I’ve seen some posts about a new Netflix series based on a novel,
“Thirteen Reasons Why.” It’s a young adult story, but it resonates with a lot
of adults as well. I want to explain why the premise of this book troubles me.
It’s not an isolated theme; I have seen multiple popular books follow this
storyline. To be clear, I’m not criticizing anybody who enjoyed the book or the
Netflix series. This story moved many people, and you have a right to enjoy
whatever you do. Also, I’m not saying the author had no right to write this. I
am very wary of artistic censorship and don’t want to discourage creativity.
But I believe that in the interest of compassion and good taste, some topics
ought to be approached more thoughtfully.
“Thirteen Reasons Why” is about the suicide of a 17-year-old girl
named Hannah who was bullied. Shortly beforehand, she recorded a series of
thirteen cassette tapes. They were sent to thirteen people, explaining why each
of them were responsible for her death. A friend of hers had agreed to anonymously
deliver them. The narrative is told through the perspective of Clay, a boy who
Hannah addressed on one of the tapes. He has just received them and is
listening to her story.
I spotted the book in a store a few months ago and was put off by
the premise. Then I learned it was a bestseller and that it’s even on the
summer reading list of some high school teachers, intended to help them
understand teen bullying and suicide. They facilitate group discussions on this
book. I recently watched the first episode of the series on Netflix. Not
because I was drawn in, but because I wanted to see if my initial impression
would hold up.
The introduction opens with a sketchy animated bicycle, drawn in the style of
the animations from Juno. I like that style, but there was something a little
jarring. It set the tone for something twee and cute. The first episode begins
with a shot of the recently deceased Hannah’s locker, adorned with layers of
adoring notes from her classmates. “I love you,” “I miss you,” “You were so
beautiful.” There are hearts and paper flowers and a photo of her smiling and
gorgeous. She narrates from the first scene, speaking from her cassette tape.
This makes it seem like she’s watching and aware of how everyone reacts.
As the episode plays out, there are several issues made apparent.
The first is that her suicide, while accurately portrayed as tragic, is
romanticized. I get the impression that it’s supposed to be poetic. It sends
the message that killing yourself in high school will immortalize you as young
and beautiful. It will redeem your own transgressions and leave everyone in awe
of you, talking about how wonderful you are. It’ll be a great form of revenge,
leaving everyone sorry for any way they’ve done you wrong. You’ll be a high
school celebrity preserved in a heart-shaped photograph behind rose tinted
glass.
This is the last message that a high schooler struggling with
mental health issues needs to absorb. I know because I was one of those kids. If this book had come out when I was
fifteen, I would have eaten it up with a spoon. This was partly
because of life situations and partly because of innate depression. Some people dismissed it as attention seeking. While I did seek unhealthy attention in my mid-teens, the self destruction was not insincere. It
stemmed from genuine distress and genuine crises in my environment. While
“Thirteen Reasons Why” would not have influenced me to kill myself, it would
have lured me into further fixation with that topic. I would have romanticized
it, believing the horrible cliché that suicidal people are “just
angels who want to go home.”
Overwhelmingly, people don’t have helpful beliefs about suicide.
Many vilify those who do it, saying they are selfish and cowardly. Others will
almost canonize those who have made that choice. Although these responses are
opposite, both come from the glorification of suffering.
People who condemn victims of suicide feel that suffering is meaningful, and
that you are cutting corners if you end your life to escape. That’s why they
call it cowardly. (Some may have been traumatized by a loved one’s suicide and
are angry, feeling abandoned. That’s understandable, but becomes harmful when
used to condemn everyone who feels suicidal.) On the other hand, people who
romanticize suicide victims seem to believe that suffering, in itself, makes
you noble. It’s the idea that a person is a hero because they experienced
terrible pain. It is true that many of us find meaning in our pain and can use
that to develop more empathy. But framing suffering as heroic only encourages
people to become stuck in such suffering, and can discourage others from
offering help. This shows up in every societal level, from interpersonal
relationships to political “bootstrap theory.”
