I learn or relearn new words almost every week. Then I post them here.
chatoyant, adj. Having a narrow luminous streak perpendicular to the direction of the fibers, as in tiger’s eye gemstones or the sheen off a spool of silk. From the French “chatoyer,” i.e. “to shine/reflect like a cat’s eye.”
The chatoyant gem shone at us from the bottom of the pool.
cicerone, n. (pl. cicerones). A guide who takes visitors to museums, galleries, ruins, and other places of interest, and explains the historical, cultural, scientific, or aesthetic significance of these sites. An old-fashioned word for “tour guide,” essentially. Since many of these guides like(d) the sound of their own voice, the word gently pokes fun at their gabbiness by tying them to a great Roman orator.
The word “cicerone” has taken on a new meaning in the past half-decade. The Cicerone Certification is for “hospitality professionals with proven experience in selecting, acquiring and serving today’s wide range of beers.” The exam might be taken by bartenders, brewers, or restaurant managers who want their beer selection to be a cut above the competition. If you come across any sneering references to “draft beer lists designed by a cicerone,” they’re referring to someone who’s taken this certification, not a tour guide who likes to talk.
Greg became the cicerone of the group, expounding on the geological and historical significance of every rock face and ruin, until a church bell chimed right as he said that the “bells had not rung for over a hundred years.”
Louisa’s interest in culture began and ended with the cicerone-curated beer list at the Cupcake Brewery in Williamsburg..
kilim, n. (pl. kilims). A flat tapestry-woven carpet or rug, made with the traditional flatweaving techniques practiced across Central Asia, the Caucasus, the Balkans, and North Africa.
Golden-hued wooden walls, large kilims, thick-piled rugs spread across the floor, and a roaring fireplace, all worked on Tom like a sedative.
lagniappe, n. (pl. lagniappes). A small gift given to a customer by a merchant at the time of a purchase, e.g. a small eraser with a purchase over $25. Adapted, by Louisiana French speakers, from the South American Spanish la yapa/ñapa for a free extra.
Burt’s Ice Cream’s newest lagniappe––a keychain pendant with orders of three or more cones––has driven business through the roof.
serape, n. (pl. serapes, also sarape/sarapes). A blanket-like shawl, with colorful patterns and fringed ends, traditionally worn by men in Mexico.
It wouldn’t be a Western without gunfire, buried treasure, and a few men facing each other in dusters and serapes.
A young girl struggles to control her psychic powers. Her surviving parent forbids her from using them. Eventually, she reaches a breaking point and unleashes her powers in a deadly confrontation. Are we talking about Carrie? Perhaps, though this also applies to Firestarter, another novel by Stephen King. While Carrie is widely considered a horror novel, Firestarter is better understood as a paranormal thriller––a similar, but not identical, genre. Why? How does Firestarter––with its psychic protagonist, its gruesome fiery deaths, its sense of encroaching and omnipresent menace––differ from Carrie?
Or are they so different? Michael Jackson’s greatest hit isn’t called “Horror,” after all. Thrills & Chills magazine featured few, if any, of the tropes we associate with the thriller genre. Words change meaning, and genres change over time. Although they’re similar, something separates horror stories and thrillers, even when paranormal elements are present in both. I’ll try to tease out what separates them.
This post contains spoilers for both Carrie and Firestarter.
What is horror?
Horror stories focus on scaring or unnerving the reader. They often showcase the pain and fear of their characters. Grotesque and uncanny imagery are mainstays of horror stories. Characters may also behave in strange and unsettling ways, or observe things that defy rational explanation.
Some horror stories slowly build, over hundreds of pages, to a dramatic conclusion. In others, nothing outright terrifying happens, but there’s a permeating feeling of unease that suffuses the story. In others, the action starts early and never lets up until the end.
Horror does not necessarily mean supernatural. Misery, Flowers in the Attic, Blood Meridian, American Psycho––all horror, none supernatural. My favorite horror movie, The Wicker Man, is preoccupied by supernatural questions––the film’s heart is the clash between the starchy Anglican Sergeant Howie, and the sinister pagan Lord Summerisle––but it features no obvious supernatural events.
