I’m about
two-thirds of the way through John Ajvide Lindqvist’s novel, Let Me In. The original Swedish is actually translated
as Let the Right One In, which is the
name of the excellent vampire movie done in 2008. The English-language version released last
year was surprisingly good, considering the high bar set by the initial movie.
I have
thoroughly enjoyed the novel. As usually
happens when these things are made into screenplays, there is much that is left
out: various storylines, thoughts of the
characters, commentary by the novelist, and so on. One of the commentaries by Lindqvist concerns
Oskar, the twelve-year-old who is the target of bullies. This is an element that exists completely
independent of its being a vampire story.
When two of
the bullies are harassing him in the restroom, Lindqvist notes, “He had put his
hand up in class, a declaration of existence, a claim that he knew
something. And that was forbidden to
him. They could give a number of reasons
for why they had to torment him; he was too fat, too ugly, too disgusting. But the real problem was simply that he
existed, and every reminder of his existence was a crime.” (10)
Much later
in the book, after Oskar has learned some terrible truths about Eli, we’re told
that “the thought ran through his head over and over: I don’t
exist. I don’t exist.” (308)
When I was
young, at about the age of Oskar in the book, I was terribly shy. I was so shy that, at times, I felt like I
wasn’t even a real person. Other people
lived life so easily. Other guys had conversations with girls they really liked!
After painful years as a teenager, I eventually came to understand that
it’s okay to be the person I am. It’s
something we all have to face. Everyone
has their own grappling with what it means to be a person—what it means to
exist.
In his
book, On the Threshold of Transformation,
Richard Rohr offers this: “Have you ever
met a man who didn’t seem comfortable in his own skin?…Consider the possibility
that, as a child, when that person first came into the world, he was not given
the first permission—permission to exist.
“Many
people have never been given this foundational permission—either spoken or
unspoken. No one ever held their face,
looked into their eyes, and said, ‘Welcome to the world, dear little one. I’m so happy you’re here, that you
exist. I love you.’” (58)
That is a permission that I was given. From my earliest memories of life, I have
known that I was loved; I was given permission to exist.
