Let me start off by thanking Coffee Time Romance for allowing me to blog on this site. It’s a privilege, particularly since I’m not a pure romance writer, although THE WOODEN CHAIR, like all good stories, has an element of romance.
THE WOODEN CHAIR opens Helsinki in 1943 against the backdrop of the Finno-Russian war. It is entirely Leini Bauman’s story.
As a child, Leini stands ready to do anything to win her mother Mira’s love. This includes undergoing a risky surgery to straighten a lazy eye, also known as strabismus. Mother promises Leini that if her eye is straightened, she’s going to be beautiful and will deserve Mother’s love. Post-surgery, something goes terribly wrong””Leini loses sight in one eye.
Leini suffers bullying from kids her own age because of her wayward eye.
In her late teens, Leini struggles to break free of the emotional and psychological abuse Mira heaps on her. In her late teens, Leini leaves her doting father, loving grand-parents, and native Helsinki to study psychology at the GenevaUniversity. In her early twenties, she meets Bill, a wonderful man. Inexperienced and innocent, she falls in love with all the fervor of somebody young who’s never loved before. Ten years her senior, intuitively sensing Leini’s fragility, Bill is very protective of her. When he fails to phone her as promised, Leini rushes to conclude she cannot trust him. How could she? Her own mother, the person she has every right to expect to be able to trust, betrays her in a thousand and one ways. Leini reacts to Bill’s perceived betrayal in the only way she know, the one learned at her mother’s knee; she gets drunk. Leini’s dear no-nonsense friend Vickie helps Leini and Bill to mend the rift between them. Together Leini and Bill travel to Helsinki, where they are married.
Bill’s unconditional love and total acceptance of her sustains Leini. It gives her the strength to break the chain of abuse. Herself about to become a mother, she’s determined she will not repeat Mira’s behavior with her own children. With the help of a psychiatrist, she revisits the harrowing experiences of Mira’s maltreatment. She becomes a successful professional, a nurturing and loving mother and wife. Leini’s triumph over her past is complete when she grows from victim to victor over the trauma from Mira’s emotional and psychological abuse.
At a time when the majority of books published are in the romance genre, Untreed Reads Publishing took a chance to publish this family saga with abuse as the story arch and romance as only an element. I was compelled to write THE WOODEN CHAIR. As a psychotherapist I worked with rape, incest and child abuse victims. Long after our professional work was over, my patients’ stories lived on with me. Their unimaginable suffering haunted me. The deeper into their lives our therapy sessions took me, the more evident it became to me that they could all be helped to overcome the trauma and to avoid repeating the pattern with their own children if the victims, my clients, had the courage and strength to reach out for help. From what these people told me, I knew there were at least four persons in their lives who knew about the abuse and neglect, but for reasons of their own didn’t report the abuse to the authorities or, at least, confront the abuser.
Leini prompted me to tell about her. She isn’t by far the worst of the cases I came across as a therapist, but the juxtaposition of her abusive mother with her very loving and caring father, paternal grandparents and uncle, is as commonplace as it is compelling. Leini’s doting family members are the silent witnesses. These silent witnesses observe the abuse. Although they know the goings-on, they refrain from confronting Mira, lest by doing so they would leave Leini more exposed to Mira’s cruelty. In fact, “Silent Witnesses” was the title I toyed with, but in the early part of the book there’s a scene in which Leini climbs onto Mother’s lap to cuddle. Leini reflects that Mother’s lap is as hard and unwelcoming as the wooden chair in their kitchen. So there was the title THE WOODEN CHAIR, in Mother’s lap.
Mira is herself a victim of abuse from a cruel mother. She is also a practicing alcoholic and anorexic, powerless to change her behavior. She’s as much a victim of her past and her disease as Leini is of Mira’s maltreatment.
I didn’t need to spend too much time researching this story. I checked some facts about The Soviet Union’s invasion of Finland in 1939, which led to USSR being expulsed from what was then The League of Nations, now the United Nations. Fortunately, I have saved notes from my clinical work with abuse victims. They were great to fall back on to refresh my memory.
As I wrote THE WOODEN CHAIR, I hadn’t lived in Finland for many years, so I traveled to Helsinki to refresh my memory. It came as a bit of a surprise and shock that things were no longer the way I remembered them. I had to rely on old photos for local color, and my own recollections. I spent some time interviewing family members about the evacuation from the USSR bombardments of Helsinki to the north. Not surprisingly, nobody in my family was very forthcoming to share memories from the war. Those who lived through the war years in Europe don’t want to dredge up the dark past.
THE WOODEN CHAIR is, of course, fiction based on actual events. To a great extent I’ve used my imagination and creativity to paint the pictures of Leini’s life.