Horror stories are more likely to feature characters whose behavior and reasoning is far outside normal human experience. Carrie White has completely understandable reasons for snapping (if I had telekinesis in school…), but when she snaps, her thinking is literally paranormal––separate from normality. Here’s a glimpse into her psyche, just after killing her mother:
Carrie went out the back door, staggered across the lawn, and rested (where’s my momma) against a tree. There was something she was supposed to do. Something about (roadhouses parking lots) the Angel with the Sword. The Fiery Sword. Never mind. It would come to her. She crossed by back yards to Willow Street and then crawled up the embankment to Route 6. It was 1:15 A.M.
“Plug it up!”
Carrie begins with a locker room hazing, where girls throw tampons at Carrie White and chant “plug it up!” while she cowers, naked, in a stall. The scene focuses on Carrie’s emotions, the cruelty of the other girls, and the blood running down Carrie’s thigh and onto the tiles.
The opening scene sets the emotional tone for the book. Carrie White is a “frog among swans…a chunky girl with pimples on her neck and back and buttocks, her wet hair completely without color.” She’s an outsider, a grotesque, and the other girls won’t let her forget it. Especially not when they see blood running down her leg.
We can feel it all as it happens: Carrie’s pain and incomprehension, the shrieks and laughter of the other girls, the “first dark drops of menstrual blood [striking] the tile in dime-sized drops,” the tampons thrown at Carrie and hitting her in the chest. It’s visceral, disturbing, and disgusting. We’re already in a horror story.
What’s a thriller?
The term “thriller” refers to a book with an exciting story, often involving espionage, crime, or an insider’s view of a particular profession, such as medicine, law, law enforcement, or the military. In many thrillers, the main character enters a mysterious and dangerous situation, survives attempts on his or her life (or body, sanity, etc.), and must find a way to solve the central mystery and neutralize the threat.
Does this sound a lot like the plot to many famous horror stories, such as Halloween? It’s true, there are a lot of similarities, but the emotions evoked are different. While horror stories rely on evoking fear, terror, and dread, thrillers rely on anxious tension, i.e. excitement and suspense, to keep the story going. That means lots of action, reaction, and revelations to keep the reader interested. Grotesque or terrifying things may happen, but they exist to ramp up the tension and make the stakes clear, not to horrify the audience.
In thrillers, the evil characters have coherent motivations, even if their actions are horrifying. Their thought process is not outside the bounds of normal human experience; people have been greedy, ruthless, self-serving, etc. since the beginning of time. Thriller antagonists usually lack that uncanny factor that’s present in so many horror stories.
Captain Hollister (from Firestarter) might be ruthless, but his reasoning is easy to follow. When Charlie McGee grows up, she may have the power to detonate nuclear-bomb-sized explosions with her mind. One slip-up could mean millions, even tens of millions of deaths. Brainwashing her, canalizing her talents, can save all those lives. If that doesn’t work, there’s only one way to keep the world safe. Would you really leave the fate of the world up in the air like that?
There are thrillers with paranormal elements: psychics, ghosts, vampires, witches, et cetera. These may offer an “insider’s view” on a lifestyle (or afterlifestyle) that doesn’t actually exist. Many paranormal thrillers use otherworldly elements to raise the stakes. Can Jack Protagonist rescue his pregnant wife from the warlock holding her captive? How can he be sure that she’s under a spell? And can he save their baby from the warlock, before he sacrifices it to the Dark Gods? All these questions add to the suspense, and keep the reader engaged in the story.
Some novels and films fit into both genres. Silence of the Lambs is a classic example. The story follows Federal Agent Clarice Starling on the hunt for a serial killer, with help from the charming and murderous Dr. Hannibal Lecter. Both Lecter and Buffalo Bill are grotesques straight out of a horror story, and the book contains plenty of gorey and disturbing imagery, yet the plot structure is more typical of a crime thriller.
“Daddy, I’m tired.”
Firestarter starts with the two lead characters, Andy and Charlie McGee, running from government agents through downtown Manhattan. Andy flags a cab; the agents follow. While en route, Andy uses his psychic powers of persuasion to make the cabby “see” and accept an imaginary five-hundred dollar bill, to ditch their tail and head out of Manhattan towards the airport.
The scene shows us Andy’s anguish as he tries to protect his daughter, literally (if caught, they’ll be killed) and spiritually (if she understands too much, she won’t be an innocent kid anymore). We also see Andy’s agony as he uses his powers; every time he gives someone a “push,” it hurts him more, but he has to do it or they’ll die. The McGees can’t rest until they’re either safe, or dead. We’re in a thriller.
