After the men leave, Bethel escapes to the street and flags down help in the form of John Dromoor, a local policeman who becomes more emotionally involved in the case than he realizes is wise.
As the book progresses, it doesn't take long for the men to be identified, and even less time for the rumors and allegations to begin. However, the rumors are not about the violent young men but about their victim. Teena's only "crime" was being too young and pretty, dressing provocatively, and not conforming to people's expectations of a young widow. In her cutoff shorts and vest tops, with her pretty face and sexy figure, sympathy seems hard to come by, despite the fact that she spends weeks in intensive care fighting for her life after the men leave her to bleed to death on the floor when they've finished their "business" with her. And it doesn't help that her "boyfriend" Casey is separated from his wife and children in a nearby town. Again, regardless of the fact that it wasn't Teena who broke up the marriage, having a married boyfriend is just one more strike against Teena's reputation. If she had been a dowdy, middle-aged woman in sensible shoes and comfy slacks, would they have been less inclined to first hint and then outright allege that "She asked for it?"
Once the physical wounds are healed and Teena is out of the hospital, we accompany her and Bethel to court for the initial hearing. The mother of two of the men sits in the front row, muttering "Bitch! Whore! Liar" at Teena. Her husband hires his "boys" a top defense lawyer, a man with no qualms about destroying the victims if it keeps his clients out of prison or gets them a reduced sentence. Threatening notes are left at Teena and Bethel's home, Bethel is bullied at school, and older girls who know the attackers or are related to them tell people that she's no better than her mother. There's graffiti on her locker, on the walls of the washrooms, and school friends want nothing to do with her. Bethel's life ended on that night in the boathouse, and what follows is something far less than a life.
As I was reading this, I feared I could see exactly where it was going - that the societal psychological "rape" of Teena would be just as painful and devastating as the physical rape on July 4th. I could see that the only way out for the attackers was to completely destroy their victims in a long, drawn-out, and painful way by raping their minds as comprehensively as they had raped Teena's body. And to do it within the constraints of the legal system. I was reminded of the 1988 Oscar-winning film 'The Accused' in which Jodie Foster plays the victim and Kelly McGillis her lawyer. What I wasn't expecting - and what I loved - was the quiet, covert but beautifully effective way that Teena's "avenging angel" takes matters into his own hands. This is the love story of the title - the quiet, hidden revenge carried out without the knowledge of the victims and delivered much more effectively than the "law" could ever do. Yes, it is a love story - but a very strange one and not one that fits any of the usual molds.
It would be easy to dismiss this book as not saying anything new, claiming that the whole debate around "asking for it" has received millions of words of attention over the years. They say prostitution is the oldest profession - I suspect rape is equally the oldest crime, and no doubt since time immemorial, there has been a debate about whether the victim's behavior contributed to her attack. It's true that there's nothing new, but if every book needed to only say what hadn't been said before, our bookshops would soon be out of business and Amazon wouldn't have much to do. Sometimes it's not WHAT you write that matters - it's HOW you write it that counts.
JCO teaches creative writing at Princeton University, and at times this book reads like a virtuoso performance in writing technique. There's nothing "straightforward" about the delivery of this book - she plays tricks, writing incomplete sentences, making us wait for pages to get to the point of the overly long paragraph, taunting us with the expectation of what's still to come, and then contrasting that with short sentences that convey far more than anyone could expect. Her opening paragraph runs for nearly four pages and tells us everything we need to know not only about the rape but also about how quickly the crime is turned against Teena, how rapidly she becomes the cause and not just the victim of the rape. It's impressive stuff - we're hooked by every word. She writes most but not all of the book from the perspective of the daughter, addressing it to the reader as if WE are that daughter and reflecting on what has happened to us. It's clever, emotional, and very powerful writing. One small warning for anyone who hates bad language - there's plenty of swearing, but it's entirely appropriate in context. Mind you, if you hate swearing, you're probably going to hate this book for many more reasons than just a bit of "effing and blinding". It's raw, painful stuff and not for those of a delicate disposition who only read "love" as something that occurs in chick lit or Mills and Boon.
If this had been written by anyone other than JCO, I'm sure I wouldn't have wanted to read it - but I knew that with a writer as accomplished as her, with such long-established and often-rewarded credentials, it was certain that there would be something clever and thought-provoking behind her choice of title.
JCO is probably best known for some of her massive thick books, but I like her best when she sticks to slim volumes. This one weighs in at just over 150 pages and packs such a punch that nothing more is needed. Like a perfect haiku, anything more would just ruin the perfection.