I chose to include the story in my memoir because, firstly, it took place during the years the memoir most directly covers, and because it was a foundational event in my life, and colors my relationships with/to men to this day. The most difficult day of recording my audiobook was the day I read that story. I tried to keep going afterward and ended up having to call it a day early, go home, and fall asleep facedown on the couch. The consequences of honesty are exhaustion, unrequested spokespersonship, and a need for deep, deep naps.
Receiving Todd’s call was difficult. Writing this was difficult. I believe it was difficult for Grand Central to go back on a decision, change course, admit wrongs, and pull the book. I’m sure walking out of work was difficult for those employees who did so. I’m willing to bet Ronan Farrow didn’t feel amazing the day he decided to make his statement; that seemed very difficult. And the person dealing with the most difficulty here, the biggest burden, is definitely Dylan Farrow, whom I believe.
I mention all this because I still see statements about the men affected by their own actions, and the appropriate, sometimes minimal, sometimes wide-reaching consequences they faced during the #MeToo movement that reflect on how much they have lost, how difficult it is to live once the world got accurate information about who they are, how much we lose as a society if we have to give up our old gods. “Sure, we know who he is. But can’t you separate the art from the artist?” I hear, followed by: “Hasn’t he suffered enough? When will it stop? When will you stop? How many men will be taken from us by their own actions?!”
To which I say, have you ever seen Manhattan? I don’t believe the artist ever separates themselves from their art. How, then, can we? After all, Louis C.K. won an Emmy for writing an episode of television wherein a queer comic explains the problem with using a gay slur onstage. One of C.K.’s friends says it anyway, and the group laughs. This was long before C.K.’s penchant for not giving a fuck about other people’s boundaries was public knowledge.
Art is made of us. And there are many, many survivors—statistically, folks in every audience, every workplace—who have no platform, no publisher, and live with the difficulty of navigating coming out or not, speaking up or not, as they do the complicated math to save their jobs, their truth, and their lives. That’s where my mind always goes at times like these: to the message we want to send folks trying to stay on this planet, in this culture, despite whatever the fuck pain they haul around with them. I always go back to: I believe you. I’m sorry that happened to you. It’s difficult for me too.
The person I’d love to see this all be a little more difficult for would be Mr. Allen himself, and those like him. I am certain that when I set my publication date, he didn’t receive a call breaking the news to him that he’d be published right after a rape survivor. Yes, his book got pulled. He’s famous enough that he could publish it himself and wealthy enough that he doesn’t need to. I don’t know what his daily life is like, but Dylan, Ronan, Grand Central employees, a giant group of reporters pushing this story forward, and to a small extent me, had to do hard work here. Wouldn’t it be great if things were just a little more difficult for him?
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