We can be Heroes,

Two weeks back, I was reading The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas. Now, if you are an old friend of mine, you will ask me: “Wanna talk about it?” And I will smile wistfully and say, “No, I don’t think I will.”

What I am going to talk about is the book I finished reading two minutes back. As I write, something makes me wonder about what Edmond Dantès would think of Kortney Olson. He’d approve, no doubt; he might even secretly let slip a smile. Kortney’s journey isn’t anywhere close to the climax, though. As I type, there is a brooding worry in my mind about how her health is holding up at this very moment and how the waves of feedback — no doubt both good and bad — are crashing upon her with all the randomness of raindrops, and how it is affecting her mind. Her mind — that had me thinking of Dr. Robert Bruce Banner as I read through her story — that has withstood decades of chemical and psychological abuse, and is still on the warpath to make a better tomorrow for all of us.

Bankim Chandra once wrote that it is no significant act of greatness to contribute a handful of money to the poor if you are a millionaire. If you are a rich man, he wrote, not giving to the poor would definitely be despicable; but giving to the poor wouldn’t count as magnanimous. There is no sacrifice where there is no significant loss on the part of the giver. Christ’s sacrifice would be null and void if he’d use his healing powers on himself: that is precisely why, theology says, God had to make himself flesh in the form of Man.

What I am saying is that Kortney’s efforts, when taken into the context of her background and her present struggles, should make her eligible for a Peace Prize.

I admit it, I am a lavish person when it comes to praising books (and films) that I just emerged out of. But then, we are talking not merely about how the book is, but about how it made me feel. About two years back I read Paul Rosolie’s Mother of God, and soon afterwards I read The Surgeon of Crowthorne by Simon Winchester. Both these books left me stirred with passion. Winchester wrote his book in his capacity as a researcher; it was the characters that reached out to me. Paul’s story was intensely personal — pristine, spiritual, and acute in its intensity. Reading Kortney’s book, I realized that the sheer personal force and rawness of this account will place it alongside Anne Frank’s journal in my library.

Once again, if you are an old friend, you must be shocked at the last statement. Only about four people on this planet know what significance Anne Frank’s diary holds for me; none of them are in my life any more. Kortney’s story goes up there with Anne’s, because of the simple reason that it is quite literally a lifesaver.

Let me repeat that. I can promise you, my dear reader, that once it picks up some momentum on the market, Kortney’s book will stop hundreds of suicides every year.

I know quite a few people whose stories, if told, would stop dozens of people from killing themselves. The difficulty is that none of them is in a position to tell the story right now. It takes a certain amount of strength, courage and preparedness to come out with that. While these people are plenty strong and courageous, they are not yet ready.

Thank the shining stars that Kortney found the readiness to do this.

There’s a number of things that’s wrong with the book. There are printing mistakes: both spelling errors and punctuation errors. The sentence construction is unwieldy in places, and once or twice it goes wrong and twists up the meaning. These will need to be corrected in the next edition, and no doubt they will be. This book is the equivalent of Tony’s Mark III armour; there’s going to be plenty of upgrades, but it’s still Iron Man.

The momentousness of that comparison hit me right now as I reread it after typing it out. The curve of Tony Stark’s life is uncannily similar to that of Kortney Olson’s.

Of course, Kortney is struggling to find investors to fund her movement right now, and Tony lines his houseplants with money. Kortney Olson could use a Tony Stark, actually. I wonder what Tony’s creator Stan Lee would say if he saw Kortney now. He was, after all, the man who had dubbed her a superhuman. I don’t know how much Stan Lee knew about her back then, but if souls do get omniscience after death, I am sure he is now beaming with pride.

I might reread this book. Which is surprising, since this book isn’t a great work of literature. No, I would probably end up reading it because I’d have the need to talk to Kortney Olson. I have read a number of stories of loss-and-redemption. I have watched Rocky again and again, using it as my crutch to keep getting hit and keep moving forward. But this is the only story in which the protagonist is not a fictional character. This person is alive, sharing space with me in this world. She is alive, and tomorrow, she might die.

This mortality is what connects me to her, I think. This knowledge that she walks this road rubbing shoulders with death, same as I do. The realization that in this story, she will win, but she may lose.

And I wish her all the best.