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Sisyphus in the City: A Review of The Advocates

Special To Topanga Journal

Years ago, we went to L.A.’s Skid Row to attend a rooftop screening of an old film that’d recently been discovered. It was being shown by some local historical society, the big point being that a few seconds showed the same area of L.A. we were sitting in, but nearly 100 years ago. We rode our bikes to get there, and, running late, we focused entirely on pedaling as quick as we could on the way in. By doing so, we avoided noticing the expanse of tents and refuse, the people lingering wherever they could. 

Rick Paulas

By Rick Paulas

But a friend took the bus to meet us, and by the time the film was over, that line had stopped running. This was before Lyft or Uber. And so, in the middle of some late Saturday night, we walked through Skid Row.

Nothing overtly memorable happened, but it’s a kind of journey you never forget. It was only a few blocks from the rest of downtown L.A.—the whole trip couldn’t have taken more than 15 minutes—but it felt like we had been transported to an entirely different country, time, or maybe universe. There were unique smells, garbage fire flickers, and chaotic arguments wafting into night. Residents were holding court inside or outside their tents, passing drugs or booze or food, or whatever else.

the whole trip couldn’t have taken more than 15 minutes—but it felt like we had been transported to an entirely different country, time, or maybe universe.” Rick Paulas

Despite the expensive high heels and tailored suits in the swanky bottle service nightclubs nearby, here was an entire community that had been abandoned. This was the last place these people had to go, and when they got there, they were forgotten. I never looked at the city the same way. 

Homelessness is one of the most pervasive signs of a system that’s fraying at the edges, and since our late-night walk through Skid Row years ago, it’s only gotten worse in America. As one commenter in Rémi Kessler’s new film The Advocates points out, while encampments used to be relegated to the various city Skid Rows throughout the country, they’ve now sprawled well beyond that. Tents are pitched along highways, nestled under overpasses. They populate city parks, while others place cardboard boxes in storefront alcoves. You’d be astounded at the number of folks who spend their nights in their cars. 

While development quickens and high-rises continue to be built, what’s missing in our current urban mindset is building housing for people who need it. There’s already plenty for people who don’t, but have the money to invest; this is how you end up with so many empty, as one commenter put it, “safety deposit boxes in the sky.” But what’s also missing to get there—and this is at the core of Kessler’s film—is the idea that secondary solutions to homelessness (drug rehabilitation, treatment for mental health issues, a good paying job) are not as important as literally making houses.

During my work as a journalist in Los Angeles and the Bay Area, I’ve interviewed countless of homeless folks for a variety of reasons, and whenever I ask them what they need to get off the streets, the one thing they mention is: An indoor place to go. While there are people on the streets with mental health issues, for many, problems like drug abuse or violent mood swings are not the reasons for why they’re on the street, but problems that occurred after they got there. 

Consider: What would it be like to sleep on a city street, with traffic blaring by, unprotected from the elements, unsafe from passersby? Would you feel a little bit groggy every day? Maybe not in peak shape to attend a job interview? Or—and here is the dark secret of homelessness in America—maybe not rested enough to keep the job you have? And then, if someone has a drug that’s take the edge off for a few moments, would you refuse it? 

Kessler’s film begins with the tale of Yolanda and Ruben, a brother-and-sister pair who once had indoor lives. They live in a few cars that double as places to store their possessions, but the cars don’t run, and due to parking restrictions, every week they have to push them across the street to avoid a ticket. Imagine the toll that takes on a life, and how those parking tickets could add up if, one day, you’re not well enough to heft the heavy automobile across the street. Try being in a kind mood, or mentally focused enough to lift yourself up by your own bootstraps, with that lifestyle.

As an expert says toward the end of the film, the solution to homelessness is very straightforward: Give people homes. After seeing The Advocates, you’ll see why.


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Leslie Zemeckis Continues Filling In History with Feuding Fan Dancers

Special To Topanga Journal

Viewing the “fan dance” in the year 2018 is a quaint, cutesy activity on par with listening to an old radio play or riding a horse.

From the comfort of your own home, in front of the glow of your laptop computer, you can search for the dance online and get its general gist. The dance will involve a lady, maybe nude, maybe merely scantily clad, and she’ll be holding two large ostrich feathers in her hands. She’ll use the dual objects to cover herself, and now and then—purposefully or otherwise—she’ll allow a brief glimpse of skin to the audience’s prying eyes. That’s what the crowd—men, mostly—has been waiting for, and they’ll hoot and holler their approval at the sight. 

