man is a little too intelligent for the taste of the locals, he will soon find himself ostracized. Most don't have either the self-discipline of the self-respect to better themselves, and they despise anyone who does, because it makes them feel small and inadequate. Unless you want to be the target of resentment you have to keep your head down and shuffle your feet along with the rest of the herd. The one thing above all else that is not tolerated is magick. Any trace of wonder or magick must be snugged out at all costs. Then instead of mourning its loss, they'll pat themselves on the back. Nothing can be mundane enough to suit the herd. Bland country faces in bland country places.” (pg 208)
If he sounds like a sulky teenager disdaining about how "This town totally sucks," it might be understandable to some degree: after all, he's been imprisoned since he was a teenager and in largely solitary confinement. But still, he has clearly taken great pains to advance himself intellectually and spiritually and that's assuming this particular stretch was written in prison.
Interestingly, Echols casts a rather sanctimonious blow from that end. Admittedly, I have a personal stake in this next bit: it was through the documentaries that I first heard in any kind of detail about Wicca. So in reading about how he came to study Paganism (and as a gateway to other systems of belief, including the use of the term "magick") through a girl who absorbs a good part of his youth, it's somewhat surprising to hear him disparage millions of people, many of which have worked so hard to his release. I don't exaggerate; nearly every Pagan organization I've known has had at least a basic knowledge of the case and a belief in the innocence of those convicted.
“I began doing my own research into Wicca, reading about it and even meeting a group of local teens who were followers of the religion. They were a good source of information, but I couldn't stand being around them. They were all extremely flaky and melodramatic. I felt embarrassed for them, as they didn't have the sense to realize how socially inept they were. Wicca is a beautiful religion in theory, but I distanced myself from anything to do with it because I couldn't take the people. Many of them are people in their thirties who still try to live and behave like teenagers. Wicca seems to draw a great many people who cannot or will not grow up.” (pg 128)
I don't deny that I've met my share of insufferable "special snowflakes" in my study of (and conversion to) Paganism, but a few things here:
1) Teenagers being "extremely flaky and melodramatic" as well as not having "the sense to realize how socially inept they were" is kind of the description of a teenager.
2) Where did he meet these other so-called Wiccans in their thirties? From the way he tells it, he dropped Wicca in favor of the occult in general rather than a specific aspect of it (Wicca), while he was still in his teens. Was he associating with adult Wiccans as a teen? He specifies the group he met was composed of teenagers.
3) There's a great deal of "pot" and "kettle" here, for reasons we saw above.
Tongue-in-cheek, some Wiccans (and Pagans) disavow the spelling of the word "magick". The term comes from an effort to separate magick (spells and workings and such) from magic (meaning card tricks, rabbits, and so on). A particularly pithy Pagan blogger I follow recently referred to the spelling as "needing that extra 'special K'".
Given how frequently Echols uses the words (with that spelling) in the book to describe everything from Peanuts holiday specials to Hershey kisses, calling someone "flaky and melodramatic" earns a side-eye at the very least.
Wiccans (to be fair, Wicca is a strand of Paganism, not Paganism entire) aren't the only ones he dismisses/downplays/disavows.
I was eager to hear about his relationship with Paradise Lost, a series that he said in at least one interview (all given while in prison) has saved his life numerous times. Any of the celebrities that have come to his aid all discuss the documentaries, or were introduced to the case by someone who had seen the documentaries and been moved by them.
So it was somewhat surprising that he had no actual praise (unlike he had for his other supporters on the outside, Eddie Vedder, Johnny Depp, et cetera)for the film makers. We're introduced to the seminal series that would, in Echols's own words, kept him alive.
