I just finished reading The Kiss by Kathryn Harrison. It feels uncomfortable to critique a memoir for anything past the writing itself. Having an opinion on the story feels a bit bizarre, I mean, it’s someone’s lived experience but… Here we are.

For as much as I fear people, man do I love the beautifully complex creatures that we are. I really liked this book. This story could be easily dismissed for the perverse nature of the story (and affair between a father and adult daughter) and it seems there were quite a few people trying to do just that when it was first published but that isn’t how I see it. All I see is how vulnerable are our psyches. How vulnerable we are emotionally. How rich and vibrantly complex our lives, even in the messy, the moments that we and most definitely society would consider failings.

I know many criticized the author for publishing this story. Called her attention seeking, creepy and implied that what was most definitely abuse was not because of her age at the time of the affair. I can only see the sharing of her story as brave and necessary, really. Things like this persist because we keep them hidden. The book should make you feel uncomfortable, hopefully uncomfortable enough to not look the other way in the face of abuse in and around you own life.