Rick Paulas

By Rick Paulas

It’s fun, in an outdated, mostly innocent, sort of way. It’s a hobby for the privileged or curious, largely unnecessary for the general public to know or understand, certainly with no role in pushing the world’s culture forward. It’s time has come and went, sort of like that old form of the English language with its awkward misspellings and phrasings. Interesting to see, but in an era when you can see literally anything from one’s smartphone, we’re well past the allure that the fan dance originally created. For better or worse, we’ve moved onto more outrageous forms of self-expression.

“When it was first introduced, the fan dance was notorious and titillating. It was the inevitable next iteration of the showgirl spectacle, and like any innovation, that meant there was a large profit in it. This meant, like every other invention throughout history’s long game of leapfrog, there was a fight over who started it, and therefore, who owned the right to perform it.” Rick Paulas

But of course, this wasn’t always the case. When it was first introduced, the fan dance was notorious and titillating. It was the inevitable next iteration of the showgirl spectacle, and like any innovation, that meant there was a large profit in it. This meant, like every other invention throughout history’s long game of leapfrog, there was a fight over who started it, and therefore, who owned the right to perform it. 

For the fan dance, this culminated in a battle between Faith Bacon, “the world’s most beautiful woman,” and Sally Rand, one of the world’s most famous showgirls of all time.

This fight is the driving force throughout Feuding Fan Dancers, Leslie Zemeckis’ fascinating and page-turning dive into the lives of Bacon and Rand. But the book isn’t so much a stodgy legal thriller satisfied with merely picking the nits of creative ownership, but rather widens its scope to become a meticulous, behind-the-scenes analysis into the intersection of show-business and femininity in post-Depression America. 

I won’t spoil the ending, or announce who prevails, other than to say, it doesn’t really matter all that much. What matters is that here, finally, is the story of these two largely forgotten women. Part of that is because of the lack of media affordances that didn’t yet allow the ease of recording, but largely it’s been due to publishing gateways frankly not really caring all that much about the stories of women. The book’s ultimate goal—and increasingly the goal of Zemeckis’ work—is correcting those wrongs by filling in history’s blanks.

Leslie Zemeckis has been on a hell of a roll. Her 2015 book, Goddess of Love Incarnate, told the story of Lili St. Cyr, the so-called “highest paid stripteaser in America,” while her recent documentary Mabel, Mabel, Tiger Trainer highlighted Mabel Stark, the world’s first female tiger trainer. With Feuding Fan Dancers, it’s become even more clear how Zemeckis sees her role in the cultural discourse.

History, it is said, is the story of the winners, but really, it’s the story of those who storytellers consider powerful. Historical analysis has long been dominated with the stories of men, for the obvious reason men have largely held positions of what’s been considered power. But contrary to the inherent narrow framework of storytelling, power is not a top-down hierarchy. Kings get dethroned, managers retire or are ostracized, congressional officials retire or get impeached. Actual, real power comes from those changing society at its base. And one arena for that shift—the one that Zemeckis has chosen to focus on—is the world of popular entertainment. When it’s at its most potent, that is the true nexus of democracy and organizing, of creating and spreading propaganda strong enough to change the world.

It’s this lens that makes Zemeckis’ work important and vital, particularly in today’s post-Trump era, when the world’s most powerful positions are held by overtly feckless buffoons. The emperor has no clothes, but never really did, and there was never really a true emperor at all, just someone who happened to be sitting in a big chair. Now, like always, true power resides in the largely nameless figures who push the cultural football further down the field. They don’t campaign to get elected, or own billion-dollar businesses, or live in castles. They take what once was, and make it what it will be. Quite often, contrary to high school history classes, these figures are female. And now and then, they may even wear nothing but enormous ostrich feathers.


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Revealing The Fringes Of Paris: Benoît Fougeirol’s Award Winning Book Zus

Special To Topanga Journal

The photographer of the award winning book Zus is Benoît Fougeirol. He is based in and around Paris. Zus was published by X Artists’ Books. The publishing company is a collaboration between actor and writer Keanu Reeves, Los Angeles-based artist and writer Alexandra Grant, designer Jessica Fleischmann and editor Florence Grant. X Artists’ Books is an independent publisher, versus a self publisher, or vanity press. The books coming out of this little press are of value and on engaging subjects.

