The Gilmore Book Club

3 tips From Literature you need to help you heal from trauma

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. It was the age of COVID-19, it was the age of quarantine workout videos. It was the epoch of closures, it was the epoch of new beginnings. It was the season of family, it was the season of social distance. It was the spring of compassion, it was the winter of animosity. We had everything before us, we had nothing before us…

When I read the opening of A Tale of Two Cities, I was amazed at how lines written over 160 years ago about a time 250 years ago seemed to perfectly describe the current situation of the world. The beginning of March 2020 saw the rise of the Corona Virus, or COVID-19. Tensions rose, fear was rampant, and the virus spread quickly throughout the world like rivers of spilled wine scurrying around the cracks and crannies of the pavement. Before long, the Corona Virus was officially declared a pandemic.

For weeks, we had been reducing public outings and contact with other people, upping our ownership of hand sanitizer, and using disinfecting wipes for all imaginable surfaces, but it was no use. The virus was everywhere and it felt like there was nothing we could do to stop it. For me, a person who lives alone in a tiny apartment, a person who has a pre-existing medical illness and wouldn’t have anyone to take care of me, the strict quarantine and the idea of getting sick was particularly scary. It wasn’t exactly the milieu of revolutionary France, but for our time and lifestyle, it was the biggest revolution we have ever seen. 

Written by Charles Dickens and published in 1859, A Tale of Two Cities intertwines the story of the Manette family with the fear, violence, and upheaval of the French Revolution. We first meet Lucy, the golden-haired daughter of Doctor Manette, who is traveling from England to France to be reunited with her father after his eighteen- year-long incarceration in the Bastille prison. Doctor Manette is forever altered by this experience; the scars of trauma are deeply set in his mind and his heart. While in prison, the doctor has no hope of being freed, his only consolation, his only anchor to the normal world is making shoes. But freedom does come, in the form of a few words, “Recalled to life”, and Doctor Manette is spirited away from the Bastille. Once father and daughter are reunited, they return to London, where they live out several peaceful years in their new home as Doctor Manette begins the process of healing and returning to society. 

Lucy Manette, who in my opinion is not the most entertaining and endearing of characters, draws the attention of three very different suitors. One undeserving fellow is persuaded away from Lucy, one man is graciously turned down, and one gentleman wins her hand. That gentleman is Charles Darnay. He is loving and kind and smart and devoted. I even have a friend who calls Darnay the sexiest man Dickens ever wrote. While I don't know if I would go that far (for me, sexy and Dickens are two words that just don’t go together) it is easy to see that Darnay is the very definition of a gentleman. He is even willing to move in with Lucy and her father so they can all stay together. But like so many of us, Darnay is hiding a painful past. It is revealed that Darnay is the heir to the malicious Marquis, in other words, Darnay is part of the noble class which is now being hunted and guillotined in France as revenge for their ridiculously extreme decadence, malevolence toward the poor, and negligence concerning the problems of France.

And back in the present day, our worlds were crashing down around us. We couldn’t go anywhere, we couldn’t see anyone, we couldn’t do anything outside our homes. The threat of the virus was everywhere. Every day brought more terrifying news and a rising number of deaths. There is no true comparison between this new world of restrictions and prison during the French Revolution, but it did shake us to the core in ways we could not have imagined.

There were many responses to the pandemic and quarantine, and when it started to sink in that this would last more than just a few weeks, we began to rely on many different things to take our minds off of the situation. Personally, I watched a lot of Spanish drama shows on Netflix (I don't speak Spanish, but I love good TV in any language) and reread some of my favorite YA novels that I read while I was in Middle School. It brought me back to when I could read for hours after school or stay up late at night to finish a book. Fibromyalgia and Adulting have pretty much stopped late-night reading in its tracks, but it felt good to be so ingrained in the literary world again. And for the moments I was reading, I could compartmentalize everything else that was going on and relegate it to a teeny corner of my mind instead of letting it take over my every thought.

What were other people doing? There was a lot of organizing and a lot of fitness programs, but more importantly to this essay, there was a ton of crafting and cooking/baking. They were DIY-ing everything imaginable and baking sourdough and focaccia like their lives depended on it, because in a way, it did. When everything gets so messed up and becomes so terrifying that you can’t see anything else, that one thing that can give your mind and emotions a break becomes your lifeline.

During his time in prison, Doctor Manette poured his soul into making shoes. His life was in ruins, his loved ones ripped from his arms, and any rescue from his prison seemed impossible. All he could do to hang on was make shoes. And make shoes, and make more shoes.

Doctor Manette made shoes, and we made sourdough bread. During these times of turbulence and tribulation, it’s important to find the something that helps you get through the day. No matter what you choose, all of these coping mechanisms are valid because they’re helping you process your thoughts and feelings or giving your mind and body a much-needed break. In a way, they’re our security blankets. We hold tightly to them when we’re scared or hurt and use them as a shield against the guillotines of trauma.  

As many children do, I had a favorite blanket when I was young. It was white with multi-colored balloons. I slept with it all the time and even took it on trips. A blanket already has those cozy, warm vibes that make us all feel good, but as a comfort object, a blanket is a fabric protection you can literally wrap around yourself. It brings you comfort, gives you strength, and makes you feel safe. My blanket was all of that and more. Having it with me changed everything. I remember I left it at a hotel once and was absolutely devastated to find I was without it. Thankfully the lovely people at the hotel found it and returned it to me. And just like that, my world was ok again. I was recently going through some photos with my mom and found a baby picture of my older sister, Jenny, and she had this blanket-my blanket. Since I did not exist at this point, I had no idea this happened, but of this I am certain: that was my blanket! My mom wasn't so sure, but I launched into this whole description of the blanket and my feelings about it and how I couldn't be separated from it and how it's in my baby box up in my closet and Jenny's blanket is yellow. I was clearly feeling very possessive, but because of the comfort and protection this blanket provided, it was and is very important to me. Without realizing it, I was channeling Dr. Manette when people tried to take his cobbling tools away (he pretty much has a breakdown whenever someone mentions getting rid of his tools). My mom and I kept flipping through the photo album and sure enough, after I was born, there were all these photos of me and this blanket and me as a toddler and this blanket. Case closed; it's my blanket.

As we grow older, things like security blankets and stuffed animals get put away in a special place, no longer needed for every-day use, but we’d be fooling ourselves if we thought we no longer needed comfort objects or comfort activities. As an adult, these things are called coping mechanisms, but the purpose is still the same: comfort, protection, processing. I can’t walk around with a blankie anymore, but I can watch Netflix for hours to forget the world or stress-eat a bag of chocolates like nobody’s business. And yeah, I did a lot of both when the pandemic hit. And I definitely use both to cope with things other than pandemics too. TV, books, and chocolate: I’ve turned to them time and time again. When my fibromyalgia was bad, when I was stressed at school or work, whenever the world was just too much to handle, I went to these things, over and over again.

But what happens when the trauma doesn’t end? What do we do when we cannot see a way out? How do we actually cope with what’s happened? How do we learn and grow so that we can move past the damage? We can’t just make pancake cereal and hope the world somehow rights itself.

Eventually, there comes a time when our comfort objects need to be lain aside, either because we have outgrown them or because they have lost their power, and we need to hold onto something much stronger, something more powerful, and something everlasting.

continue to Part 2

Rory’s Reading Recommendations

If you liked this post and A Tale of Two Cities, here’s what to read next.