“You know me, man. I love my wife…”
I’ve heard this enough from many a man. Not to say I doubt each expression of this sentiment. Some men do undoubtedly love their wives. No marriage is protected by a void of conflict, not every pregnancy is received with glee, and not every marriage that necessarily ends dissolves in the friendly quiet. For Simon and Kerri Pastor, this especially holds true.
Simon is that goodnatured fellow we remember at college parties who never touched a drop and blushed at proposals to be his wingman. At the outset, we groaned. Ridiculed him. Speculated on his sanity. But on a serious note, we respected his virtues, admitting we could never be as principled. But is he really?
The Divorce and Doom of Simon Pastor is a story we’ve all encountered, with varying attitudes, perspectives, and capacities to relate. I am twenty-four years old, have only had two serious boyfriends, and I’m not quite eager to get married. I don’t know what that’s like, and frankly, I’ve enclosed myself while friends plan families, budget with duty, and purchase modest lots in a growing Suburbia. Truthfully, I was somewhat turned off to the plot of Simon Pastor, but thought of books I enjoyed that heavily featured couples in conflict. Anna Karenina, The Time Traveler’s Wife, The Great Gatsby, and others. Reading another work with drama in relationships couldn’t be as nauseating as it is everyday. In this case, it scraped at my heart.
Pete Deakon, blogger of The Captain’s Log, has a writing style I’ve yet to get accustomed to. He writes well, though at times robotically. The first several chapters were a bit difficult to get through. I found the sentences too attentive to grammar and structure, and hoped to gather a stronger sense of the story’s tone. Accounts of Simon’s college days, the early enchantment of Kerri, and the birth of baby Emily struck me as stoic. But when I got to page 53, interest was sparked, and emotions swelled. I was caught in the eye of a livid typhoon, but didn’t mind so much. It was thrilling.
Now, page 53 contains a quote that I’m sure reminds a handful of people about a certain someone. Your friend, ex-boyfriend, boss, father. A figure of trust and piety who engages in the deplorable. Deakon writes,
“Simon liked putting on airs that he was a good husband. As any secure person knows, however, a braggart is that way because of insecurity and doubt. The truth was that Simon wanted to stay [at work] more than anyone. But he knew that in staying the beans would be spilled. He couldn’t hardly have a conversation with a friend without complaining about his marriage. Kerri this, Kerri that. Among close friends, a little venting now and again was acceptable, he thought. But the happy hour scene would prove fatal to his carefully crafted image of being happily married, so he raced home.”
The land mines planted by Simon and Kerri are only iconic of the toxins experts say kill fifty percent of American marriages. Infidelity, financial issues, sexual dysfunction, and discord in parenting are nothing new, or shocking. But Deakon demonstrates that it’s not about what you say, but how you say it. Skilled in written dialogue, the author lays out the rest of the story in a way that not only lets us know Simon and adopt him as our own, but look closer at the processes behind a relationship’s end.
It is indisputably evident that Simon is unfulfilled in his marriage. But in compliance with social norms, the perceptions of those he performs for, and the teachings of Jesus from a childhood that wasn’t so clean of hypocritical modeling (Simon’s father ran off to have babies with another woman. Simon cheated on a pregnant Kerri with a stripper), Simon is determined to stay. But as we may have seen before, in someone we know or know of, the persistent often unravel, descending into monstrosities they never wanted to be. And the reality is that most of us won’t intervene. We’ll watch, gape, give the guy advice that’s either ambivalently meaningless or something simplistic. “That’s not right,” is all Simon’s friend can say as he vents about Kerri’s tactics in passive aggression.
Counseling, compromises, and a collaborative end. The couple takes these measures to miserably fail. Indeed, it was as if Simon was planning to fail. I can see someone commenting on the relative one-sidedness of the story, that it’s told from a man’s perspective, brash, unfeeling, a beer mug brimming with misogyny. I admit, I was angered, unsympathetic to Simon’s difficulties as he talked about the things women do to disrespect men, although they may not be aware of this. Well, thanks, Simon. It’s helpful to know that in my failed relationships, I could not have known any better. But this is where I felt challenged as a reader. This is a story about an imperfect man, with a pristine facade that has trailed him since youth. Aren’t we all imperfect? I was harsh on Simon at times, and though we never see him lay a hand on Kerri, I definitely wanted to slap him something fierce.
But I remember the concept of trauma. How it strikes without warning, how the aftereffects vary, but damn nonetheless. It isn’t something you plan for, and personally, I cannot say you recover with grace. There’s a concoction of shock, disappointment, rage, vengeance. And of course, a bitterness that scalds most with the patience to put up with you for more than an hour. In The Divorce and Doom of Simon Pastor, we’re reminded of this, the ugliness of trauma, its ability to trap and ensnare resolutely. In trauma, Simon trips, falters, and stagnates to a degree that makes for intriguing study, but sad witnessing. Ultimately, you feel bad, whether mournful, insulted, dejected, and more. Deakon makes you feel. Prompts a response that lingers. In doing this with Simon Pastor, he has penned a success.