Kriss Perras headshot by Alan Weissman

By Kriss Perras

Zus documents, via a sociological photographic essay, sensitive suburban zones, or ZUS, a French acronym for Les Zone urbaine sensible. These forgotten pockets are located on the peripheries of the major metropolis of Paris, France. The ZUS are documented on the book’s cover by what appear to be mere confetti dots. These fringe districts were defined by administrative boundaries brought about by the “emergence of a social problem,” reports X Artists’ Books.

Fougeirol’s. “realistic approach allowed the viewer to explore these territories…through his photographs without a judgmental, hierarchical or authoritarian point of view.”   ADAGP Jury

With the help of security, Fougeirol photographed these marginalized areas sometimes in wide aerial shots showing what appear to be successful housing zones and in other shots close details depicting the decay and frailty of the projects’ failures. The honest and shocking photos are of walled in housing units that seem to be of buildings that were previously architecturally beautiful. Once beyond the walls, we see doors with faded paint that appear permanently jarred open. Tastefully designed staircases are fenced in with wired gates. In another disconcerting visual, the ZUS are laid out like war zone maps inside the book. The photos portray an innate sadness, a sense society is tearing a certain segment of people apart from the main group and setting them into a fringe society. Zus is a photojournalistic investigation into these areas that makes the viewer wince, if you care at all about people.

According to writer and professor Jean-Christophe Bailly, whose essay accompanies Fougeirol’s images: “We [were] not expecting so much immobility, or such ruins. Strangely, and as if by a flourish of tragic irony, this emptiness of space brings to mind the Ideal City in Urbino. There, too, the anonymous painter omitted all human figures. But where the imaginary scene from the Quattrocento was offered as the theatre of an existence yet to come, the images of the real city, the images of the ZUS, come across as decaying segments of a bygone existence: ‘people lived here.'”

Zus was nominated for the 2018 Les Prix du Livre at Arles. Zus recently won the Third Edition of the 2018 ADAGP Revelation Artists Book Award. This was part of MAD (Multiple Art Days), France’s national association of graphic and fine artists (Société des Auteurs dans les Arts graphiques et plastiques). June marked the month where 20 artists’ books were selected for consideration for the ADAGP Revelation Artists’ Book Award, which would also be exhibited during the fair. It was announced September 13 that Fougeirol had won the ADAGP Revelation Artists Book Award. 

The ADAGP jury stated Zus had, “renewed the approach to how the [Parisian] banlieues are represented.” The jury also stated Fougeirol’s. “realistic approach allowed the viewer to explore these territories…through his photographs without a judgmental, hierarchical or authoritarian point of view. The open configuration of the edition itself is free to be explored and leads to a sense of discovery of places so radically determined by their architecture they are almost impossible to access in real life. (Zus) is an edition to read, to leaf through, to unfold, to display, in short, to discover even while it captures the volatility of the ZUS.” 

The limited edition of Zus is in the collections of the Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Bibliothèque Kandinsky, Centre Georges Pompidou and the Bibliothèque d’Art et d’Archéologie, Genève. The limited edition sold for $900 each, and as of the writing of this article is sold out. 

The paperback edition of Zus is 9 ½ × 12 inches and 375 pages. It can be purchased from X Artist’ Books for $60.


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Nazi Hunting: The History Of Topanga Journal Part II

Special To Topanga Journal

In May 1942 Hugh Harlan launched Topanga’s first newspaper, the Topanga Journal. As a project of the New Deal’s Newspaper Writers Project, the weekly newspaper joined other area publications to employ unemployed L.A. writers. Mechanically, like an old Model T Ford climbing to the top of the S-curves in the Santa Monica Mountains, the Topanga Journal labored dutifully. 

Kriss Perras headshot by Alan Weissman

By Kriss Perras

As supervisor of the Federal Writers Project in Los Angeles as early as 1937, Harlan’s tenure as editor and publisher of the Topanga Journal revealed a tendency to take advantage of a federal program while publicly denouncing it. Even though the newspaper was a direct beneficiary of a politically and economically progressive program, neither its text nor cartoons reflected such politics. The front pages from 1942 through 1945, in particular, displayed editorial cartoons highly critical of the Works Progress Administration (WPA), labor, and the New Deal. Harlan’s decision to publish such cartoons belied his willingness to pay himself from WPA funds, which were sufficient to cover the cost of his $100,000 Topanga home (adjusted for inflation, that’s an approximate $1.4-million home today). 