THE WOODEN CHAIR deals with some heart breaking subject matter. To a certain extent, I was able to keep an emotional distance to Leini’s suffering and the trauma when the abuse stopped. We now know this trauma as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). At the time Leini’s story takes place, this wasn’t known, so Leini is seen as seeking relief from pain in the wine bottle.
As the writing progressed, as I “interviewed” Leini, she became a person. Leini became a part of me. For the time it took to write THE WOODEN CHAIR, I lived my life through Leini or Leini through me, I’m not sure which. Leini spoke to me, directed me, was by my side, a constant in my life. There were episodes in her life that were emotionally excruciating. When Mira takes away Leini’s key to the only home she’s ever known, I cried with her. When Leini’s daughter Hannele was born, I rejoiced with her, proud of her, proud to know her.
Yes, writing THE WOODEN CHAIR was difficult. It was also wonderful. It is, of course, great to win an award, but it is just as much Leini’s award as it is mine.
Any writer who receives 5-star reviews is delighted, and so am I. Soon after THE WOODEN CHAIR was published, I received an e-mail from Stockholm from a gentleman to thank me for having written such a beautiful story. I hadn’t expected men to read and like THE WOODEN CHAIR. So far, THE WOODEN CHAIR has received multiple 5-star reviews and very positive comments. I was thrilled to read one reviewers comment, starting off by saying that he “instantly loved Leini within the first few sentences, but, sadly, her mother Mira didn’t.”
I’ve been asked what is my favorite scene in THE WOODEN CHAIR. It’s like asking which of my children I prefer. In fact, there are two scenes I like very much. The first is in the early part of the story. The second is in Leini’s hospital room with Mira after Leini’s daughter Hannele is born. Here’s the first scene:
They continued on their walk. Leini hopped and skipped in front of Mamma, joy jumping inside because they were together.
Mamma pointed to the meadow where a group of cows were grazing. “Come, let’s go look at the cows over there.”
Leini picked bluebells and daisies as they crossed the pasture.
“Don’t go too close,” said Mamma, grabbing the back of Leini’s cardigan.
“I like them. They won’t hurt me.”
The animals were behind a wooden fence. Mamma leaned against the slats, as Leini pressed close to her leg.
Leini had visited the cow house often, but this was the first time she saw the animals so near. One of them ambled up, close enough to touch. Leini looked and looked. The cow reached out a wet muzzle, cold and slimy against her hand. It lowered its head to stare at Leini, who gazed in fascination at its large eyes. They were so dark and shiny and beautiful. She stared at Mamma, at the cow, then back at Mamma again.
“Mamma!” she said, excited. “You have the same eyes as the cow.”
Eyes flashing with anger, Mamma slapped Leini’s face, a vicious forehand-backhand blow, her entire arm behind the smack.
Leini stood rooted to the spot, disbelief crowding out all thought. Something shattered inside. Everything had been so nice. She said what she thought, that Mamma’s eyes were as beautiful as the cow’s. Now Mamma was angry with her again. A stream of tears coursed down her cheeks as she wept without a sound.
“I’m sorry, Mamma, so sorry. Please forgive me. Don’t be angry.” She asked for forgiveness although she didn’t understand what she’d done wrong. “Mamma, please. I love you. Do you love me, too?”
“Leave me alone, girl.” Mamma shoved her away. “If you must know, no, I don’t love you.” Her voice was strangled, each word like a wheeze. “You’re a yoke I have to put up with.”
Leini didn’t understand about yoke, but for the first time in her short life she didn’t plead or promise to be good. The sadness left her””something hard took its place. Deep in her chest she was cold, and her tears stopped flowing. With straight back, head held high, her eyes met Mamma’s.
In a flash of insight Leini knew she didn’t like Mamma. Not as before.
In bed that night, thinking of the walk with Mamma, Leini didn’t want to remember the slaps Mamma had dealt her, but couldn’t help remembering them. I only wanted to tell her she has beautiful eye.
This is the second scene:
Leini had finished nursing Hannele when Mira came to visit, a whiff of cloying perfume accompanying her. Handing Leini a bouquet of long stemmed roses, she gave her a peck, which landed on the pillow.
“Congratulations.” Without a glance at the bassinet, she dropped her handbag on the foot of the bed and sat. “You look fine. Not like me when you were born. After the ordeal you put me through I was half-dead.” Pivoting on the chair, she scanned the room. “So many flowers! Who sent them?”
“They’re from Bill’s and my colleagues and our friends.” To her surprise and delight, even Dr. Morgenthaler had sent an arrangement of spring flowers.
“Bill says the baby is wonderful.”
Trying in vain to catch her eye, Leini smiled. “So she is, but we may be biased.” Pointing at the bassinet. “Look for yourself.”