Charlie and Andy’s psychic powers might as well be specialized weapons, top-secret documents, an ounce of Unobtanium––anything dangerous that the government will kill to get. This cat-and-mouse game continues, in different forms, for over a hundred pages; Andy and Charlie, gifted but outnumbered and outmatched, must still find ways to evade the government and stay alive.
Most horror stories and thrillers contain at least one monster. I’m using “monster” in the most catholic sense, to include all supernatural and strange-but-natural creatures in a story. These can include, but aren’t limited to: ghosts, vampires, serial killers, serial killer killers, cult leaders, mob bosses, aliens, Presidents, Presidents who are secretly aliens, et cetera.
Most monsters have special powers, natural or otherwise. A killer might be dumb as a diaper and half as charming, but he’ll be strong, semi-impervious to bullets, and lucky. Or he’ll be seductive, with twisted but compelling logic for his actions.
In horror stories, the monster’s powers have a destructive bent, whether or not they’re intended that way. Their powers usually drive the course of the plot. The mad scientist’s creation destroys its creator; the ghosts reenact their own deaths, powerless to change the past; the videotape kills whoever watches it, seven days later. This power is often central to the story, as a source of strength and a fatal flaw.
In thrillers, the monster’s powers are more likely to be sidelined by a larger conspiracy, which uses or wants to use them for its own ends. Although Charlie McGee’s power is destructive, the U.S. Government is far more powerful and destructive than her. She and her father keep the government at bay for a long time, but even they can’t hide forever.
Horror and thriller readers have different tastes, desires, and expectations. Generally speaking, horror readers want to be frightened or disturbed, and expect sinister imagery, memorable villains, and unsettling scenarios. Thriller readers, in contrast, expect a fast-paced plot, shadowy conspiracies, and outmatched protagonists beating the odds. You can have all these elements in a single book––there’s no bright dividing line between horror and thriller––but marketing will want to focus on one genre or the other, even if your book features elements of both.
Different subgenres and sub-subgenres carry different expectations. A cosmic horror anthology contains different imagery and subject matter from a legal thriller. You might enjoy both cosmic horror and legal thrillers, but the average reader is going to be upset if she opens the latest John Grisham and gets a story about a verbose diarist exploring a lost city in the astral plane. Likewise, if you pick up a book called “Outskirts of Carcosa,” you might be upset if it’s a straightforward legal drama, without even a single cultist, worm god, or page-long paragraph.
You can tell the difference between a horror and a thriller novel just by glancing at the cover. Look, for example, at these two premade covers by Damonza. Which one is a horror novel and which one is a thriller?
No brainer, right? The first one screams “Warning: Contains a poorly-lit mansion, a backlit psychotic woman, and blood motifs,” while the second one says, “This book is about a woman going back to her hometown to investigate some mysterious disappearances, and is currently on an endcap display in your local Target.” If you like blood motifs, you’re more likely to pick up the first one; if you like Target thrillers, the second. In theory, these covers could be for the same book, but they’d be marketed very differently, even if the contents were exactly the same.
As Grady Hendrix points out, a lot of Stephen King’s books are marketed as horror even though they don’t fit in that genre. Firestarter might sell better as a horror novel than as a thriller. And if it feels more like a horror novel to the average reader, even if it technically meets the criteria for a thriller, then it belongs in the horror section anyway. Hence the very horror-ific cover art on Firestarter’s audiobook.
Rules of Thumb
If you’re dealing with a higher level of government than the local police, maybe the County Sheriff at the highest, you’re in a thriller.
If there’s more than five pints of blood, it’s a horror story.
If someone used bleach to clean up that blood, it’s a thriller.
You might have noticed an uptick in articles, posts, and social media chatter about essential oils in the last few years. I know I have. Until a few years ago, I’d never heard of essential oils being touted as a cure or treatment for anything, aside from maybe a stuffy nose. Health food stores sold them in wooden racks, hippies used them as perfumes, crafty types used them to scent homemade candles. Like stone lanterns or Nag Champa incense, essential oils were a home accessory for homes with Tibetan prayer flags on the premises. Especially if the residents weren’t Tibetans.
Fast forward to today. I know at least two women who’ve sold essential oils through Facebook. Both are Christians, with nary a prayer flag in their homes. Because I have small children, I’ve been informed (occasionally by strangers) that vaccines are not as effective at preventing disease as, say, a blend of melaleuca and lemon oils. And sales are booming––up from $55 million in 2015 to $133 million in 2018.