“Do not let any calamity-howling executive with an income of $1,000 a day, … tell you … a wage of $11 a week is going to have a disastrous effect on all American industry.” President Roosevelt

Harlan earned like a criminal while he mocked Roosevelt, publishing Nate Collier’s critical cartoons. One, titled “Loaded Logic,” showed a worker swinging an ax toward the head of an upper-class business owner who held a newspaper that read “Wage Increase” as he sat at a desk, his title enshrined on a plaque that read “Labor Board.” Another showed a cook with a chef’s hat labeled “Organized Labor.” With one hand he stirred an overflowing pot of prices, while with the other he poured from a bucket labeled “Blanket Wage Increases.” Behind him stands a woman wearing a skirt labeled O.P.A., for the Office of Price Administration, which had been formed to control inflation and stabilize prices after the outbreak of WWII. Titled “What’s Cookin’?,” the cartoon blamed inflation on organized labor’s push for a living wage. Harlan consistently fought for policies that would keep wages low for the American worker.

Troops fighting three fascist dictators made $50 per month in 1944. Common laborers in large cities made 70.7 cents per hour. The Fair Labor Standards Act of 1938 (FLSA), the country’s first minimum wage law, had set the minimum wage at 25 cents per hour and a maximum work week at 44 hours. The night before signing the bill, President Roosevelt said in his radio fireside chat, “Do not let any calamity-howling executive with an income of $1,000 a day, … tell you … a wage of $11 a week is going to have a disastrous effect on all American industry.” 

In published editorials, Harlan bashed the New Deal, while he accepted money for his role as head of the Federal Writers Project. Known to fight against censorship in a union-like battle inside of the Writers Project, he nevertheless continued to publish cartoons critical of union organizing for those very rights.

His duplicitous behavior begs the question, was Harlan a job creator or a WPA leach? In respect to his own newspaper, Harlan makes no bylines in Topanga Journal. He has only two attributions on the masthead: one as editor and publisher, and one for his wife, Virley Harlan, as Women’s Department editor. There are scant existing sources on Harlan’s work on the Federal Writers Project and the Newspaper Writers Project. 

Critical of Roosevelt and his New Deal, the Topanga Journal was also notable for its silence on the brutal dictators of WWII. Not until October 27, 1944, was there any mention of Hitler, and this came in the form of a front-page cartoon where Hitler is depicted as the face of a carved pumpkin. The caption reads, “with apologies to all pumpkins.”

Why would a newspaper so critical of President Roosevelt and his policies not cover his death or the major events of WWII, such as the dropping of the atomic bombs or the discovery of the Nazi death camps? 

“Many newspapers printed stories about the Holocaust, but they put them in the back of the newspaper not in the front,” said Steven J. Ross, a history professor and author of Hitler in Los Angeles: How Jews Foiled Nazi Plots Against Hollywood and America. “I would imagine a local newspaper like this just wouldn’t deal with it at all. You can find stuff in the New York Times and the Los Angeles Times, but it’s not going to be on the front page. If you wanted to know about the Holocaust, and you were willing to look hard, you could find information, but it wasn’t easy to find information.”

In the San Fernando Valley Oral History Project of California State University, Northridge, Virley Harlan said that she and Hugh had founded Topanga Journal to “help get [the] word out to those who were afraid during the war effort.” Yet there’s no mention of Hitler or Hirohito until 1944. And although there were ubiquitous mentions of war bonds and stamp drives for the war effort, the editorial content barely covered the war.

Meanwhile by 1944, one of Harlan’s fellow Topangans, John Schmidt, and his wife, Alice, had developed a skill in uncovering Nazi activities  in Topanga. Ten years prior, Schmidt had identified several dozen local Nazis, calling them out  in the Los Angeles Superior Court before Judge Guy Bush in the case of Otto Deissler et al. v. Max E. Socha. That case centered on sedition charges against the defendants. Known for his willingness to testify in 1934, Schmidt then was subpoenaed to testify before the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) in Washington, DC, as a star witness in 1944’s Great Sedition Trial, which had some of the same characters as the Superior Court Case. However, he never made it there. Twenty days before he was to testify in a sedition proceeding against several well-known Nazis, he died mysteriously. He had gone out to eat on a Friday, fallen ill, and perished of suspected poisoning the next Monday. Yet the Topanga Journal remained silent on Schmidt’s subpoena and on his mysterious death. 

