Did someone in a celebrity's inner circle just respond to my criticism of her? Follow-up on my review of Cat Marnell's memoir How to Murder Your Life based on a little controversy that went down on Reddit this morning.
The Personal History: Stop Trying to Make "Fetch" Happen
I wasn't always the nicest guy when I was younger. I didn't necessarily invent the nicknames Crockpot (for a girl on the cross-country team who had thunder thighs) or Cro Magnon (for a lacrosse jock with excess body hair and a room temperature IQ), but I certainly bandied them about. Okay, maybe I invented them.
I could explain where I think this came from - a combination of '90s / '00s Mean Girl cultural influences, desperately wanting to fit in, and being a guy whose friends were mostly female. There was also an element of preemptive attack, for sure. I grew up in a 99.99% white, conservative small town that had more in common with much of the South and Midwest than the rest of New York State; it was a place where every single negative thing was called "gay," and people like me stayed in the closet because life tended to be miserable for anyone who was openly different (only, I was too obviously gay to stay hidden). Don't get me wrong: I had a reputation as a fairly nice guy, and I certainly wasn't openly hostile or a bully. But behind closed doors, with people who I desperately wanted to think of me as their friend, I could be vicious.
I mention this because I physically cringe - like, tense every muscle that can be tensed - when I think back on those critical moments now. As soon as I hit college and began to feel more secure in my social group, that aspect of my personality was reabsorbed like a male Anglerfish after mating. I began to care less about scoring popularity points and more about leading my group in a positive direction. Over time, it wasn't just that I didn't say the mean parts out loud anymore; as love mellowed me, addiction humbled me, and life in general did my head in, I found that the negative thoughts didn't really occur to me so often anymore.
The Deets
This morning, I started a thread on a commentary subreddit about Cat Marnell. It's 2024; Google isn't going to serve me up a readership based on keywords alone, so I've been occasionally mentioning my blog articles in some other internet communities that I follow (*observing the key Internet etiquette of never posting for the purpose of self-promotion alone, and ensuring that every post / comment has substantive value independent of the outside content that I'm suggesting people might want to check out).
I should note that the aforementioned subreddit (r/CatMarnell) has had an issue of White Knights - who some have suggested write a lot like Cat Marnell and have a certain erratic character about them - sometimes jumping down people's throats when they offer criticism of her words and actions, particularly in regard to her family relationships.
My original Reddit post, entitled "Cat Marnell Is Neither the Recovery Leader We Need Nor Deserve," as well as the first comment in response and my rebuttal of that comment, can be found here, for those of you who prefer primary sources.
When I replied to this comment, I admit to feeling piqued. Its author accused me of "thinly veiled promotion of my blog" before completely misrepresenting what I said about Cat's relationship with her older sister, Emily, as meaning that Cat should stay trapped in a toxic relationship with her family (I said nothing of the sort). After I finished composing my response, I sat back and reflected for a mad moment. What if it really is Cat Marnell (or someone who loves her) commenting on my post?
My Conclusions (or Lack Thereof)
I reconsidered the title that I had chosen: "Cat Marnell is Neither the Recovery Leader We Want Nor Deserve." I remembered the quirky, thoughtful, desperate-to-fit-in-and-do-well Cat who emerges in the memoir - a book, which, for the record, I really enjoyed reading. I have more than a little in common with this weird, chaotic girl, I realized. ("You spot it, you got it," as they say in the rooms; was there a reason for why her antics had bothered me so much?). And if my actions during my many relapses had attracted the degree of scrutiny that Cat's are now subjected to, I'd no doubt come off as equally inconsistent, entropic, and unfair. Worse, perhaps. Editor's note: Definitely worse. Especially when Xanax is involved.
Worst of all, I imagined Cat Marnell waking up, running through her morning recovery routine, then checking Google Alerts for her name and finding yet another critical thread on a forum dedicated to mostly negative commentary about her life. In that moment, my heart was ash, and I considered DFE (deleting f*cking everything). I had accused Cat of missteps in her recovery, but was I acting like someone with a strong foundation myself?
To be clear, being able to offer commentary on writers' work, whether autobiographical or not, is essential. In particular, there were two things about Cat that stuck in my craw as I did my research for my article:
(1) A blithe comment that she made during a podcast to the effect that she was now participating in AA and was declaring that fact publicly despite the Tradition of Anonymity - because it helps people to know that high-profile, awesome people are 12-steppers;
(2) A lawsuit against her older sister, Emily, who (according to Cat's book) supported Cat during the lowest points of her addiction, but who Cat then sued when Emily allegedly threatened her / came after her publicly during a mental health crisis involving Emily's divorce and inability to see her children.
These elements are worthy of commentary because they provide the context for understanding how Cat's memoir fits into her (evolving) life as a whole. In the case of (1), it also provides an instructive example of why we have the Tradition of Anonymity, as I explained in my original book review. As for (2), it suggests that the family dynamics that Cat presented in her book may be evolving in dramatically new directions and provides insight into how far (or not far) along in recovery she was at the time of writing her memoir.
I spent a good portion of my review discussing positive features of Cat's book. Moreover, I included playful language drawn from pop culture and the beauty world, which clearly indicated that I was providing criticism on art and persona, not Cat's private, innermost soul. But did I go too far with a title that could have hit as cruel? By mentioning family?
I have witnessed a couple of writers and creators who are addicts - Jessica Kent and Ryan Leone come to mind - relapse and get absolutely eviscerated in public commentary. In these two cases, the pillorying was so persistent and sadistic, and the public figures were left in such lose-lose-lose situations, that I could understand relapse or suicide as a response.
I don't ever want to contribute to that kind of torture, not even in the smallest way. I would rather have an unsuccessful blog than a blog that profits off of other people's pain. There are real people behind these words on a computer screen; real, recovering people who are dying of the same progressive, terminal (if untreated) disease that I am dying from.
Recovery has taught me that I can take time to think things over; there is no deadline for arriving at the big answers, most of the time. One of the hard boundaries that I have implemented for this blog is that I won't speculate on whether a public figure has relapsed or not. Non-addictive mental health crises can look too much like relapse, at times, and constantly speculating about the authenticity of people's sobriety is toxic and repugnant. At this moment, I'm not sure whether I'll keep the original book review up on the blog, and I'm also unsure whether I'll write about public figures in recovery here again unless the commentary that I have to offer is essentially entirely positive.
For now, let me end with this. Cat - you weird, cool, brilliant girl - I admire your nerve and your storytelling, and I wish you nothing but the best. Maybe you'll become the leader that we need, after all.
Comments