Where is this coming from? How did essential oils make the leap into mainstream (or mainstream-adjacent) society? Why are essential oils so popular now, especially among Christianstay-at-home moms? Most importantly, why are these oils considered a treatment for everything from autism to cancer?
What Are Essential Oils?
An essential oil is an oil extracted from a plant that contains the plant’s “essential” or characteristic fragrance. Essential oils can be made from barks, leaves, rinds, and flowers. They are usually extracted by distilling the plant using steam, though they can also be cold pressed, ram pressed, or slow folded, depending on the plant.
Essential oils are very aromatic. A few drops of oil can stink up a room for hours. Because they’re so concentrated, a little goes a long way. They can be used to scent lip balms, bath bombs, and other cosmetics.
Essential oils can be dangerous to ingest, especially in large quantities, and can cause rashes or even allergic reactions when applied to the skin, especially if they’re not diluted in a carrier oil. The following oils are not safe to ingest:
Oil of wintergreen is chemically related to aspirin. A small amount of wintergreen oil can be fatal to children. Oils are rapidly absorbed in the body, which can lead to children being poisoned and falling ill very rapidly.
Pennyroyal oil is poisonous to the liver.
Eucalyptus oil, camphor oil, and sage oil can cause seizures if swallowed. Camphor oil is especially dangerous, and cause cause seizures within minutes of absorption. According to the National Capital Poison Center, “amphor poisoning also occurred when skin preparations containing camphor were applied repeatedly on children – more frequently than the label recommended and/or covered up with extra clothing.”
Nutmeg, and nutmeg oils, can cause hallucinations, nausea, and vomiting if too much is ingested.
A Short, Incomplete History of Oils as Medicine
This “trend” is the latest iteration of a phenomenon that spans multiple religions and civilizations. Anointing (≈ blessing, treating) with oil was practiced across the ancient Near East. Ancient Egyptians [PDF], Greeks, and Jews all used oils for a wide variety of purposes: to prepare food, to make perfumes and cosmetics, to treat illnesses, perform religious rituals, and confer status on the anointed recipient.
Anointing with oils is mentioned throughout the Bible. The Book of Exodus includes detailed instructions on how to make oil to anoint priests, as well as “the tent of meeting, the ark of the covenant law,the table and all its articles, the lampstand and its accessories, the altar of incense,the altar of burnt offering and all its utensils, and the basin with its stand.” Several books in the Old Testament, including Leviticus and Numbers, contain painstaking enumerations of when and when not to use oils in offerings to God, how much must be used, and when it should be used during the offering.
These anointing oils were probably not pure essential oils, which can be caustic when applied directly to the skin. Some of the more elaborate anointing oils, such as the anointing oil described in Exodus, contain ground spices that would have given the oil a strong scent. Essential oils are quite time consuming and expensive to extract, so they would be used for special purposes, which may or may not include healing
Why was oil so widespread as a treatment for illnesses? Have oils proven to be useful in treating illnesses or infections? Generally speaking, no––especially when we’re talking about serious, chronic conditions, such as asthma or cancer.
Anointing with oils never went away. The Roman Catholic and the Eastern Orthodox Churches still use oils to bring comfort and strength to the sick, to anoint clergy, and to bless the newly baptized and confirmed. The Anglican Church still practices holy unction, including royal unction, i.e. anointing a new king or queen with holy oil before their coronation. These rituals are not as prominent in Protestant denominations––many, in fact, do not practice it at all. Perhaps this is why so many Protestants and Evangelicals have cottoned onto the essential oils craze, out of a desire for this sort of ritual in their life.
Anointing and healing oils aren’t limited to the Occident. The Buddhist “eye-opening” ceremony sanctifies a painting or statue by “painting in the sculpture’s pupils, pricking the eyes with a pin, or anointing the eyes with a liquid such as oil.” Oils are also used in ayurvedic (traditional Indian) medicine, e.g. in “oil pulling” mouthwash, where a person swishes oil around in their mouth for up to twenty minutes, in order to “pull” toxins and debris out of the mouth.
Many newer religious movements have adopted oils into their rituals and practices. Mormon priests use oils to anoint the sick. Some neopagans and wiccans also use oils in their spells and rituals, often using blends of different herbs to attract a desired outcome or result. And plenty of new age belief systems and movements have used oils––essential or otherwise––in their practices.
“There is no new thing under the sun.”
