Lacy Johnson bangs on the glass doors of a sleepy local police station in the middle of the night. Her feet are bare; her body is bruised and bloody; U-bolts dangle from her wrists. She has escaped, but not unscathed. The Other Side is the haunting account of a first passionate and then abusive relationship; the events leading to Johnson’s kidnapping, rape, and imprisonment; her dramatic escape; and her hard-fought struggle to recover. At once thrilling, terrifying, harrowing, and hopeful, The Other Side offers more than just a true crime record. In language both stark and poetic, Johnson weaves together a richly personal narrative with police and FBI reports, psychological records, and neurological experiments, delivering a raw and unforgettable story of trauma and transformation.
*Chosen as a Barnes & Noble Discover Pick
Kirkus calls The Other Side a “modern classic"!
"Johnson’s matter-of-fact retelling of the horrors that befell her is by turns poetic and journalistic but harrowing all the way through."
—Starred Library Journal
"Ferociously beautiful and courageous, Johnson’s intimate story sheds light on the perpetuation of violence against women."
"This riveting narrative of a young woman's kidnapping and rape at the hands of a former boyfriend moves fluently between dissociation and healing."
"After she ends their abusive relationship, Johnson's ex kidnaps, rapes, and imprisons her. The frankness and eloquence of Johnson's writing puts this true-crime memoir in a league of its own."
“Her powerful new memoir, The Other Side, is about more than the crime. It’s about how complicated abusive relationships actually are. It’s about how we tell and re-tell the stories that shape our lives.”
—The Houston Chronicle
"The Other Side is neither flowery nor stale, never shy or gratuitous. Instead, its haunting beauty grips the reader from the opening line. Also of note, this is not a book whose readership can be defined by gender or role or experience. A wide audience will relate to Johnson's talk of tattoos and pharmaceuticals, overlooked aspects of motherhood (moms are also humans with backstories), and creative spirits in a harsh world. The Other Side is unforgettable."
—The Austin Chronicle
"The shock of violence, the uncertainty of memory, and the jagged path of healing are the skillfully braided strands of The Other Side, Lacy M. Johnson's poetic, harrowing new memoir about an abusive — and very nearly deadly — relationship."
"The tension between fact and perception forms the book’s intellectual backbone, and though The Other Side begins as a true-crime story, it flowers into an investigation of memory. Despite the subject matter, Johnson never wallows in bleakness. Her writing style is engaging and redemptive, a trick accomplished partly by virtue of Johnson’s voice—clear and direct, but with a breezy archness that belies her story’s dark core. Upon seeing her possessions in a Ziploc bag marked EVIDENCE, Johnson writes: “Nice to meet you, Evidence.” Elsewhere she exhibits both the touch of a poet (blood in her mouth becomes “the taste of a penny stolen from the kitchen jar”) and a novelist’s eye for character-fleshing detail (her mother addresses crises with Cool Ranch Doritos)."
"The Other Side is powerful in its effort to do the impossible."
—San Antonio Current
"Johnson’s memoir is an extraordinary document, and she herself holds an important place in a movement to stop violence against women."
"The descriptions are vivid and the victim is, of course, real. But throughout The Other Side Johnson’s choices are literary rather than cathartic and by the end of the book, we can only conclude that the two are one and the same. Johnson survives this experience, and the result of her years of reflection and gained insight is a well-crafted memoir that will make her a notable figure in her chosen genre."
"In this brilliant memoir, Lacy Johnson offers us a guide to the impossible—how to reconstruct a past when the past itself is shattered, each memory broken into pieces, left rattling around inside us. Sometimes flashes of poetry are all that we can find in the wreckage, sometimes these flashes are all that can possibly save us, brought together for brief, burning instances, and then let go. The Other Side bristles with life and energy and to read it is to be transformed.
—Nick Flynn, author of Another Bullshit Night in Suck City
"Wow. Just...Wow. The Other Side is the sonic boom of a powerful story meeting an even more powerful storyteller. It's hard to say anything about a book that leaves you this breathless. Lacy Johnson is my new literary hero."
—Mat Johnson, author of PYM
"Lacy M. Johnson’s powerfully moving and brilliantly structured memoir, The Other Side, asks, “How is it possible to reclaim the body after devastating violence?” Her intense desire and demand for a life lived in the body is triumphant. Johnson’s strength to free not only her physical self, but also to move through years of incapacitating fear by writing this book, is breathtaking: 'I lift the chain from my neck, over my head, let it rattle to the floor'."
—Kelle Groom, author of I Wore the Ocean in the Shape of a Girl
"In this relentlessly honest memoir, she searches through her shredded memories of their relationship and his descent into the violence that nearly killed her. More importantly, she writes movingly about her attempts, first faltering, to overcome her depression, anxiety, and despair, and her gathering strength to confront the future." —Barnes and Noble
"When she was twenty-one, Lacy M. Johnson was kidnapped, raped, and nearly murdered by an ex-boyfriend. Johnson’s new memoir The Other Side is her reconstruction of that time in her life—of the events leading up to and away from that harrowing act of domestic violence. Yet The Other Side does something remarkable: Despite its disturbing content, it never wallows in despair. Instead, it becomes a moving, life-affirming work about learning to take control of one’s own story." —Brazos Bookstore
I don’t eat. I don’t sleep.
