Diane Pomerantz is a Baltimore-area psychologist, but first and foremost, she is a survivor. She has successfully battled an aggressive cancer as well as a 20-year emotionally-crippling marriage to Charles, a psychiatrist and a controlling narcissist, as she details in her grippingly readable memoir LOST IN THE REFLECTING POOL. I wholeheartedly recommend this fine work, provided to me by courtesy of the author and BookTasters NonFiction in exchange for an honest review.
Charles is a deeply disturbed man who gets pleasure out of playing mind games and undermining his wife, especially in relation to their children. He enters into an extramarital relationship with a patient, of whom he writes about in his journal, lamenting that he has to spend a day with his kids when he would rather spend the day with her. He fantasizes about his parents dying in a “fiery crash” so that he could get his inheritance “sooner, rather than later.” He provides zero support to the author during her most trying times—her unsuccessful attempts to carry a child to term, her frustration and heartbreak as a result of unproductive fertility treatments, and most egregiously, throughout her battle with a particularly vigorous cancer. Upon their breakup, he insists on giving her $20 per week for child support.
One might ask, “How did this marriage go so wrong?” Dr. Pomerantz addresses this question throughout the memoir also by applying rich stylistic touches that embellish meaning and mood. She suggests a keen sense of foreboding when she writes that “only thirty-six hours before our wedding was to begin, the clouds rolled in. What was at first dusky gray cloud cover turned to black, ominous masses covering the entire sky above us.” Later, as the marriage begins crumbling to bits, Dr. Pomerantz suggests a sense of unreality creeping in, a foreign world, as she writes of her house that “the shades of pewter-gray sky filtered through random windows and made odd and disconcerting patterns on the walls. Sounds echoed off the high ceilings. The multiple staircases up and down gave me a feeling that dangers lurked in hidden places.” The poetry of passages like these brings the writing out of reportage and provides it with a deep sense of humanity.
By their very nature of operating from memory, memoirs require an appropriate psychological distance on the part of authors so that they don’t come across as merely extended personal journal pieces, and Dr. Pomerantz succeeds admirably in walking the tightrope between emotion and its mimetic presentation; she is ever-aware of the reader throughout the narrative. The image of a reflecting pool is given symbolic implications early on, as she writes that while walking, she and Charles “came to a reflecting pool with a marble wall, down which water fell softly. . . .Whether in the light of the moon or from the lamppost above us, as we looked into the water, our images merged.” Such an image suggests Dr. Pomerantz’s theme of precariously shifting boundaries, of uncertainty; losing oneself within a relationship becomes the price paid for trying to make work what is essentially, and ultimately, unworkable.
Yet this memoir is in no way a mere “revenge” piece. Dr. Pomerantz writes with compassion, clarity, and understanding throughout the narrative. Her children provide her with the will to carry on, to rise above sickness and a dysfunctional home. She writes of her gratitude in seeing her children grow up to be productive and successful adults, especially given her worries that the cancer would take her during their childhood. As she asserts toward the conclusion, “the losses will always echo within me, but that does not mean they define me.” It’s certainly a lesson we can appreciate.