Today’s #oilymama may be misguided, but she’s reaching back to something ancient, whether she knows it or not. A Jungian might say this arises from our collective unconscious, an instinctive or primal return to the “old ways” during a time of uncertainty. Some people embrace more ancient treatments and cures, even if they’re far less effective than what’s new, out of a distrust of the medical and pharmaceutical industries.
Why now? I don’t think there’s any one answer. Multi-level marketing companies, such as doTERRA and Young Living, encourage this trend, selling through social networks and close-knit church communities. Political and cultural uncertainty play a role, though it’s hard to tease out exactly how. Growing distrust of modern medicine leads people to look for alternatives, even if they’re not very effective. All these trends combine together to create a perfect storm for essential oils to serve a quasi-spiritual, quasi-medicinal role similar to the one it served in antiquity.
I grew up in a hippie-filled town, and went to Catholic school for nearly a decade. Still the religious, cultural, and medicinal significance of oils escaped me. They were simply not around while I was a kid. The hippies I knew stuck to light Buddhism, meditation, crystals, bentonite clay in a glass of water. Essential oils were around, but not a huge part of day-to-day life. I never remember oils being used during mass, or discussed during religion class. Lorenzo’s oil is the closest thing I can think of––a “miracle oil” that could help young people with chronic, degenerative disease, although clinical trial results have been mixed. Why essential oils are popular now, and weren’t then, is not entirely clear, but in the long run, they’re not going anywhere.
This book follows a friendship from its inception, at a middle school roller-rink party, until its end. Abby, the book’s protagonist, is a scholarship student with working poor parents in Creekside, South Carolina. Abby’s best friend, Gretchen, is from a well-heeled Reagan Republican family in Old Village, “the la-di-da part of Mt. Pleasant where all the houses were dignified and either overlooked the water or had enormous yards, and if anyone saw a black person walking down the street who wasn’t Mr. Little, they would pull their Volvo over and ask if he was lost.”
One night, some ordinary high school debauchery goes very wrong, and Gretchen disappears––only to reemerge literally “not herself.” It’s up to Abby to figure out what’s wrong, because nobody else seems to notice, or care, that her friend is changing in new and alarming ways.
This book’s plot progression reminds me of The Witch. As Abby tries to help Gretchen, she’s alienated from all her friends, her friend’s parents, her teachers, her principal, even her own family. This progression is more horrific than the gross and supernatural events that accompany Gretchen’s possession.
I read this book over a couple of days, foregoing work and sleep to finish it. I’d recommend it to anyone interested in horror novels, or anyone who wants to surf the wave of 80s nostalgia. If any of this appeals to you, give this book a try. Hendrix is a gifted writer, and I look forward to seeing more from him in the future.
This book (more like a long article) allowed me to start this website, so it’s only fair that I review it.
Before I read this book, I thought self-hosting on WordPress was next door to impossible. I tried to get an SSL certificate for another website I own, and was completely adrift. Every “help” page was written in a language that I almost understood, but not quite. Common words were used in a technical way that eluded me, and trying to figure them out just lead to more confusion. I didn’t know what I didn’t know, and couldn’t seem to bridge the gap. How could I therefore install WordPress on my own? Gabrielle made the process very easy to follow, and I was able to transfer this site from WordPress.com to a self-hosted WordPress.org site without much trouble.
Ironically, the one issue I did run into was getting an SSL certificate. My hosting provider offered one for free, which I didn’t know. Before you buy any hosting package, I recommend checking to see if your host offers some kind of SSL certificate before you sign up. It’ll save you a headache.
If you already know how to set up a self-hosted WordPress site, then there’s no reason to buy this book. If you want to use one of the many free articles and videos on this topic to get started, then I wouldn’t get this, since it gives you information you can find for free on the web. This book is only a dollar, though, so if you’re looking for one book to get you started, instead of toggling through a million articles online, I would recommend reading this book.
This book only shows you how to set up your website, plus some tips for choosing a theme. If you’re looking for a more comprehensive guide, look elsewhere.
I’ve just started a newsletter for this site. You can sign up on the sidebar or via the Newsletter page. It’ll feature preorder announcements, book giveaway announcements, newsletter-only giveaways (not just books, but stationary, postcards, dolls, pictures, anything), and news that I find interesting.
I plan to post a few representative back issues so potential readers can see what the newsletter is like. Right now, it’s set up to automatically send out the latest blog posts every week.
