**Spoiler alert – contains spoilers regarding the movie “A Monster Calls.” **
Over Christmas break, I took my kids to the movie, “A Monster Calls,” based on the New York Times Bestselling book. I had no expectations or understanding of what it was even about. That being said, I managed to cry my way through the last half of the movie. It is very rare that a movie grips my mind and thoughts long after the credits are through rolling. But this movie was so poignant and in my opinion, touched on the very struggle of what it means to be human.
The story is told of a young boy whose mother is facing cancer. He has a recurring nightmare in which he is holding onto his mother who is about to slip into an abyss and he cannot hold her any longer. The boy repetitively wakes up just as he loses grip and she begins to plummet. The long and short of the plot is that an ancient tree awakens and shares three stories and tells young Conor that after the third story, he will tell his story (nightmare) and will tell the truth of it. The following is an excerpt from the book. Forgive me for a lengthy quote but I cannot summarize in any way that would do it justice…
From A Monster Calls by Patrick Ness
“Because, yes, Conor knew. He had always known. The truth. The real truth from the nightmare… ‘Please don’t make me,’ Conor said. ‘Please don’t make me say it.’ You let her go, the monster said. Conor closed his eyes tightly but then he nodded. You must speak the truth and you must speak it now, Conor O’Malley. Say it. You must. ‘It’ll kill me if I do,’ he gasped. It will kill you if you do not, the monster said. You must say it. You let her go. Why? And then he spoke the words. He spoke the truth. He told the rest of the fourth tale. ‘I can’t stand it anymore!’ he cried out as the fire raged around him. ‘I can’t stand knowing that she’ll go! I just wanted it to be over! I wanted it to be finished!’ And then the fire ate the world, wiping away everything, wiping him away with it. He welcomed it with relief, because it was at last the punishment he deserved.
‘It’s my fault,’ Conor said. ‘I let her go.’ It’s not your fault, the monster said, its voice floating in the air around him like a breeze. You were merely wishing for the end of pain, your own pain, and how it isolated you. It is the most human wish of all. ‘I didn’t mean it’ said Conor. You did, the monster said, but you also did not. Conor sniffed and looked up to its face which was as big as a wall in front of him. ‘How can both be true?’ Because humans are complicated beasts, the monster said. How can a queen be both a good witch and a bad witch? How can a prince be a murderer and a saviour? How can an apothecary be evil-tempered but right-thinking? How can a person be wrong-thinking but good-hearted? How can invisible men make themselves more lonely by being seen? ‘I don’t know,’ Conor shrugged, ‘Your stories never made any sense to me.’ The answer is that it does not matter what you think, the monster said, because your mind will contradict itself a hundred times each day. You wanted her to go at the same time you wanted me to save her. Your mind will believe comforting lies while also knowing the painful truths that make those lies necessary. And your mind will punish you for believing both. ‘But how do you fight it?’ Conor asked, his voice rough. ‘How do you fight all the different stuff inside? By speaking the truth, the monster said. As you spoke it just now. Conor thought again of his mother’s hands, of the grip as he let go ~ Stop this, Conor O’Malley, the monster said, gently. This is why I came walking, to tell you this so that you may heal. You must listen. You do not write your life with words, you write it with actions.”
The bare naked truth of the matter is that we all have secrets. Perhaps we have never actively done anything horrifically wicked, but we have all had thoughts that would mortify us if spoken out loud. I will be embarrassingly transparent regarding a personal example. One day, my son threw a fit and ran away and was threatening to run into a busy road. His fits are not uncommon, as a child with special needs, and it had been a particularly bad week. As he ran toward the street, the thought flashed through my mind that if I let him run and there was a fatal accident, my life would be so much easier. Of course I stopped him from running, yet I felt crushed under the weight of my hideous thought and punished myself internally for days. This is one of many reasons why the above scene absolutely pierced my heart. Anyone who has suffered or experienced grief also understands the desire for an end to pain, for an end to the isolation of it, for an end to the weariness of it. After that incident, I did some intense soul searching and demanded of myself to know how any decent mother could ever even allow the faintest of such thoughts to be entertained. I felt like a blasphemous cartoon character deserving of the proverbial lightning strike from the sky.
And so, many of us carry this needless guilt and shame. We begin to identify with these fleeting thoughts. We even may hate ourselves at times for thoughts we have, ways we have hurt others, and the supposed truth over who we are. But herein lies the problem. We are not the summation of our thoughts. We are complicated beasts, as the monster so aptly points out. It is possible to be wrong-thinking but good-hearted. Life does not seem to have the same problem with dualistic truths as we humans do. But we must learn to speak the truth. We must own our morbid thoughts. We must open up our dark, cobwebbed closets and let even the smallest aperture of light in.
Ultimately we must understand that the majority of our terrible thoughts do not stem from some deep-rooted wickedness within, but rather a wound that needs to be healed (“This is why I came walking, to tell you this so that you may heal.”). Our ugly thoughts, our rage, our embarrassing failures all serve as an indicator to show us where we are broken, where we are suffering, where we need mending. What good would it do to suture up an infected laceration? It would only fester and rot and cause further damage. This being the case, we still hide in shame rather than risk being exposed. And so, we suffer while smiling and silently endure our infected wounds. We would rather die than expose the truth.
However, if we will be brave enough to speak that which is unspoken, we will find peace and freedom. We will find that our thoughts, once uttered, become powerless over us. The shackles of guilt and self-chastisement will fall away and we will realize that our thoughts are simply…thoughts. They do not define us. They cannot control us. And then, we will reclaim the power to write our lives with our actions, instead of being tormented by our thoughts.
“Conor let out a long, long breath, still thick. But he wasn’t choking. The nightmare wasn’t filling him up, squeezing his chest, dragging him down. In fact, he no longer felt the nightmare at all…”