Mira nodded, rose and leaned over the baby. With her back turned, Leini couldn’t see her expression, wondering why she watched for so long, why she didn’t say anything. After several minutes Mira turned, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. Moved by Mira’s display of emotion, Leini held a hand to her.
“She’s precious, isn’t she? Your first grandchild.”
Without taking Leini’s hand, Mira returned to the chair. She blew her nose, eyes downcast.
“Yes, she’s a dear. Don’t worry too much about her hawk-like nose. If she won’t outgrow it, which she probably won’t, she can have plastic surgery when she’s older.”
Speechless, Leini caught her breath. She stared at Mira, who fixed on a point above Leini’s head.
“What nose? There’s nothing wrong with her nose. You’re imagining things.”
Mira breast heaved from a sigh. “I know mothers are blind to their children’s faults. Your daughter’s pretty. The nose is a detail that can be fixed.”
Pulling on her dressing gown, Leini left the bed. With a couple of strides she was by Hannele’s side. Taking the baby in her arms, she turned her so the light from the window fell on her face. Staring at the tiny features, she couldn’t see anything wrong. Hannele’s small nose was straight with tiny nostrils. Leini thought it was a pretty nose.
She fixed Mira with a stare. “Show me where you see anything wrong.” Her voice was shrill, her legs wobbly.
Mira bent closer and peered at Hannele. “Oh,” she said. “It must have been the light. A shadow or something.”
Leini returned to bed, lying on the covers. Afraid to let her go, she kept Hannele in the crook of her arm. She was still trembling from the fright Mira caused. Won’t she ever let up?
“Let’s not talk about it. Just so you remember, Mira, our daughter is perfect.”
Mira shifted on the chair. “Have you decided on a name yet?”
“Sure. When we knew I was pregnant we decided to call her Hannele. We both like the name.”
Mira kept staring past Leini’s head. “After all, she is your child. Of course you give her the name you want. I’m disappointed you didn’t ask my opinion, though.”
Dizzy from disbelief, Leini shook her head. “As you say, she’s our child. We name her. I haven’t consulted with Papi either. The idea didn’t cross my mind.”
Mira’s mouth kept working as if masticating on something unsavory, the corners pulled down. “That’s the problem with you. You never think. I hoped you would name your first daughter after my mother, Rebecca.”
I can’t believe I’m hearing this! “You’re being unreasonable.”
“Unreasonable? Me? After everything I’ve done for you!” Mira’s raucous voice was cut off by a fit of coughing. “My mother, may she rest in peace, was an angel. I’d think it would be an honor to name your child after her.”
“I’m sure your mother was a fine woman. But she died when I was a small child. I don’t even remember her.”
“Well, maybe you’d consider calling her Rebecca as a second name. Hannele Rebecca. Doesn’t it sound nice?”
“Mira, Bill and I agreed to call her Hannele and Yvette after his mother.”
“Bill’s mother? What about my mother?”
Leini closed her eyes for an instant, nails digging into her palms in her effort to stay calm.
“Let me spell it out. Bill is Hannele’s father. His mother, had she lived, would be Hannele’s grandmother. Our daughter will be named Hannele Yvette.” Her gaze bore into Mira’s. “That’s final!”
Mira leaned closer to Leini, her face white, eyes staring, but not at Leini.
“How can you?” She spat the words. “I’ve tried to do everything in my power for you. Is this the way to treat a mother? I only ask””” Her voice rose until she was almost shouting.
Hannele started crying. Glancing at Mira, Leini spoke in a low, distinct voice. “Don’t raise your voice, Mira. This is a hospital. I’d rather you left. Hannele’s agitated. I’m upset and”¦ Please leave.”
I’m not going to cry, not cry, not cry “¦
Snatching her handbag off the bed, without another word, Mira marched to the door and slammed it shut behind her.
I want to cheer for Leini. Now herself a mother, protective of her child, she finally finds the courage to stand up to Mira. I’m proud of her.
THE WOODEN CHAIR isn’t about a message to the world. I hope the readers learn that no matter how difficult the situation is, there is always a solution. Suffering and misery are optional. Anybody with the willingness to change their trajectory can do so at any time. Anybody can turn his or her life around when they are brought to the realization that they alone have to do it, but that they cannot do it alone. When they reach this point, there are lots of help resources. I hope that Leini serves as an example of a downtrodden, visually handicapped little girl who as she grows up, becomes determined to be a different person from her mother. Her aim is to do her utmost to avoid repeating the pattern of abuse. To do so, she learns to help herself by asking for help. It’s as simple and as complicated as that.
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The Wooden Chair at Untreed Reads Publishing
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