Thanks to Mailerlite for making the whole process pretty easy to follow.
Happy October. Here are some brief updates on the website:
Changed the theme from “Writer” to “Twenty-Fifteen.” Writer is a very versatile theme, but the learning curve was a little steep, and I don’t have enough free time to study it. Twenty-Fifteen works well enough, and loads significantly faster. Since my site seems to go down at least once a week, I’m hopeful that this theme update will at least partially solve the problem.
Had some issues with the Jetpack social media extension, so I started using the WordPress default for “social links menu.” The way the menus are organized seems a little overcomplicated to me, though that may be a legacy of the Writer theme, or some other theme I’ve used in the past. In any event, the links are up there now.
I’m looking into mailing list clients. There are so many out there, and everyone has a different recommendation. “Try Mailchimp, it’s free.” “Try Aweber, it’s so versatile.” “Constant Contact has the best overall package.” “Substack is made for authors.” Some articles that are pretty clearly P.R. puff pieces for this or that company. Once I settle on a client, I’ll let you know.
I published a short piece on vocal.media, “10 Notable Figures Who (Probably) Died Virgins.” All but one of the figures are from the 19th or 20th Century, though I’m sure there were many lifelong virgins in earlier centuries. I’m just not educated/literate enough to know who they are.
Here’s an excerpt:
There is no way to prove a negative. You can’t prove that someone has never had sex, and absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. However, based on what is known about these notable figures, they were either chaste, near-chaste, or very, very good at keeping their private lives private.
The Process Church, which started in 1966, was out of step with the times in many ways: the group eschewed drugs and drug use; their priests dressed all in black, with Mendes goats on their robes; they openly worshipped “Jehovah, Christ, Satan and Lucifer”; their logo, a cross between a cross pattée and a swastika, was out of step with the “peace and love” platitudes of the time.
Although they never reached the massive popularity of other new age movements, the Process Church attracted a small but persistent interest among musicians, artists, and other creative types since its inception. The cult published several magazines that are sought-after by collectors––a reprint of several is currently selling on eBay for the low, low price of $199.99.
Whether intentionally or not, Wyllie’s book reflects many of the patterns delineated in Rogue Messiahs. “The Process did have all the hallmarks of a cult,” Wyllie writes in the introduction, “charismatic and autocratic leaders, devotion to an unconventional ideology, personal poverty, obedience, celibacy (from time to time), and a strict hierarchy, with secrets held between the levels.” The end of the world formed a large part of their worldview––Processeans “viewed life through the lens of an impending apocalypse.”
Despite their reputation (the group was linked, erroneously, with Charles Manson and his “family”), Wyllie doesn’t mention any animal sacrifices, human sacrifices, blood oaths in the moonlight, or other Satanic melodramas. This doesn’t mean the group was sweetness and light. Mary Ann MacLean, the group’s autocratic leader, often forced her followers into distressing or even traumatizing situations in order to maintain control. For example, she forced her inner circle to have sex with each other in highly choreographed orgies (though this was not, as claimed in one book, a rite of initiation into the cult––most members had no idea this was going on). The impact of these orgies was devastating:
[C]hildren were conceived who didn’t know their true parents; pairs who had no desire for one another were shoved together; heterosexual men were persuaded to perform acts clearly distasteful for them; and the women were sometimes treated like goddesses and sometimes like whores.
Reading this book made me think of a Simone Weil quote: “Imaginary evil is romantic and varied; real evil is gloomy, monotonous, barren, boring. Imaginary good is boring; real good is always new, marvelous, intoxicating.” The Process Church’s magazines featured cutting-edge graphic design, unconventional interviews with celebrities (what does Muhammad Ali think of life after death?), provocative articles that tackled deep questions of being and belonging. The Process Church passionately opposed vivisection; they criticized the Church of England (in a concern-trollish way) for being too wishy-washy about their own beliefs. And yet the Processean reality was the same dreary one that many cult members endure, from the women of NXIVM to members of the Sea Org: despair, humiliation, and shame under control of a domineering leader.
If you want to get an inside view of life within a cult, especially in a cult’s inner circle, I’d recommend this book. Wyllie was with the cult at its beginning and, after a leave of absence, followed the cult through the turmoil of the late 1960s. Wyllie was also the art director for the group’s magazine, and a member of the group’s short-lived band, which gave him an interesting perspective on the Process Church’s attempts to spread their message to the wider culture.