Quil & Papyrus

Lens on THERAPY by SEBASTIAN FITZEK

Sebastian Fitzek was born in Berlin, Germany, on October 13, 1971. He went to law school and was promoted to LL.D. From then, he traded the judicial profession for a creative occupation in the media. After being a trainee at a private radio station, he switched to the competition as head of entertainment and became chief editor later on, thereafter becoming an independent executive consultant and format developer for numerous media companies in Europe. He lives in Berlin and is currently working in the program management of a major capital radio station.

Heads up! There might be some prickly spoilers ahead.

In Therapy, Sebastian Fitzek portrays life’s nasty sense of humor with genius and style. He cleverly unfolds the story of how renowned doctor of psychiatry Viktor Larenz becomes the subject of an uncanny practical joke when his very own work turns the tables and shows him what it’s like to wear the shoes of his typical patients.

In this book, the irony has been stretched to more than just a simple phrase — just a little more than a matter of saying “Imagine a delusional psychiatrist.”

At this point, it is safe to say that Therapy falls into the genre best described as Psychological Thriller (well, at least as far as the book’s statement is concerned). The Psychology bit is exceptional. Moreover, through the lens of an avid student of psychology itself, I cannot bring myself to deny that both the plot and its telling were strong and robust (yes, even physically) — especially as regards the diverse characteristics of schizophrenia and how it can grab hold of one’s mind to present make-believe reality in a manner that is… well, make-believe.

So, what is Therapy all about, in a nutshell?

Josy is a twelve-year-old girl who’s been plagued by a puzzling illness that seems to have no apparent root cause or cure. On the day of her worst episode, she disappears during treatment and leaves no trace. After four years, Josy’s father, the distinguished psychiatrist Viktor Larenz, sends himself off to an island on the North Sea where he decides to cope with the hardship in solitude. The seclusion pays off for a while until a beautiful stranger named Anna Glass shows up at his door. She is a novelist who happens to suffer from a remarkable case of schizophrenia. It is remarkable in that all the characters from her works become real to her — they materialize — and in her latest novel a young girl with a strange illness vanishes without a trace.

That’s about it with the synopsis (which, by the way, isn’t exactly as it appears on the back of the book).

Now, the Chilistaleline review:

Much as is the case with the actual one, the synopsis provided here deliberately circumvents any mention of the existence of the main character’s wife (given the main character has one), and Anna Glass’s introduction does in fact give off the inkling (if even a fleeting suspicion) of her becoming the love interest. No sooner than I’d turned over 31 pages had the idea grown to be pretty obvious, thus learning like snap what was really going on in the story (something meant to be learned a while later).

Whilst endeavoring to avoid giving off any more huge spoilers, I’m afraid the thrust here cannot be understood without doing a modest amount of damage. Anyhow, the point I deem worth exploring is that of the bona fide villain, as opposed to the faux villain that the reader is inured to in the course of the plot’s unfolding. The real villain could have done with as much, if a lot more, attention in relation to the rest of the characters, but was instead ignored to a great extent in most portions of the book. It’s safe for me to assume that the writer’s trick was to omit her from the synopsis as well as to give her the minimum most consideration in the story. And again, in theory, the intended effect (by the writer) was to make the hints at who the real villain was less conspicuous. In order to conceal the bad guy, so to say. However, this effect did not culminate in my case…

I think the more effort the writer invested in masking the bad guy, the more obvious the bad guy had become.

It struck me as excessively dubious that a mother would react to her own child’s disappearance with such a concentrated measure of indifference (enough to poison Socrates). That was the red flag and it soared at full mast. In itself, that isn’t poor. If only the red flag wasn’t pitched too early. I mean, if the object of a thriller, especially a psychological thriller, is to be as unpredictable as good imagination can allow, then Therapy was just a tiny bit wide of the target. Simply put, I smelled a fart and deduced whom it belonged to from a mile away.

Before picking up the book from the shelf in my favorite bookstore, I had glimpsed the cover by accident. It was the dark and gloomy façade that had instantly lured me to it. And I thought to myself, “This must be one hell of a thriller”.