Help needs to be delivered in more than one form. You need friends and social
relationships, but friends are not therapists and shouldn’t be placed in that
role. Emotional support is distinct from depending on one or several people to
solve all our problems. I have made that mistake in the past, and have been on
the receiving end as well. It’s a huge weight to hear somebody say, “You’re the
only one I can count on” or “You’re the only reason I can get up in the
morning.” If you have mental health problems yourself, they can be triggered by
that type of emotional drain. At the same time, many people with those problems
are afraid to reach out because they think that talking about it at all will be
a burden. This is why balance needs to be sought, and more than one type of
help is needed. Friendship and therapy can’t replace one another.
In stories like “Thirteen Reasons Why,” the message is that
suicide could have been prevented if others reached out, and that unkind
treatment drives people to suicide. It’s true that many people have said they
decided to continue living because others were helpful. It’s true that social
isolation and bullying contribute a great deal to suicide, especially for
teenagers. It’s hard to envision a world outside of high school when you’re
that young. But in “Thirteen Reasons Why,” Hannah explicitly blames the people
on her tapes. Some of the acts committed against her were horrific, while
others were petty. The author wanted to communicate that even seemingly trivial
things can add up. That’s true, but the kids in the story who committed the
less aggressive acts will now spend the rest of their lives shackled to the
idea that they made her kill herself, all for getting jealous or gossiping or making
a hurtful comment. They did all of these things as kids. This doesn’t mean they
weren’t responsible for their behavior, but I don’t think a person should be
damned for life because of a shitty thing they once did in high school. The
author, Jay Asher, may not have condoned her behavior. But the overall story
conveys the idea that these kids were responsible for her death and that
suicide is an appropriate act of revenge.
Hannah sends the tapes to Clay and, in the beginning, states that
he is one of the reasons she is dead. But then later, in the ninth tape, she
apologizes for implicating him in this. She tells him he is the nicest person
she ever met and that he didn’t make her feel suicidal. She says she had
actually fallen in love with him and wished they had more time together.
I know the audience had to wait to hear Clay’s tape in order to create
suspense, and to offer a cliffhanger. But in the context of the story, it was
cruel. It came across as manipulation. She knew he had feelings for her and had
been a good friend. Hannah initially blamed Clay—knowing full well that he had
never harmed her—and then strung him along to make him listen, only to
basically say, “Just kidding; it wasn’t your fault.” All of this sounds
terrible. And adding that she would have been his girlfriend if she had chosen
to live will haunt him for the rest of his life. He will always wonder if he
could have prevented this.
It’s relevant to the plot that Hannah is beautiful, which
the other characters respond to with jealousy and frustrated attraction. I can
see how that would play into the story, but it implies that her death was even
more of a loss because she was pretty. I have never found a story about an
unattractive girl who died tragically. This isn’t only an issue with “Thirteen
Reasons”; it’s an ever-pervasive theme. As it adds up, it drives home the
message that pretty girls’ lives are more valuable. Specifically waifish,
doe-eyed, white, artsy, indie, middle class or wealthy girls. They are the
source of endless fascination, the Manic Pixie Dream Girl whose life came to a
tragic end. This is a trope I call “Manic Pixie Dead Girl.”
It’s notable that much of the bullying was slut-shaming. The
author may have intended to show that slut-shaming causes damage, but that
message was diluted by the fact that Hannah had never done the sexual things
she was accused of. It was repeatedly stated that she was “innocent,” that she
had never done more with Justin than kiss him. Not only that, but it
was her first kiss. The rumors were presented as even worse because they were
lies. But why should it matter whether or not it was true? Isn’t it wrong for
people to bully others about their sex lives to begin with? How was it
anybody’s business if Hannah had hooked up with Justin, or whether it was her
first kiss or her fiftieth? The gossip wasn’t bad because it was untrue; it was
bad because it was judgment in the first place.
I’ve heard a lot of people say they liked this story, including
some who have been bullied and have been suicidal. Jay Asher has said that numerous teens have reached out to him to thank him for writing the book. I’m glad it
has been helpful for so many. I’m happy this book exists for them. Maybe my
reaction is unusual, but some of these implications worry me. Suicide shouldn’t
be portrayed as a cute, quirky hipster trend; as a way to make others sorry; or
as a way to gain permanent love.