Introduction to “In the Bedroom Next Door”

I recall reading in The New York Times’ “Draft” series an excerpt from Ken Budd on writing that relates to Eric Sherman’s essay.

He wrote, “For the memoir to work, to truly be alive, the honesty of the writing must outweigh the feelings of the subjects … . The drama resides in the dark places where you’re least comfortable.”

In Sherman’s essay, he strips away the good, obedient identity that persisted for so many years, and tells us about the monsters of his childhood that continued to live in his inner space as an adult. Shame about his past could have easily blocked any revelations. But instead of shame, we have an opportunity to follow the author’s journey with nervous anticipation as to how the early chaos would shape his life and whether his father’s irrationality would paralyze his quest for happiness and success.

I am taken with the image of the photo of the happy three-and-a-half-year-old author sitting next to his father, beaming with a joyous smile. And I am curious how Eric’s father would feel reading the essay. Would he be embarrassed and angered by the disclosures, or perhaps take pride in his son’s journey in becoming an accomplished psychoanalyst who used his torments to better understand others and their ghosts?

For the memoirist, there is a universal dilemma about revealing secrets and their impact on others. But for a narrative to be healing and transformative, as this essay demonstrates, the writer must be truthful and authentic. I can’t help but wonder how this piece would affect the father–author relationship, and in what ways a current photograph would mirror the earlier image of father and son.