
Canada, Montreal, Dawson College, Cafeteria: A 25 year old
randomly shoots for fifteen minutes (talk about fame) because, 'work sucks, school sucks, life sucks.' Apparently his favorite video game is Super Colombine Massacre. Wtf-- if such video games must be birthed must they be named after actual massacres thus making a mockery out of a tragedy i.e. super? His mother, when questioned, is wiping away tears.
This act of unconditional love reminded me of Lionel Shriver's brilliant novel,
We Need to Talk About Kevin, where a 15 year old kills seven high school students in the gymnasium. The novel is written from the mother's point of view and is a particularly disturbing read about the often sugar coated relationship between parent and child, as well as the psychology of unconditional love. Shriver talks about this and much else in an indepth
interview at Identity Theory.
LS: It's funny this business of treating children as peers, I know that I have a weakness for it myself. I am not always comfortable around children. And I am very sensitive about the prospect of being condescending towards them. I hated being condescended to, when I was a child. So I always try to speak to them as if we're on the same level and the same age and they are perfectly intelligent. Well, they may be perfectly intelligent, but they are not the same age. As a consequence they have no idea what I am a talking about. Children do need at certain ages to be talked down to and if you don't talk down to them or come down to their level, you don't communicate.
read the rest here
There are some novels that stay with you long after The End either for a character (Anne of Green Gables), or brilliant language (The English Patient), or structure (The God of Small Things). I read We Need to Talk about Kevin two years ago and it still creeps me out for all the questions it raises about being a parent, good or bad, and nature versus nurture.
ps. fifteen year old Margaret Ann changed her name to Lionel Shriver because she 'thought men had an easier life'.