HUAC’s Great Sedition Trial indicted 30 suspected Nazis. The 1943 indictment accused them of many acts of sedition, declaring that by pamphlets, books, and circulars they had sought since 1940 to spread word that democracy was decadent; a Nazi or fascist form of government should be established; and a Nazi revolution was inevitable in the United States. Other seditious ideas promoted in their publications were that the major political parties, Congress, and public officials were “controlled by Communists, international Jews and plutocrats,” and that the United States had deliberately provoked war with the Axis nations, which sought only to live in peace with the rest of the world. 

The Nazis against whom Schmidt was set to testify were part of a three-year plot to incite mutiny in the armed forces, unseat the government, and establish a Nazi regime. They included Reverend Gerald Winrod, a far-right Kansas evangelist who secretly worked with the Third Reich’s Ministry of Public Enlightenment and Propaganda; Elizabeth Dilling, a Nazi propagandist from Chicago, author of The Red Network, and a member of a Nazi Legal Defense Fund; Robert Noble, an organizer of the L.A. Nazi group Friends of Progress (FOP), had been described by the Wisconsin Jewish Chronicle in 1944 as a “silver tongued orator from California”; and Ellis O. Jones, another FOP organizer.

“Pro-Nazis, fascists and American Firsters were meeting before Pearl Harbor in Topanga in people’s homes in secret cells,” said Professor Ross. “John Schmidt, who is one of the heroes of my book …  was living up in Topanga. He wrote [to an acquaintance] that in fact they were meeting up there. That Nazis, people from the German American Bund, were organizing. Those who felt similar about Jews, Communists, blacks and Catholics, were meeting in Topanga to plot against the Roosevelt Administration.”

Was Harlan acquainted with these cells? His publication record hints at a connection. He published anti-semitic images, as shown by the Collier cartoon here titled “The Man Who Came for Dinner,” which appeared on May 26, 1944. What appears to be a bearded Roosevelt sits in his wheelchair reading a book titled “How To Take Over Everything,” while the people peeping over his shoulder are captioned “Industry,” “Free Enterprise,” and “John Q. Public.” Such imagery reflects the conspiracy theory that Jews seek global dominance and ongoing profit from the financing of wars.

In an editorial on October 27, 1944, titled “The New Deal Smear Sheet,” Harlan calls all of Hollywood reds, pinks, and Communists. This is several years before the McCarthy Era and the Hollywood Ten. 

“It was common for Republicans, particularly, to call Hollywood pinks, reds, and Communists,” said Professor Ross. “They were doing that in the ’30’s.” Harlan’s rant was triggered after all Topanga residents received a copy of the Free Press newspaper, a publication of the Hollywood Democratic Committee. Harlan, being a hard-right Republican, smeared the Democrats and     played their policy like a baller, all the while saying they were using smear tactics against him. He wrote that the Free Press was one of the New Deal’s smear sheets. “It stinks,” he opined.

One of the first recorded uses of the pejorative term pinko appeared in Time Magazine in 1925. It was used to describe a person who had left-leaning political sensibilities. Derogatory terms like pink parlor or pinks and reds all implied a lack of allegiance to the United States, but right-wingers used the terms to refer to supporters of Roosevelt and the New Deal.

Harlan and Collier were anti-semitic in the same tone as a good portion of the nation at the time. Despite the major investments in fighting Nazism   fighting anti-semitism abroad—e.g., $86,000 per smoke screen and $55,000 per anti-aircraft gun—it was acceptable to use pejorative terms against a hard-left-leaning thinker and call him a pinko even though the Communists were our ally against Hitler, who was killing Jews   and others by the millions. Communists, however, had been demonized in the U.S. since shortly after WWI. The secret Nazi cells in Topanga prior to and during WWII discovered by Captain John Schmidt and his wife Alice were more socially acceptable than being a Communist. Americans were dying fighting Nazis, and yet it was socially acceptable to be one and publish anti-semitic material on a weekly basis here in the United States. 