“We were also being made the subjects of an HBO documentary. On June 5, the day after the West Memphis police held a press conference to announce they had caught the alleged perpetrators of the crime, an HBO executive named Sheila Nevins saw an article half-buried in The New York Times and shared it with two filmmakers, Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinofsky. The headline, "3 Arkansas Youths Are Held in Slayings of 3 8-Year-Olds," offered the potential for a provocative and salacious film about Satanism, human sacrifice, and a debauchery of gothic proportion. Joe and Bruce immediately took a production crew to West Memphis and began interviewing locals, the parents of the victims, my friends and acquaintances, my family, Jason's family, and Jessie's. What began to emerge for them was a far different picture of the circumstances. Joe and Bruce both acknowledged that after speaking with locals, it was clear to them that the three of us were being put on trial for crimes we didn't commit.” (pg 243, 244)
He thanks the two filmmakers in his "ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS" section (along with the rest of the documentary crew apparently), but their names are buried under a seeming crush of celebrity shout-outs.
A side note from Echols's cut ties: with his discussion of Paradise Lost, I was feverishly hoping to hear about something that particularly fascinated me, the 180 done by a notorious figure in the case, John Mark Byers, the stepfather of one of the victims. He made a loud spectacle of himself in the first two documentaries, including handing off a knife to the filmmakers which they quickly passed to police. Byers proclaimed repeatedly his belief in Echols's guilt and in a particularly infamous scene in the first documentary, he names pumpkins after the three defendants (and chats with them) before blowing them to pieces with his rifle. In the second documentary, he compares believers in the West Memphis Three's innocence to Charles Manson's followers.
But sometime, somewhere, Byers had a revelation and came to believe in the innocence of the defendants and at a press conference after they were released, he said he'd written to Echols in prison and they'd made peace. Aside from Echols noting Byers's presence (along with the mother of another one of the victims) at the party after the press conference for the release of the three men, he isn't discussed.
But back to the disavowing. Most distressing of all is Echols's relationship with Jason Baldwin, whose acquiescence to the Alford Plea (which meant he would have to plead guilty along with his co-defendants) is what ultimately freed the three men.
“The prosecutor wanted all three of us- Jesse, Jason, and me- to take the deal or there would be no deal. Over the years Jason had grown to love prison. His circumstances were not the same as mine. He had a job, he had befriended the guards, and was actually looking forward to the next year in prison school. Jason had also said previously that he wasn't willing to concede anything to the prosecutors.” (pg 378)
While Jason Baldwin's experience in prison was vastly different from that of Echols's on Death Row and in solitary confinement, to say he loved prison seems horribly untrue.
“On the night of the seventeenth, word came through to Lorri that Jason had finally agreed. He had finally realized that I was in danger, and that we were all at the end of our rope. He also realized he was going to be left behind if he didn't come along with us on the deal. My own case had garnered much of the WM3 publicity, and if we managed to be freed without him, there would be very little interest left in his case.” (pg 379, 380)
While of course it was Echols (and only Echols) on Death Row, all the celebrities sporting t-shirts were not encouraging the mantra of "Free the West Memphis One". It's chilling to imagine Echols believing Baldwin's primary reason for going against his own instinct and principle is for the fact the case would lose the attention and star power without "the star".
In conclusion, the book is probably not what you're expecting. It's in several places sloppily thrown together and in need of a better editor. It feels slap-dash in too many parts and Echols's style, as mentioned, can really grate.
But it's also an invaluable look into our prison system, into the life of solitary confinement, and yes, even into creating hope and inspiration out of despair and brutal nothingness.
Notable: I debated whether or not to add this, but I feel it's important.
In a book vividly outlining the horrors and injustices of the prison system, something I was dreading reading about was the sexual abuse Echols reportedly suffered. In a book where he discusses the bugs in the food (when there's any food edible whatsoever), the rats that craw over you, the knifings by the guards, and the psychological abuse, it seems odd to leave out what is arguably the ultimate violation, particularly when he mentions it happening to another prisoner (rather curiously, he refers to the rapist as a "sadistic homosexual guard"; the truth of the matter is sexual orientation figures very little if at all in sexual abuse, particularly in these situations).
But then, this brings me to a point I've discussed before and with which I thought about opening this review. What right do we have to critique the telling of the experiences of those who have underwent such tragedy and horror? And by that I stand by that it is ultimately a public work being sold. It's not a journal entry, nor is it a victim's account merely for the purpose of coming out publicly. Would we criticize a victim for his or her not telling the account of an attack in a more entertaining fashion? No, but we'd criticize the book itself, marketed to raise awareness and how effectively it does or does not do the job.
