My Mother Was Murdered, and That's Why I Oppose the Death Penalty

I am appalled by the recent rush to executions, horrified by the possibility of a televised firing squad, and deeply disturbed by the two botched attempts, and this is why:

In 1986, my 70-year-old mother was asleep in her own bed when a teenage neighbor broke into her home, raped her, and then beat her to near death and left her face down in a partially filled bathtub. It was a spectacularly brutal, banner headline crime, called by the District Attorney one of the most heinous in the history of the county.

Even in light of what happened, I am opposed to capital punishment, and I'd like to tell you why. I want to emphasize that I do not speak for anyone else. We all have different experiences, different histories, different internal and external resources. If there is one thing I'd like you to take away from my story, it is that not all the families of murder victims want the perpetrators to be executed.

I believe that capital punishment harms the survivors by interfering with the natural recovery process. In other words, when we focus on revenge instead of healing, we never heal.

A number of years ago, when I was being interviewed about my mother's death, the interviewer said to me, “You seem like such a sweet person. Most of us just aren't that spiritual.” What she meant was, “How could you not want revenge?” What I thought was, You have no idea how angry I was and how much I wanted to hurt the man who did this.

The rage I felt and that I've heard expressed by other murder survivors is so overwhelming, it's hard to find words to describe it. You feel as if your skin is going to crack open and out will pour enough molten hatred to incinerate the entire world. For years after my mother's murder, I obsessed over exactly how I would kill the perpetrator with my bare hands and how much I wanted him to suffer for every moment of terror and pain he'd caused her. The images were so vivid, I couldn't tell if I was awake or dreaming.

Adrenaline-fueled anger enables us to get through those early days and weeks. It sharpens our senses and focuses our thoughts. Our hearts pump faster. Biologically, we are primed to do whatever is necessary to meet the threat. We don't feel our own injuries, either of body or of mind or spirit. All our resources are devoted to our immediate survival. In some circumstances, this lasts only a short period of time. I know people who have lost loved ones to murder, but in that same incident, the murderer was also killed. At the other extreme are instances where the perpetrator is never discovered and the survivors must cope with the nightmare of walking down the street, suspecting every passer-by or wondering if the murderer has taken another life. I know people in that situation, too.

Anger and the craving for revenge are normal reactions when someone you love has been viciously attacked, their dignity as well as their lives stripped from them.  At the same time, these feelings fuel the illusion that retribution erases pain, and popular media constantly reinforce this illusion.

Two Short #BookReviews: Krakens and Fairy Hosts

 A Curse of Krakens, by Kevin Hearne (Del Rey)

This is the third installment in Kevin Hearne’s “The Seven Kennings” series, and it’s structured like the others, alternating third-person present-day narrative with first-person narratives of various characters involved in the overall story arc. It takes place in a complex, nuanced world, a “huge canvas” with different cultures, alliances, personalities, and pieces of the larger plot. It’s a little hard to follow as an entry to the series or if it’s been awhile since you read it, but I found that by relaxing into the various stories, the overall picture emerged.

Some of the narratives (channeled through a bard) felt like sitting down with old friends and savoring the details of their lives. Often, the stories would overlap, told from different viewpoints. Each character came to the same set of events from their own unique history and culture. My favorites remained Pen, a sort of tree guardian, and Abhi, who speaks to animals.

It’s a long, leisurely read sure to please fans of the series.

 

The Bishop of Durham Attempts to Surrender the City, by Susanna Clarke (Bloomsbury)

First of all, this is a physically gorgeous book with illustrated borders very much like medieval books. It’s a prequel to Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, set 700 years in the past. Northern England has been conquered by a fairy host, and the city of Durham is surrounded by a mysterious, eerie wood. Ranulf, Bishop of Durham, determines to negotiate for the city’s freedom. That is, if he can find someone to talk to. When he eventually finds the leader of the fairy host, he encounters an adolescent human boy who is unable to speak any human language.

The plot is straightforward and the language is understated, inviting the reader to make connections and fill in the gaps, as it were. To me, these qualities added to the charm of this book. It can be enjoyed without having read Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, and would make a lovely gift for a fantasy reader.

Note: This book will be released on October 20, 2026

 

#BookReview: The Water Outlaws, by S. L. Huang

 The Water Outlaws, by S. L. Huang (Tor)

The Water Outlaws, by S. L. Huang won an impressive list of award nominations and rave reviews. I hesitate to offer a contrary opinion because it did not work for me. Fortunately, we do not all enjoy the same books, so I offer these comments as solely my own.

I have a background of over 25 years in Chinese martial arts and I often feature women warriors in my own novels, so I dove into The Water Outlaws eagerly, confident that it would be just the kind of story I relish. I enjoyed the opening, especially the protagonist, expert martial arts instructor Lin Chong. Her personal prowess and teaching style were portrayed wonderfully. Other, equally fascinating and sympathetic characters soon followed. Lin Chong works for the Emperor, training his soldiers even when her superiors are fine with sloppy technique and incompetent military strategy. She’s unthinkingly loyal, but more than that, she has a profound ethical center.

About halfway through the book, it was clear to me that the villains were two-dimensional caricatures of wealthy, powerful, manipulative but ultimately insecure men. There was not just one, but three major villains, for the most part interchangeable and acting in highly predictable ways. I have no idea of the historical accuracy of this portrayal, only that I found them extremely unpleasant to read about. The real world has enough hideous, exploitive strong men in it without my giving free rent in my head to those without any discernible redeeming virtues.

Before too long, Lin Chong fends off a rape attempt by a corrupt, powerful official and finds herself in disgrace, tattooed as a criminal, and sentenced to slave labor that amounts to a death sentence. In desperate condition, she is rescued and then recruited by the women bandits of Liangshan, mountain outlaws who proclaim their belief in justice. The outlaws are a mixed group, some spiritual, others brutal, some leaders, some followers, and still others out only for their own power. The way the story is set up, Lin Chong has nowhere else to go, so she does her best to forge a new life. After a great deal of power wrangling within the bandits, she gains a measure of trust and responsibility, but at the cost of her own integrity.

The turning point for me happened when Lin Chong made a decision that, in my mind, compromised her ethics and integrity. Here is where I suspect other readers will disagree with me. I realized that I did not want to know what happened next. Maybe she redeemed herself. Maybe she found safety and power as just another outlaw leader. Maybe she used her remarkable skills to take down the villains. I didn’t care, and most importantly, I didn’t want to find out.

All this is my highly subjective opinion. I concede that I might have missed out on a story that is ultimately about redemption, forgiveness, and the triumph of sisterhood. I just couldn’t bridge the gap. From the reviews, many other readers loved this book, and I hope that nothing in my review dissuades someone from checking it out. I leave this review where I began it: this book did not work for me.