Chasing Rainbows – Bea Ellemcy

CHASING RAINBOWS, by Bea Ellemcy. Athena Press, London. 2007. 354pp.

Reviewed by Mary Ryan

Chasing Rainbows is a book about family violence and incest about the power and abuse of a father, and the secrets, lies and silencing that gripped a South African family for decades.

It is also about a courageous woman’s way of truth-telling in her search for healing for herself and for her family.

As a form of therapeutic narrative, the author uses different voices to help in telling her story. These voices are sometimes distinct and at other times are merged.

The first part of the book is mostly told through the voice of the storyteller, where the descriptions and the dialogue resemble that of a novel as the author recounts the prehistory of her mother’s life and her marriage to her father.

The second voice is the autobiographer’s, where the author draws the reader into her story as it evolves from her earliest memories of her childhood, her youth and marriage, up until the death of her father. Here we encounter her authentic voice as she grapples with the abuse and violence as she experienced it.

The third voice is the commentator’s at times the impartial observer, at others the wise woman, or the moraliser. It is in this space that the reader encounters the adult woman as she tries to make sense of her experiences, her pain and her journey to healing from her perspective of faith.

Apart from being an expression of her own authentic search for meaning around the events in her life, Chasing Rainbows raises important issues and questions to be considered by those who accompany others on their healing journeys. For example, she suggests that the ultimate healing for the victim of abuse can be achieved only through forgiveness of the perpetrator.

For those of us who have been abused, we will find healing in the very fact that we honour our father (or mother) not for the bad things they have done or the mistakes they have made, but because they have been given to us by God (and vice versa) and, like us, are his children with the same basic weaknesses and insecurities, the same courage and strength and perhaps somehow we can be instrumental in healing them too, especially through the difficult but necessary process of forgiveness, Ellemcy writes in the foreword.

My caution here is that those who are struggling through their dark night of abuse should not be required to reach this place of forgiveness too quickly, at the risk of shortcircuiting the necessary anger at what has been done to them.

Despite her knowledge of the abuse both in her own body and in the bodies of her children Ellemcy’s mother is unable to summon up sufficient anger to fuel her will to resist. Thus she too inadvertently colludes in the abuse. This raises questions about the way many of us women have internalised expectations of submissiveness which has led to the loss of our sense of self, and the erosion of our moral agency.

A second caution relates to the, sometimes, literal interpretations of biblical dictums that may suppress children’s and women’s voices in the face of abuses of power. Here, the author’s question is a real one: Do I honour Dad when he decides to forget that I am his child and starts touching me in places he would never touch when Mom’s around? When I want to scream or vomit because of what he is doing, does my father still need me to honour him?

There are other questions raised in the text which warrant reflection: what are appropriate pastoral responses towards perpetrators of abuse? What healing processes are available and necessary for them? How are issues of gender and abuse in South Africa overlaid by issues of race and class? And, in what ways do theologies that perpetuate negative perceptions of women their bodies and sexuality contribute to excesses, abuses and perversions of power?

Can one ever say that one is completely healed from this kind of abuse, or is it more a matter of starting over again with some new tools for coping?

In her search for healing and closure Bea Ellemcy has chosen to narrate her pain and make it public. Some may find this approach to be equally helpful, while others may seek help through counselling, or other therapies. The author’s courage in undertaking this task has been great, and as this story goes on its journey, I wish that it may do the healing work that she wishes it to do.

May I say to you Bea Ellemcy:
The daughter of Jephthah
lies slain upon the high places,
I weep for you, my little sister.
Very poignant is your story to me;
Your courage to me is wonderful
Surpassing the courage of men

Mary Ryan is a feminist theologian and a writer. She lives in Gordon’s Bay, Western Cape, and runs retreats for women.