Title: Life After Death by Damien Echols
Details: Copyright 2012, Blue Rider Press
Synopsis (By Way of Front Flap): "In 1993, teenagers Damien Echols, Jason Baldwin, and Jessie Misskelley, Jr.-who have come to be known as the West Memphis Three-were arrested for the murders of three eight-year-old boys in Arkansas. The ensuing trial was marked by tampered evidence, false testimony, and public hysteria. Baldwin and Misskelley were sentenced to life in prison; while eighteen-year-old Echols, deemed the “ringleader,” was sentenced to death. Over the next two decades, the WM3 became known worldwide as a symbol of wrongful conviction and imprisonment, with thousands of supporters and many notable celebrities who called for a new trial. In a shocking turn of events, all three men were released in August 2011.
Now Echols shares his story in full-from abuse by prison guards and wardens, to portraits of fellow inmates and deplorable living conditions, to the incredible reserves of patience, spirituality, and perseverance that kept him alive and sane while incarcerated for nearly two decades.
In these pages, Echols reveals himself a brilliant writer, infusing his narrative with tragedy and irony in equal measure: he describes the terrors he experienced every day and his outrage toward the American justice system, and offers a firsthand account of living on Death Row in heartbreaking, agonizing detail. Life After Death is destined to be a riveting, explosive classic of prison literature."
Why I Wanted to Read It: I first became aware of this case when I was only sixteen. I saw the first two documentaries (Paradise Lost) and they had a huge impact on me at an extremely turbulent point in my life.
I've always been political, but that gave me the final nudge towards something like actual, grassroots activism, and it was the first specific cause with which I got involved.
How I Liked It: I came to this book fascinated to finally hear what I thought would be Damien Echols's side of the whole affair, the three ring circus of the trial, the vigil for his freedom (if it would come) in prison, discovering his wife Lori, and the moment of freedom.
I actually got none of that.
It's not really the memoir it's promoted as being. Apparently several sections of material have been published before in his previous (presumably) little read self-published memoir Almost Home.
The book starts strong, alternating between his life story and life on Death Row (he was writing in what was presumably the present). But as his life story progresses, several factors I was curious about, mainly the day to day of the trial, the aftermath, his reaction to seeing the documentaries that would recruit so many people to his case, his impression of meeting his wife, his moment of freedom, among many others, go, well, overlooked.
Aside from the notable omissions, Echols's style of writing can veer off too frequently into the pretentious, often seeming desperate not to portray himself as what he is: a high school graduate from a failed school system with no formal education besides that, from an area that's practically a living stereotype of itself, a mass group of uneducated, uncouth, unclean, and unproductive bigots offering nothing to society.
He disparages of those who send him Jesus tracts in prison, picturing
“an overweight housewife with dishwater-colored hair licking the envelope with a look of smug satisfaction on her face.” (pg 63)
For all his shaming, he betrays his own small-mindedness about gender and masculinity (for example), characteristic of the stereotype he so clearly wants to avoid. His only difference is that his misogyny is dressed up with a thesaurus and the almost amusing overly-cautious language of the teenage poet.
“Mothers are odd things. We're quick to think of their nurturing aspects, but there is also some sort of strange darkness there. It tends to be much stronger in connection with sons than with daughters. It's easy for a mother to cross an invisible line and enslave a son with kindness. There's nothing more revolting than a man incapable of slipping his mother's apron strings. He will always revert back to a boy in her presence. I see boys with unnatural attachments to their mothers all the time. It's a sign of the times in which no one ever grows up. We live in soft times.” (pg 275)
His misogyny disguised as astute observation returns to his home town again.
