One of the characters, twenty-two year old Albert Erskine, struggles not to become like the people who raised him (and I use that term loosely). One of the questions I'm asking, in the book is, "What sort of moral breakdown occurs, on both sides, when we view our neighbors as The Others?" But I'm also asking, "Is it possible to overcome, and liberate ourselves, from tragic childhoods or are we doomed to be forever constrained by the hurts of the past?"

I have personally worked hard, with the help of a number of people and a large dollop of Grace, to release myself from the prison of my own past, and I think, for the most part, I've succeeded, so certainly I believe it's possible. But sadly, some people seem forever locked in a struggle with the ghosts of their childhood.  

I have worked, over the years, with a number of women struggling to stay sober, and I'm always amazed at how locked up in the past they are, although it shouldn't surprise me, since I was certainly that way myself for the first few years of my sobriety. But I'm lucky, I'm a writer, and so I have a way of working through my feelings, of safely exploring my relationships, and the part I played, and play, in them.

When I wrote my first novel, THE STUBBORN SEASON, I explored a highly fictionalized version of the particularly difficult relationship I had with my mother, who suffers from narcissistic borderline personality disorder. By doing so, and because I wanted the characters to be fully human, and therefore complicated, layered with both good and bad qualities, I was forced to put myself in my mother's mind, in her heart. I was forced to consider the world from her point of view. It led me to understanding, and forgiveness. It freed me. I used to say, jokingly, that the only thing worse than being around my mother was being my mother. After I spent all that time looking at things from her perspective it wasn't a joke any longer, it was a tragedy, worthy of compassion.

One of the great reasons to forgive someone, of course, no matter what hideous thing they've done to you, is that by doing so you stop thinking about them all the time. You stop resenting them. You stop hating them. You stop imagining scenarios in which old wrongs will be righted and justice will be done. By forgiving someone you simply cut the ties that have bound you to the abuser. You just let it go, drop the rock, move on.  Easier said than done, of course, but the paradox is that once you stop wanting things to be other than how they are, the task becomes surprisingly simple. Sometimes you just have to accept that, sad as it is, you'll never have the parents you want. Your parents might not even love you. They may never admit what they did to you. It happens.

But surely, as adults, don't we want to stop thinking about our childhoods so much? Don't we want to stop being ambushed by them? Don't we want to be grown-ups? Free. Assured. Confident.

Forgiveness may take time. (And certainly it's not the same as reconciliation, which takes two willing participants and may be neither appropriate nor possible.) Forgiveness may take the help of therapists or spiritual advisers. It may take concerted and consistent focus. But, one day you realize the chains are lying at your feet and the path ahead is clear. What a relief.

Alas, not everyone gets there. Some people stay trapped in past traumas, reliving them, rolling them around like a pebble they refuse to take out of their shoe. They stay trapped as insatiably needy victims, always wanting something from someone else; something that in truth they can only give themselves.

I'm saddened by men and women I see who struggle with the same issues, albeit to varying degrees. As Philip Larkin famously said, "They f*** you up, your mum and dad." Then again, I think it was Oscar Wilde who said, "Always forgive your enemies-nothing annoys them so much."

Lauren B. Davis's most novel, OUR DAILY BREAD, is the deeply compassionate story of what happens when we view our neighbors as 'The Other" as well as the transcendent power of unlikely friendships. Her first novel, THE STUBBORN SEASON, was a national bestseller and named as one of the Top 15 Bestselling First Novels by Amazon.ca and Books in Canada. It was also chosen by Robert Adams for his prestigious 2003-2004 book review series. Her second novel, THE RADIANT CITY, was a finalist for the Rogers Writers Trust Fiction Award. She has also published two collections of short stories, AN UNREHEARSED DESIRE (longlisted for the Relit Award) and RAT MEDICINE & OTHER UNLIKELY CURATIVES. A well-respected creative writing teacher who has taught in Geneva, Paris and Ireland, as well as in the USA and Canada, she is also a past Mentor with the Humber College Creative Writing by Correspondence Program, and past Writer-in-Residence at Trinity Church, Princeton. She now leads "Sharpening the Quill" writers' workshops in Princeton, and teaches occasionally at various correctional facilities. Davis was born in Montreal and lived in France for ten years from 1994-2004. She now lives in Princeton, New Jersey with her husband, Ron, and her dog, Bailey, known as the Rescuepoo. For more information, please visit her website at: www.LaurenBDavis.com