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Behind the Book

From the Desk of Ellen Hopkins

With the publication of my latest novel, Identical, I once again face questions from those who consider my work too "direct" for teens, maybe even "over the top." I will admit the subject matter--incest--is uncomfortable to think about, let alone to write about. But let me say right up front that choosing this, perhaps the most obscene of society's ills, had nothing to do with sensationalism.

Incest is defined as sexual abuse by someone in a position of power over another. Beyond parent/child, the abuse might come at the hands of another relative (grandparent, uncle, sibling), a teacher, babysitter, or trusted neighbor. Statistically, one in five girls and one in seven boys will be scarred by this type of abuse. Only by pulling the issue out of the closet, into the broad light of day, can we ever hope to change those statistics for the better.

I chose to write about incest because it happened to three of my friends. (Maybe more, of course, but these three told me about it, in their own time.) For one, it was her stepfather; for the others, their biological fathers. For one it started at age four, and continued until she was "too old" at twelve. These women carry their scars buried deep inside, but on the outside, they are successful, beautiful women who have overcome much. I want my readers to know that if this horrific thing has touched their own lives, or the life of someone they know, it is possible to rise above the past into a brighter future, as my friends have.

Like most of my books, Identical doesn't hint at or sugarcoat the issue. Nor does it paint the perpetrator as a simple "bad guy." Rather, it reveals the childhood that molded him into a predator. I felt it was important to gain some understanding of his psyche. In real life, there are clues as to who such a person might be, if we only know how to look for them. There are also signs of sexual abuse in children and teens. The more informed we are, the more likely we are to see them.

On the DID (dissociative identity disorder), it is indeed rare. But it is real, and it almost always occurs because of childhood sexual abuse. It is a way to deal with events, those which cannot be talked about, and so are pushed to the very edge of the psyche. Yet another clue.

My friends have thanked me for giving their child selves the voices they couldn't raise. Readers who are victims themselves have thanked me for bluntly showing the abuse rather than hinting at it. At a recent school visit, a young man pulled me aside, gave me a long hug, and told me his own story, one that only a handful of people are privy to. Call me direct. Call me over the top. Sometimes that's what it takes to change things for the better.