“People in places like West Memphis don't like anything that stands out, including intelligence and beauty. If a woman is smart enough to take care of her body so that she doesn't become a sexless lump, she will get looks of hatred from the local women. They will cast the evil eye at her as they help themselves to another plate of biscuits and fried pork chops. If a man is a little too intelligent for the taste of the locals, he will soon find himself ostracized. Most don't have either the self-discipline of the self-respect to better themselves, and they despise anyone who does, because it makes them feel small and inadequate. Unless you want to be the target of resentment you have to keep your head down and shuffle your feet along with the rest of the herd. The one thing above all else that is not tolerated is magick. Any trace of wonder or magick must be snugged out at all costs. Then instead of mourning its loss, they'll pat themselves on the back. Nothing can be mundane enough to suit the herd. Bland country faces in bland country places.” (pg 208)
If he sounds like a sulky teenager disdaining about how "This town totally sucks," it might be understandable to some degree: after all, he's been imprisoned since he was a teenager and in largely solitary confinement. But still, he has clearly taken great pains to advance himself intellectually and spiritually and that's assuming this particular stretch was written in prison.
Interestingly, Echols casts a rather sanctimonious blow from that end. Admittedly, I have a personal stake in this next bit: it was through the documentaries that I first heard in any kind of detail about Wicca. So in reading about how he came to study Paganism (and as a gateway to other systems of belief, including the use of the term "magick") through a girl who absorbs a good part of his youth, it's somewhat surprising to hear him disparage millions of people, many of which have worked so hard to his release. I don't exaggerate; nearly every Pagan organization I've known has had at least a basic knowledge of the case and a belief in the innocence of those convicted.
“I began doing my own research into Wicca, reading about it and even meeting a group of local teens who were followers of the religion. They were a good source of information, but I couldn't stand being around them. They were all extremely flaky and melodramatic. I felt embarrassed for them, as they didn't have the sense to realize how socially inept they were. Wicca is a beautiful religion in theory, but I distanced myself from anything to do with it because I couldn't take the people. Many of them are people in their thirties who still try to live and behave like teenagers. Wicca seems to draw a great many people who cannot or will not grow up.” (pg 128)
I don't deny that I've met my share of insufferable "special snowflakes" in my study of (and conversion to) Paganism, but a few things here:
1) Teenagers being "extremely flaky and melodramatic" as well as not having "the sense to realize how socially inept they were" is kind of the description of a teenager.
2) Where did he meet these other so-called Wiccans in their thirties? From the way he tells it, he dropped Wicca in favor of the occult in general rather than a specific aspect of it (Wicca), while he was still in his teens. Was he associating with adult Wiccans as a teen? He specifies the group he met was composed of teenagers.
3) There's a great deal of "pot" and "kettle" here, for reasons we saw above.
Tongue-in-cheek, some Wiccans (and Pagans) disavow the spelling of the word "magick". The term comes from an effort to separate magick (spells and workings and such) from magic (meaning card tricks, rabbits, and so on). A particularly pithy Pagan blogger I follow recently referred to the spelling as "needing that extra 'special K'".
Given how frequently Echols uses the words (with that spelling) in the book to describe everything from Peanuts holiday specials to Hershey kisses, calling someone "flaky and melodramatic" earns a side-eye at the very least.
Wiccans (to be fair, Wicca is a strand of Paganism, not Paganism entire) aren't the only ones he dismisses/downplays/disavows.
I was eager to hear about his relationship with Paradise Lost, a series that he said in at least one interview (all given while in prison) has saved his life numerous times. Any of the celebrities that have come to his aid all discuss the documentaries, or were introduced to the case by someone who had seen the documentaries and been moved by them.
So it was somewhat surprising that he had no actual praise (unlike he had for his other supporters on the outside, Eddie Vedder, Johnny Depp, et cetera)for the film makers. We're introduced to the seminal series that would, in Echols's own words, kept him alive.
“We were also being made the subjects of an HBO documentary. On June 5, the day after the West Memphis police held a press conference to announce they had caught the alleged perpetrators of the crime, an HBO executive named Sheila Nevins saw an article half-buried in The New York Times and shared it with two filmmakers, Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinofsky. The headline, "3 Arkansas Youths Are Held in Slayings of 3 8-Year-Olds," offered the potential for a provocative and salacious film about Satanism, human sacrifice, and a debauchery of gothic proportion. Joe and Bruce immediately took a production crew to West Memphis and began interviewing locals, the parents of the victims, my friends and acquaintances, my family, Jason's family, and Jessie's. What began to emerge for them was a far different picture of the circumstances. Joe and Bruce both acknowledged that after speaking with locals, it was clear to them that the three of us were being put on trial for crimes we didn't commit.” (pg 243, 244)
He thanks the two filmmakers in his "ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS" section (along with the rest of the documentary crew apparently), but their names are buried under a seeming crush of celebrity shout-outs.