I think, on common ground, the story was quite a thriller — but only quite. Still, I wouldn’t dream of discarding the fact that there had been a number of scenes that did actually waggle me to attention and with eerie ambiance too. There were those many moments that sort of prompted me to read on. Nonetheless, there felt a rather lethargic take on the true nature of a thriller, and the urgency expected therein had been reduced to mere pokes of adrenaline in certain inconsequential areas of my brain.

Okay, so I got to the part where the thrill was expected to close in and cross my mind’s threshold for ennui… but, no. Whatever happened, it just wasn’t strong enough. Often, in a typical thriller, there is that point in the story when you feel like literally slamming the book closed for fear of finding out the inevitable, yet you can’t bring yourself to do it, (a) because you’ve become too excitable and (v) because you don’t want to spend time at the dinner table ruminating. Knowing suspense, it would never grant you the pleasure of turning your gravity back on. I hoped for it… the feeling… I could only get a morsel.

Goes without saying, though, the pace was exhilarating. In fact, it appeared to me as if the story’s accelerometer had been rigged with nitro-boost. And the best part (in this particular respect) is that even at such terrifying speed, the writer had invested keen passion into laying down the plot at a steady and delicate pace, almost like creating a miniature sculpture. Coming to think of it, the chapters were incredibly short, and somehow that acted as incentive to jump onto the next.

So… the main character, Victor Larenz: he was fun. He gets credit for the sense of humor that came from his mere existence; dark and unpretentious humor. The deep love for his daughter, truly genuine right from the beginning… the drive drawn from that love and how he uses it to solve the mystery — it was above reproach. More than anything, I enjoyed his instinctive determination to figure things out, which was underscored and reinforced by the sort of composure that never comes cheap. Especially not in experiences you’d quickly dismiss as unsettling. Of course, there were times when he’d panic, and you’d easily recognize the reason to, but all the same, Viktor had a way of grappling the angst with calm and poise. He was proper and that was satisfying.

In the end, his window of lucidity had given him the chance to prove that he regretted what had happened to his daughter. And that was it! The proving ground! The place where he’d put heroism to good play. By surrendering himself to the mercy of his delusions, he demonstrated that he was a true hero.

It’s a rather cold place to be… a difficult decision to make giving yourself away. Many would pounce on the first appearance of a second chance, but to give up your desire to re-unite with your loved-ones because you realize that their safety and survival outweigh that pining for as little as the touch of their hand… that’s the real pickle.

Viktor was faced with the choice and he had to choose. He chose to retire to an illusory solace, the very solace that had tortured him, yet helped resolve the Josy mystery. And that’s the point… that was the brave thing to do. A chance not many would take.

The resolve sounded rather contrived to me. Let me explain what I mean exactly: the widely held design of the writer-reader relationship is when the reader participates and feels invested in the story that the writer is trying to tell. As it turns out, the ending sounded a lot like a textbook while the lawyers and the doctor explained it all. But that wasn’t the big problem. What really bothered me was that I was not given the chance to figure all of that out… and, let’s face it; it wouldn’t have made much of a difference even given all the time in the world. I ended up feeling cheated. The information was so intricate it may have needed another 50 pages or so to bring out more considerately.

Maybe this might be fastidious of me; I’d nevertheless like to come in on the language and style of writing. It was simple and straight forward, indeed, although gradually I began to regard it as too simplistic and colorless. Perhaps it was on account of the translation... or it could be something else.

Overall, Therapy certainly ranks somewhere amongst the good books I’ve read in respect to its genre. In this regard, I’d love to read more of Sebastian Fitzek’s works. The writing style is unique to him (far as I can tell), and regardless of the genre, I’m pretty confident I’d read just about anything he’s written.

I own an original paperback copy of the novel. I got it in July and only got to read it a few days ago. Holy mother! I wish I’d known this writer earlier.

To purchase your own copy simply go to Amazon, and you’ll have it delivered in no time. Whatever you prefer; paperback, kindle, or hardback… the story’s one and the same.

Disclaimer note: This review is nothing but a matter of opinion, which the author is entitled to (we can all agree on that), and must therefore be used for educational purposes only as opposed to being taken personally. Any harm inflicted, physical (most likely) or otherwise, as a result of reading (or so much as glimpsing) this article, is totally coincidental and unintended by the author.