Creep: Accusations and Confessions

This is a book that demands attention, not just because of its subject matter but also due to its unique and fragmented style. The writing is undeniably skillful, though it requires the reader to engage deeply with the text, navigating jarring shifts in time, language, and perspective.The structure feels like a collage, jumping between historical events, personal narratives, and dream-like sequences, the tone borders on dark, deadpan humor.Throughout the book, *extreme abuse and rape are central themes*, and the final essay, in particular, warrants a trigger warning. What struck me was the emotional distance in the writing, where the violence is described but not always felt in an immersive way. It's as though the trauma is intellectually processed, detached from raw emotion.The book’s stark and unconventional approach to discussing trauma is remarkable. It reflects the emotional detachment that often accompanies trauma. One of the most provocative moments was when Gurba referred to "classic rape" as a "practical joke." This deadpan delivery, which is disturbing in its casualness, is commentary on how society often minimizes or trivializes serious violence. This detachment also mirrors how victims may dissociate or distance themselves from their experiences to cope.The exploration of relationships is nuanced and complex. There’s a significant focus on how the people closest to us—the ones we trust to protect us—are often the ones who hurt us the most. This theme isn't limited to romantic relationships but extends to familial bonds and friendships, illustrating how violence can permeate every aspect of one's life.Beyond normative relationships, Myriam’s portrayal of her girlfriend’s abusive tendencies expands the book’s focus to include emotional and psychological manipulation, challenging the previously male-centered violence depicted in the narrative. Her girlfriend’s emotional abuse—such as threatening suicide if she doesn’t get her way—highlighting that violence can take many forms and exist in various dynamics, regardless of gender.One particularly striking moment was when Myriam wrote, "before destroying my idols, I lay flowers at their feet." This was in reference to her grandfather, a publicist and a very sexist man. The quote resonates with the complicated nature of loving and hating someone simultaneously, especially when they hold a place of significance in one’s personal history. Gurba captures the deep ambivalence toward people who have shaped us, even as we struggle to confront their flaws.As someone from the Midwest, its portrayal hit close to home (not in a good way). Myriam’s callous descriptions of the region felt at times like generalizations that didn’t resonate with my own experience, but she often acknowledges that writing is always biased - in fact I would say this was a recurring theme. I am choosing to give a free pass though as her discomfort with the Midwest might be more tied to her relationship with her girlfriend, places become reflections of our personal experiences.At times, the academic references and language used felt pretentious. Her allusions to Hieronymus Bosch and obscure postulations by academics, made the book feel like it wasn’t written for me.Her decision to leave some of the Spanish untranslated further complicates engagement—it forces the reader to either look up the meaning to fully connect or be okay with a certain distance. In essence, Gurba seems to ask: How much do you care? Are you willing to work to understand this culture?On the other hand, the historical references, though sometimes underexplained, set this book apart. Gurba frequently ties places and events to significant figures, like the Kennedys or Charles Manson. These references add a cultural layer but can sometimes feel disconnected from the more personal narratives. Still, I relate to pondering how we all fit into this larger societal picture and the subtle ways history shapes us.One particularly memorable moment was when Myriam mentioned that Charles Manson could never have started a gang in East LA or in prison, a statement that almost reads like a backhanded praise of gang culture as a legitimate form of survival. Desiree’s story was intriguing, and what I took away is that gangs, despite their violence, provide safety and community to those who are otherwise marginalized—an idea that challenges mainstream views.California, in particular, is portrayed in a way that veers far from the romanticized image. Gurba critiques its foundations and culture, often emphasizing the violence and trauma hidden beneath its surface. By the end, I found myself asking: *Does this author like anything at all?* Her critiques extend to everything—from geography to relationships to society to other authors.Finally, the thing that will remain with me the most is the idea of death games, a chilling exploration of how violence becomes normalized and is maybe even inherently with us even in childhood. Violence here is treated almost as a game or later in the book as a joke, reflecting how deeply trauma can permeate everyday life, forcing people to adopt a detached attitude to cope with it.Creep is a book that will stay with you long after you finish, leaving you to grapple with its raw, uncomfortable truths.Take time to read this but prioritize your mental health.