The Narcissism of Small Differences: a Noir Detective Novel by Dennis Dorgan

Author:Dennis Dorgan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BookBaby
Published: 2021-08-17T12:21:58+00:00

19

A Narcissist, a Psychopath

and Even a Machiavellian

Dreams From My Brother: Tuesday, May 6

Upon receiving this latest message from Cody, I was put in mind of lines from Blake:

Did he who made the lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! Burning bright

In the forests of the night . .

I think the message here is about how, in childhood, we create whom it is that we become as adults. Our hopes, fears, dreams, experiences and imaginings all tossed into a roiling mulligatawny stew of memory and emotion, out of which emerges our sense of identity, our self.

That self always has a dark side, a Tyger if you will. Most of us are able to keep it imprisoned deep enough within our psyche that we pose no real threat to our fellow human beings. For the psychopath we are hunting here in St. Paul, it’s simpler. He has become the Tyger.

Then there are those, like the narrator of this dream, for whom it’s more complicated. He is engaged in a perpetual struggle with his own dark side. and because he has come to know it so well, he intuitively understands the character and sensibilities of the psychopath.

That makes him an invaluable partner in our Tyger hunt:

Oh dear, I am going to sound so grandiose and pathetic and I know what you are going to think. As a practicing psychologist it might have been my first professional reaction, too. Except, you must understand, this was a real phenomenon that I experienced. It was as genuine and tangible as reality gets. Please don’t dismiss it out of hand as a self-induced delusion.

The first time it happened I was a chubby little eight-year-old, who understood he was already a disappointment to his parents. A child with no brothers, sisters or friends. A child already alone and adrift in the world. Such a boy would be likely to create his own imaginary world, wouldn’t he? One with himself as the centerpiece of a great drama, engaged in ever more heroic adventures?

The problem with that theory is that I had, and still have, a terrible paucity of imagination. I never had those narcissistic phantasies about myself. Nor did I ever have any religious inclinations up to that point. It wasn’t until afterwards that I knew my vocation lay with the priesthood.

Oh my, I am about to reveal something to you that I have never shared with another soul and I am feeling quite trepidatious at the prospect of finally doing it.

So, very well, here is my story, the one that will tell you who I really am. As I said, I was just eight years old the first time it happened. I was alone in the apartment on that Saturday afternoon, absorbed in a book about western outlaws. Normal fare for a boy of that age, wouldn’t you say? I felt a faint chill creep into the room and thought that was rather strange. Mother kept the place stiflingly hot. But it kept getting colder and as it did, the lights

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