Tamara Wilhite discusses some of the events that prompted Moira Greyland to write about her mother, Marion Zimmer Bradley and some of the reactions from readers of the book:
The Last Closet was written by Moira Greyland. She’s the daughter of Marion Zimmer Bradley, author of The Mists of Avalon and Walter Breen. It is Marion Bradley’s book from which the book title is drawn. “The Last Closet: The Dark Side of Avalon” is equal parts autobiography and true-crime thriller with a tragic sprinkling of the history of science fiction fandom mixed in.
Moira’s book includes large sections of horrifying personal stories, but she has gone to great length to document what happened. For example, her father’s repeated arrests on pedophilia charges (he died in prison) and her mother’s testimony during such trials are public record. She’s backed up everything she can from external sources.
I had the opportunity to interview Moira, and the transcript is below.
Tamara: Some of the events in the book go back forty years. What prompted you to write the book in 2017?
Moira: In 2014, a blogger named Deirdre Saoirse Moen contacted me. She was protesting Tor book’s publication of a puff piece lauding my mother, which did not mention either my father’s conviction or her court-documented collusion with him.
I only knew Deirdre as a woman from science fiction fandom who had hired me for a harp concert, and I did not realize how famous she was. My responses to her email consisted of a brief assent that my father had indeed done all that he was accused of and convicted for and more, but it also included the new for her information that my mother had been a great deal worse than my father. I also included my two poems “Mother’s Hands” and “They Did Their Best.”
Deirdre was horrified, and reported that she had lost her lunch upon reading my reply. Her blog posts about my mother and my responses were reblogged to 92 countries all over the world. There was furious controversy, mostly consisting of everyone who tried to defend my mother getting shouted down. Some people read my mother’s appallingly callous court testimony and pronounced her guilty from her own words. Other people saw themselves in my poetry, in the flatness and horror so familiar to the trauma patient. Still others recognized things in my mother’s books about incest and sexual abuse which had never quite seemed right to them.
I was astonished at the volume of response, and at the many, many, MANY letters addressed directly to me. Most of the letters included both sympathy for me and my brother, but nearly all contained reports of the letter writer’s own abuse, many containing the words “I never told anyone this before.”
I was asked to fill in the rest of my story, and I did so, in a blog post called “The Story of Moira Greyland,” hosted on the blog of Katy Faust, another child of gays and lesbians as I am. My blog post was nominated for a Hugo in 2015, and I was offered a book contract by Vox Day of Castalia House.
The only concern I had about writing my book was that my late brother Mark was having a very hard time with the unplanned public exposure. He was having flashbacks about our father, and beginning to have a lot more trouble managing his health. The reason that was so problematic for him was that we both identified our mother as being the scary, dangerous one, where our father was comparatively gentle and loving. Having to deal with his history meant that there was no even remotely good parent left for him, even as a matter of memory.
His distress predated the book, though, and I did not think that it would be relieved by my silence.
I was given a year to complete the book, and I beat my deadline. It would do no good to mention the particular kind of hell it was to tell the story, and I credit my beloved late husband with sticking by my side through the entire process. Anyone with a trauma history can imagine that all of my trauma symptoms from flashbacks to ataxia got worse. It became very clear to me while writing exactly why it was that so few people talk about their injuries.