A side note from Echols's cut ties: with his discussion of Paradise Lost, I was feverishly hoping to hear about something that particularly fascinated me, the 180 done by a notorious figure in the case, John Mark Byers, the stepfather of one of the victims. He made a loud spectacle of himself in the first two documentaries, including handing off a knife to the filmmakers which they quickly passed to police. Byers proclaimed repeatedly his belief in Echols's guilt and in a particularly infamous scene in the first documentary, he names pumpkins after the three defendants (and chats with them) before blowing them to pieces with his rifle. In the second documentary, he compares believers in the West Memphis Three's innocence to Charles Manson's followers.
But sometime, somewhere, Byers had a revelation and came to believe in the innocence of the defendants and at a press conference after they were released, he said he'd written to Echols in prison and they'd made peace. Aside from Echols noting Byers's presence (along with the mother of another one of the victims) at the party after the press conference for the release of the three men, he isn't discussed.
But back to the disavowing. Most distressing of all is Echols's relationship with Jason Baldwin, whose acquiescence to the Alford Plea (which meant he would have to plead guilty along with his co-defendants) is what ultimately freed the three men.
“The prosecutor wanted all three of us- Jesse, Jason, and me- to take the deal or there would be no deal. Over the years Jason had grown to love prison. His circumstances were not the same as mine. He had a job, he had befriended the guards, and was actually looking forward to the next year in prison school. Jason had also said previously that he wasn't willing to concede anything to the prosecutors.” (pg 378)
While Jason Baldwin's experience in prison was vastly different from that of Echols's on Death Row and in solitary confinement, to say he loved prison seems horribly untrue.
“On the night of the seventeenth, word came through to Lorri that Jason had finally agreed. He had finally realized that I was in danger, and that we were all at the end of our rope. He also realized he was going to be left behind if he didn't come along with us on the deal. My own case had garnered much of the WM3 publicity, and if we managed to be freed without him, there would be very little interest left in his case.” (pg 379, 380)
While of course it was Echols (and only Echols) on Death Row, all the celebrities sporting t-shirts were not encouraging the mantra of "Free the West Memphis One". It's chilling to imagine Echols believing Baldwin's primary reason for going against his own instinct and principle is for the fact the case would lose the attention and star power without "the star".
In conclusion, the book is probably not what you're expecting. It's in several places sloppily thrown together and in need of a better editor. It feels slap-dash in too many parts and Echols's style, as mentioned, can really grate.
But it's also an invaluable look into our prison system, into the life of solitary confinement, and yes, even into creating hope and inspiration out of despair and brutal nothingness.
Notable: I debated whether or not to add this, but I feel it's important.
In a book vividly outlining the horrors and injustices of the prison system, something I was dreading reading about was the sexual abuse Echols reportedly suffered. In a book where he discusses the bugs in the food (when there's any food edible whatsoever), the rats that craw over you, the knifings by the guards, and the psychological abuse, it seems odd to leave out what is arguably the ultimate violation, particularly when he mentions it happening to another prisoner (rather curiously, he refers to the rapist as a "sadistic homosexual guard"; the truth of the matter is sexual orientation figures very little if at all in sexual abuse, particularly in these situations).
But then, this brings me to a point I've discussed before and with which I thought about opening this review. What right do we have to critique the telling of the experiences of those who have underwent such tragedy and horror? And by that I stand by that it is ultimately a public work being sold. It's not a journal entry, nor is it a victim's account merely for the purpose of coming out publicly. Would we criticize a victim for his or her not telling the account of an attack in a more entertaining fashion? No, but we'd criticize the book itself, marketed to raise awareness and how effectively it does or does not do the job.