The Paul Gruchow Foundation

LETTERS TO A YOUNG MADMAN

  Paul Gruchow's long awaited memoir, LETTERS TO A YOUNG MADMAN,

is now available. Levins Publishing Company in Minneapolis has provided a link

on this page through which the book can be ordered. The beautiful cover art, a

wilderness lake in Paul's beloved Northern Minnesota Boundary Waters, was

painted by Cincinnati artist Calista Bockenstette, who has said her image represents

the lonely journey through mental illness and was created after reading Paul's 

words. Anyone wanting to know more about Calista's art can contact her through our

Foundation Website,  "Contact Us" page.

  Although LETTERS is the kind of book that becomes, in Franz Kafka's words,

“an axe to break the frozen sea within us,” Paul Gruchow's voice remains as calm,

original and clear as in his previous work. A compelling memoir, an eloquent plea

to remove the stigma from mental illness, Paul Gruchow's last book is in many

respects his most important.

  We will post on this website bookstore readings, events, conferences and other

activities related to the publishing of LETTERS TO A YOUNG MADMAN. Scroll down

for more information.

“Where to Go to Find the Light” in Paul Gruchow’s

Letters to a Young Madman

by Loren Gustafson

Very few books change the world. Not very many even try. Paul Gruchow’s Letters to a Young Madman has that potential and that ambition in taking on the issue of how the mentally ill are treated by mental health professionals and the culture at large. Based on a manuscript that Gruchow left behind when he died in 2004, the book encountered years of obstacles and delays before finally being published in 2012 by Levins Publishing thanks to the relentless efforts of Gruchow’s literary executor and friend Louis Martinelli. Letters is a book that deserves a wider audience for its eloquent and profound thesis: that the mentally ill should be seen as fully human. (If you believe that they already are, you need to read the book.)

The wider audience that the book deserves would include anyone suffering major depression or other debilitating mental illness, as well as people who work in the field of mental health. The 2012 national year-end booklists, however, made no mention of the book, perhaps because Levins Publishing is a small, low profile regional press. The book was nominated for a Minnesota Book Award but has not received much attention outside Gruchow’s home state. Another factor besides coming from a small publisher is undoubtedly the perception that Letters must be a depressing book. Readers are, quite understandably, reluctant to pick up a book seen as being about depression, suicide, and loss of hope.

That perception is incorrect. In spite of the dark moments and insights the book describes and in spite of Gruchow’s death by prescription drug overdose, Letters is ultimately a work of hope—hope that something good might come out of describing the crushing reality of major depression, that it might help others deal with the life-altering reality of mental illness. Gruchow describes the darkness that comes from depression, but he repeatedly finds some light in that darkness. Late in the book, after recounting years of living with thoughts of suicide and various treatments for his depression including Electroconvulsive Therapy, prescription medications, psychotherapy, and Dialectical Behavior Therapy, he takes a restoring walk through pine trees near Duluth. Suddenly we hear the voice of the younger Gruchow among his “friends”: “White and purple astors bloomed, jewelweeds sparkled, goldenrods turned every sunny nook brilliant yellow. The blue fruits of the bluebeard lilies vied with the scarlet hips of the wild roses for attention” (204). His depression briefly relents, and he tells us that “the feeling of vitality lingered for two days” (204). Even when it fades, he holds on to hope: “The darkness, as it does, closed in again, but I had the conviction this time that, if I could just get there, I knew where to go to find the light” (204). He never gives up on the belief that some path to recovery is possible.

There is, of course, no happy ending. Gruchow himself makes a point of establishing from the start that this will be truthful book about a difficult and serious subject and therefore will not be “a good read” or “amusing” (1). He makes it clear that this won’t be like a visit to Lake Wobegon. Many passages in the book are emotionally wrenching—from his accounts of losing all sense of autonomy when he is hospitalized, to his contemplation of suicide, to his vivid account of lying on a gurney, awaiting Electroconvulsive Therapy. Other passages simply paint a picture of what it’s like to suffer major depression: “I once sat at my desk for three straight days, intent upon stamping an envelope” (19). There is also no one simple message. He faults others for dismissing and ignoring the mentally ill—for building psychiatric wards that do not consider their needs at all, for pushing treatments that may have devastating side effects— but he also finds fault with himself: “My biggest mistake was in allowing myself to be called disabled. When I did so, I became, in my own mind, disabled. And once that happened, I was disabled” (55).

What good might come from describing the reality of serious mental illness? The book provides an answer: we could learn that the mentally ill are still people; that they may be capable of thinking about their own condition; and that any real cure has to involve an internal process, not just an external medical intervention. We could learn that clinical depression and other serious mental illnesses take us into deep water, places where most of us do not like to swim. But if you are in the ocean, you might welcome some advice and some companionship. Letters to a Young Madman, against all expectations, might be your lifeline, and just might change the world.