Survivor Memoir as an Act of Defiance Against Narrative Foreclosure

by Brooke Warner

After I finished reading Amanda Knox’s gripping memoir, Free, I knew it was a book I would come back to. Same goes for her interview on Memoir Nation. There were so many nuggets to dive deeper into, things she said that merited more examination.

Such as the exploration of narrative foreclosure. Amanda mentioned this only in passing in her interview, and since we’re re-airing part of that interview this week on the Memoir Nation podcast, there’s much more to say.

Narrative foreclosure is a psychological concept that refers to the belief—conscious or unconscious—that a person’s life story is essentially “over,” that nothing new or meaningful will unfold in the future.

Of course Amanda would be aware of this concept, given the despairing place in which she found herself—convicted for a murder she didn’t commit; not knowing when or if she’d ever be released, never mind make it back home to the States to start a real life.

In our interview with Amanda, we circled how her story of wrongful conviction and subsequent imprisonment was similar to abuse survivors. She adamantly agreed. It seems to me that abuse survivors might easily fall into the trap of believing that nothing new or meaningful might unfold. The abuse itself dictates the story. Or it is the story—full stop.

I hadn’t truly thought about this before now, but it’s the disallowing of narrative foreclosure that makes survivor memoirs so powerful, so distinct, and so essential. When you’re the victim of abuse, someone else—a perpetrator—has taken away your script. As Amanda says in the interview, “We’re going along telling a story about ourselves and who we are and what our story is until someone takes it away from us . . . ” This interruption may exist on a trauma continuum, but no matter what—the result is that something has been stolen from you. And then it defines you.

I’ve worked with hundreds of survivors of abuse and other traumas over the years, and I know their drive to share their stories. It doesn’t need to be spoken; it pulses in their stamina to finish their books, and it’s the propeller that moves them forward to publication—despite the potential fallout, regardless of the exposure. They feel the fear and do it anyway. The stare fear in the face and say, “Watch me.”

Many survivors I’ve published over the years have told me they had no choice but to tell their stories. The alternative can feel like capitulation. It can feel like strangulation. It can feel like a quiet death.  

Telling, on the other hand, is liberating. It says to anyone and everyone: I am not defined by this story. Publishing a survivor memoir is an act of defiance against narrative foreclosure.  

This is all so timely for me because this very week She Writes Press, the press I oversee, is publishing a memoir, Dumb Girl, by Heidi Yewman, that features an abuse narrative. We received a cease and desist letter (not totally uncommon for these kinds of memoirs when the perpetrator suddenly kicks into gear and makes a last-ditch effort to try to stifle the story from being told). We put up our defense, and it’s strong. We’re protecting our author’s right to tell this story that is hers to tell.

I feel good and righteous in the wake of this experience that consumed much of my week last week, in part because Heidi told me that what this family member is doing, in trying to silence her and prevent the publication of her book, is exactly what he’d done to her when she was a teenager. He asserted his power and authority over her voice, over her experience, over her autonomy, and over her life story.

Now, finally, decades later, she’s saying no. And I’m honored to be part of that defense.

At the end of the interview with Amanda, we asked if she had any parting words, and she said this: “Write about what hurts; write about what haunts you.”

For some of us, this is what draws us to memoir in the first place. For many, the hurt and what haunts is part of the reckoning. Turning to look back at what happened and reclaim the story has the power to change everything. It means changing the narrative, and taking back your power.

This recent experience with Dumb Girl is a reminder of why I’m so proud to do this work, and why it matters. For Heidi Yewman, writing the book she wanted and needed to write was a non-negotiable, but there are countless others who will benefit as a result of what she’s done. There are people out there who will read her work and feel seen, who will know they’re not alone, and who will feel empowered to share their own stories. And isn’t this the essence of storytelling—to share our stories so that others may learn, may feel less alone, may change how they think about something? It brings to mind the famous Margaret Meade quote: "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world.” In this case, never doubt memoirists. You are a committed, thoughtful group of people who are changing the world, one book at a time.