SEPTEMBER ISSUE: We will have an in-depth article on Captain John and Alice Schmidt and their efforts to stop the secret Nazi cells here in Topanga. 


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Nelly: A Fascinating Portrait of A Sex Worker Turned Superstar

Special To Topanga Journal

Halfway through Anne Émond’s film Nelly, there’s a scene with a group of sex workers hanging around a hotel room suite. Wine glasses in hand, they huddle around the white glow of a laptop, and log onto some unnamed “escort review” website. They then begin to read each other’s reviews out loud. 

Rick Paulas

By Rick Paulas

The site isn’t named or shown; it could be one of many, as sex work has been reviewed and critiqued on the internet since the internet was a place where words could go. These reviews are written by “johns,” ostensibly to warn other people if the worker isn’t on the level, but in reality just a bunch of horny dudes writing erotica for strangers online. In the scene, the workers rightfully mock the reviewers, but there is still a clear sense of being affected by the reviews. After all, someone is publicly judging every single part of their body.

While it’s only a glimpse, it’s a fascinating insight into what goes on behind-the-scenes in the profession, and the various power machinations that develop when sex is exchanged for money. An unprotected-by-law industry, sex workers are vulnerable in ways that so many other professions aren’t — dangerous clients can act with impunity when workers can’t safely contact law enforcement — but there’s also the society veil of silence over the work itself. “It’s illegal, and it’s immoral, so we shouldn’t be talking about it,” is the sentiment.

“While it’s only a glimpse, it’s a fascinating insight into what goes on behind-the-scenes in the profession, and the various power machinations that develop when sex is exchanged for money.” Rick Paulas

Yet these are the kinds of glimpses that makes Nelly, and the book it was inspired by, such important documents. Without them, the work continues to occur — as it always has, as it always will — under the cover of darkness. 

The movie tells the story of Nelly Arcan, born Isabelle Fortier, a sex worker based in Quebec who rose to international fame after the publication of her 2001 autobiographical novel Putain (Whore), a fictionalized story narrated by a sex worker named Cynthia. She would go on to write four more books, each one a semi-autobiographical examination of her life — really: what book isn’t? Each book tried to pry open how society treats women. In 2009, after years of depression, she died via suicide.

While Arcan wasn’t as popular a figure in the U.S. as elsewhere — which certainly says something about the insidious reach of Protestantism that still haunts this country — viewers don’t need to know her backstory to be intrigued by it. 

Unlike standard biopics, this one’s told in a sort of foggy, nonlinear way, with Émond seemingly sampling from a few different characters that make up the entirety of who “Nelly” was. In all, there are five versions on display: An adolescent Fortier being introduced to sexual connections for the first time; a drug-addicted frail woman in a codependent relationship; a confident and fully refined sex worker; a fretful author trying to manage the pressures of publications; a glowing media superstar. The last four are all played by Mylène Mackay, in a series of dynamic performances that see her shifting moods scene-by-scene. I’m unfamiliar with Mackay’s previous work, and it took me about half of the movie to realize she was playing four characters, both a testament to her ability and a criticism of my own attention span.

Despite all being part of the same individual, each is presented dramatically different. One may even be fictionalized. It’s unclear. Reality and performance and truth all seem to blur in this portrait, like one of those 3D posters where, if you cross your eyes just the right way, you’ll see a sharpened vision of a boat or some mountain jutting out toward you. But every moment before and after is just a hazy blur.

If the movie comes off as disjointed, that’s probably part of the point. Life is messy, and trying to tell anyone’s story in such a compressed lens as a film is an act of blinding hubris and logistical chaos. The narrative should be from the moment the person’s born until they die, but as soon as you remove a single moment, you’ve introduced an editorial lens that has to justify itself. Émond pulls off the feat by using the chaos to her advantage. Moments occur, personalities change, other personalities emerge. If it’s unclear which is the “true” version, that’s because there isn’t one.

Toward the end, Arcan admits that she “invented Nelly to protect Isabelle, but I think the opposite happened. I did things to write about them.” In today’s age of social media, where everyone with a smartphone and ego live in a way where they’re constantly thinking if an experience is worth publishing to the world, there are fewer sentiments more relatable.


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