Why do we stay in dangerous situations?
First, I think you have to realize that most abusive relationships aren’t abusive all the time, and that not all abuse is violent. There are also many moments of laughter and tenderness. There are jokes and passionate lovemaking. Then suddenly there’s a conflict, which may escalate into violence, or into the threat of violence, but that is nearly always followed by remorse and a return to loving physical contact. It’s a powerful cycle, and I think that anyone who stays in that kind of relationship isn’t willing or able to acknowledge to themselves, and definitely not to others, the ways in which that situation is a dangerous one. It’s easier, actually, to hide or make excuses, or to fall out of contact with friends and family than it is to admit to being in love with someone who occasionally rapes you, or calls you a cunt or punches you in the face.
In my own experience, I tended to blame myself for the abuse, in all its forms. I always felt so surprised as it was happening, and shocked after it was done. I told myself that maybe if only I had done or said something differently, or if only I could be a better person, everything would be so much better. That went on for years: with me always thinking that if only I could be a better person he would love me. It was only when the violence started to become really consistent that I realized maybe I should actually get out of the situation as soon as possible.
How did you decide how much to tell?
Until I started working on this book, I told only one story about being kidnapped and raped by a man I used to know. The story was very brief and very factual, and I’d learned to tell it almost without thinking. When I started to work on this book, I requested copies of the police reports from the case, and felt shocked to see that the story had not changed in form in more than a decade. That seemed to me like a really important detail, and brought to mind something I’d read about how our relationship to traumatic events is often linked to the stories we tell about those events. So, I reasoned, maybe if I could learn to tell a different story about this traumatic event, I could change my relationship to it. I quickly realized that changing the story meant I would need to confront several powerful emotional and psychological forces that had been working on the story to constrain it into that single unalterable form. Eventually, I chose to focus my attention on the constraining force of shame, which proved to be incredibly fruitful, and which is contrary, I know, to all of our ideas about the function of shame -- that inner, critic that silences a voice by judging it as wrong, inferior, and worthless. The seemingly unalterable story I’ve always told about the event was my starting point, and from there I asked, what is the most impossible thing to say about this? That feeling, of trying to say the most impossible thing, helped me to write this book, since in the end I realized that all the most impossible things were actually what was most important to say.
All of the names in The Other Side are anonymous? Why? It feels like you are protecting the identity of others but not yourself.
I write in the book about breaking free from this story, and that is definitely, certainly, absolutely true. I’m not going to hide anymore. I refuse to go on living one more moment of my life in fear. I have every intention of living openly and giving readings and teaching and doing my thing. And yet, as much as I want to shirk off the terror that has haunted me all these years, I also have to acknowledge that by writing this story now, in this very public way, I might be putting myself in real danger. The person I write about is an actual sociopath, free and out in the world. If he decided he wanted to find me it wouldn’t be very hard. I haven’t changed my name. I’m not using a pseudonym. A simple google search reveals where I work, and my title, and my office number in the building. I’m not afraid of that anymore. I’m not afraid of him. But that doesn’t mean I want him knowing my address or the names of my children or my spouse. Why put them at risk by using their real names?
You address motherhood in this book—why did you feel it was important to include the birth of your children in this narrative?
My children, more than anyone else really, have taught me what it means to love. As I write in the book, I had this very naive and romantic idea that giving birth to my first child would “fix” me, that creating life would somehow balance out the negative space left by the abuse I suffered at the hands of someone I had loved. I totally bought into the whole fiction around childbirth: how my child would be a joy and I would look at her and feel love like I’d never experienced before. And like that,Voila!, I thought, I’d be “fixed.” Clearly, this is a really selfish way of thinking about bringing another person into the world, and it was based on what I thought I would get from a baby, and didn’t take into account all that I would have to give. And then the very first time looked into her face, moments after she was born, I realized that she had absolutely nothing to give me at all. I know that’s not a very popular way of talking about birth, because I’m supposed to say I felt so blessed or Her life is a gift or some crap like that. I don’t think that way of thinking had set me up for success, because in reality what I had was this screaming ball of pure want and need. I fed her and clothed her and put her to sleep, but that’s not all she wanted from me. Babies can be full enough, and warm enough, and well rested, but they have an appetite for love that is never, ever sated. And in that regard, I didn’t feel like I had anything to give her, because allowing myself to love her seemed like such a terrible, horrifying risk. As she grew older, she started to offer me something no one else in my life ever had: completely relentless and unconditional love. At first, it made me feel so sad and anxious and ashamed. It felt like so much pressure. I certainly didn’t deserve it, not after everything. And I certainly didn’t have that kind of love to offer her in return. But my daughter kept loving me in her fierce, stubborn way, and little by little, I began to see myself through her eyes: as a person who didn’t need to change a thing, who was already worthy of that kind of love. When my son was born, loving him came so much easier, because I had this really incredible teacher there to show me how it should be done. That is the gift my children have given me, and it has helped me to end the story I tell in this book.