The Silent Patient
by Alex Michaelides
(New York: Celadon, 2019)
Once you name something, it stops you seeing the whole of it, or why it matters. You focus on the word, which is just the tiniest part, really, the tip of an iceberg. I’ve never been that comfortable with words - I always think in pictures, express myself with images.
Page 1.
Alicia Berenson was thirty-three years old when she killed her husband.
Page 7.
At first the officers thought he was alive. His head lolled slightly t one side, as if he were unconscious. Then a beam of light revealed Gabriel had been shot several times in the face. His handsome features were gone forever, leaving a charred, blackened, bloody mess. The wall behind him was sprayed with fragments of skull, brains, hair - and blood.
Pages 8-9.
The following day, she lay in bed in a private room at the hospital. The police questioned her in the presence of her lawyer. Alicia remained silent throughout the interview. Her lips were pale, bloodless; they fluttered occasionally but formed no words, made no sounds. She answered no questions. She could not, would no, speak. Nor did she speak when charged with Gabriel’s murder. She remained silent when she was placed under arrest, refusing to deny her guilt or confess it.
Alicia never spoke again.
Page 9.
Let us not forget that while Alicia Bereson may be a murderer, she was also an artist. It makes perfect sense - to me at least - that she should pick up her brushes and paints and express her complicated emotions on canvas. No wonder that, for once, painting came to her with such ease; if grief can be called easy.
The painting was a self-portrait. She titled it in the bottom left-hand corner of the canvas, in light blue Greek lettering.
One word.
Alecestis.
Page 10.
The facts, such as they were, were simple: Alicia was found alone with Gabriel’s body; only her fingerprints were on the gun. There was never any doubt she killed Gabriel. Why she killed him, on the other hand, remained a mystery.
Pages 12-13.
Whey did she refuse to speak? What did it mean? Was she hiding something? Protecting someone? If so, who? And why?
Page 13.
She didn’t cry once throughout the trial - a fact made much of in the press - her face remaining unmoved, cold. Frozen.
Page 13.
Week followed week, month followed month, then the years passed - and still Alicia didn’t speak.
Page 14.
With no further revelation forthcoming, the disappointed media eventually lost interest in Alicia Berenson.
Page 14.
As a psychotherapist, I thought it obvious that she had suffered a severe trauma surrounding Gabriel’s death; and this silence was a manifestation of that trauma.
Page 15.
Of course I wanted to help people. But that was a secondary aim - particularly at the time I started training. The real motivation was purely selfish. I was on a quest to help myself. I believe the same is true for most people who go into mental health. We are drawn to this profession because we are damaged - we study psychology to heal ourselves.
Page 17.
We are born with a brain half-formed - more like a muddy lump of clay than a divine Olympian.
Page 17.
The development of our personalities doesn’t take place in isolation, but in relationships with others - we are shaped and completed by unseen, unremembered forces; namely, our parents.
Page 17.
Somehow grasping at vanishing snowflakes is like grasping at happiness: an act of possession that instantly gives way to nothing.
Page 19.
It’s odd how quickly one adapts to the strange new world of a psychiatric unit. You become increasingly comfortable with madness - and not just the madness of others, but your own. We’re all crazy, I believe, just in different ways.
Page 22.
Psychotherapists tend to view smoking as an unresolved addiction.
Page 23.
Normally when beginning with a patient, there is no sense of urgency, no predetermined therapeutic agenda. Normally we start with many months of talking.
Page 39.
If people don’t reply when you speak to them and never initiate conversation, you soon forget they’re there.
Page 42.
Something about putting pen to paper helps me organize my mind. I’ve always had difficulty formulating an opinion until I’ve written it down.
Pages 42-43.
Murderous rage, homicidal rage, is not born in the present. It originates in the land before memory, in the world of early childhood, with abuse and mistreatment, which builds up a charge over the years, until it explodes - often at the wrong target.
Page 43.
The nurses’ station is always the hub of a psychiatric unit, its heart: staff flow to and from it, and it is where the ward is run from day to day; at least where all the practical decisions are made. The goldfish bowl was the nurses’ nickname for the station, as its walls were made of reinforced glass - meaning staff could keep an eye on the patients in the recreation room.
Page 77.
Psychiatrists tend to be wary of psychodynamic thinking. They favor a more biological, chemical, and, above all, practical approach - such as the cup of pills Alicia was handed at every meal.
Pages 88-89.
Babyhood is not a time of bliss; it is one of terror. As babies we are trapped in a strange, alien world, unable to see properly, constantly surprised at our bodies, alarmed by hunger and wind and bowel movements, overwhelmed by our feelings. We are quite literally under attack. We need our mother to soothe our distress and make sense of our experience. As she does so, we slowly learn how to manage our physical and emotional states on our own.
Page 93.
Her silence was like a mirror - reflecting yourself back at you.
Page 102.
One of the hardest things to admit is that we weren’t loved when we needed it most. It’s a terrible feeling, the pain of not being loved.
Page 112.
Love that doesn’t include honesty doesn’t deserve to be called love.
Page 113.
At the heart of all arts lies a mystery. Alicia’s silence is her secret - her mystery, in the religious sense.
Page 165.
I’d rather be lonely than be with the wrong person.
Page 176.
I don’t think Jean-Felix realizes he’s holding on to a part of my life when I wasn’t happy. And any affection I have for Jean-Felix is for that time.
Page 177.
Trust, once lost, is hard to recover.
Page 184.
It was obvious to me from the start that you intended to rescue her. I’m quite sure it was obvious to Alicia too. Hence her seduction of you.
Page 311.
I remained silent. How could I talk? Gabriel had sentenced me to death.
The dead don’t talk.
Page 339.
I didn’t kill Gabriel. He killed me.
All I did was pull the trigger.
Page 340.
“There’s nothing so pitiful,” Indira said, “as seeing all someone’s possessions in a cardboard box.”
Page 341.
I never thought Alicia would shoot Gabriel. This is an important point. I never intended nor expected her to kill him. All I wanted was to awaken Alicia to the truth about her marriage, as I had been awakened. I intended to show her that Gabriel didn’t love her, that her life was a lie, their marriage a sham. Only then would she have a chance, as I had, to build a new life from the rubble; a life based on truth, not lies.
Page 342.
When she lied to me about how Gabriel died, it was obvious Alicia had recognized me and she was testing me. I was forced to take action, to silence Alicia forever. I had Christian take the blame - a poetic justice, I felt. I had no qualms about framing him. Christian had failed Alicia when she needed him the most; he deserved to be punished.
Page 343.
I seem to do a lot of pretending, these days - for a lot of people, including myself. Which is why I’m writing this, I suppose. An attempt to bypass my monstrous ego and access the truth about myself - if that’s possible.
Page 348.