Both sides of heroin
BarcelonaAccording to the dictionary of the Institut d'Estudis Catalans, the definition of heroine can be: "A person distinguished by their great courage, by their fortitude in suffering. The main character of a legend, a story, etc." But also: "A diacetyl derivative of morphine, with the formula C21H23NO5"...from which it is obtained by treating it with acetic anhydride, and whose consumption creates dependence."
These last few weeks I've read two books that, by chance, discuss heroin from these two perspectives. The first is The Heroine's Journey. Woman's Quest for WholenessWritten by psychologist and writer Maureen Murdock in 1990 (I have no record of it being translated into Catalan; in Spanish, it is published by Gaia Ediciones). Murdock was a student of Joseph Campbell, the American myth theorist and author of The Hero with a Thousand FacesIn his book, he systematized what he called "the hero's journey": a universal narrative framework in which a protagonist receives a calling, undergoes trials, descends into the depths of despair, and returns transformed. When Murdock suggests exploring a specifically female journey, Campbell responds that women don't need to make the journey because "all a woman has to do is realize that she is the place people are trying to get to and not waste her time with the idea of becoming a pseudo-man." Murdock refuses to accept this passive role or "follow the advice of fundamentalist preachers to go back home." So he proposes a new model that acknowledges the heroic journey unique to women: a woman who first distances herself from femininity to conform to dominant values, who experiences inner rupture, who descends into the wound, and who can only return when she integrates the severed parts of herself.
In the mythical model, the descent always presupposes a return. The heroine descends into the underworld to return transformed. Pain has a narrative function: it orders, structures, and gives meaning to the journey.
Let the suffering end
But not all journeys have meaning or order. This is the case with the second book I've read, which also deals with heroin, but the drug: Natza Farré tells us in The last time I say goodbye to you (Editorial Angle) What does it mean to grow up as the younger sister of a heroin addict in 1980s Barcelona? This autofiction doesn't narrate any epic tale, but quite the opposite: it starkly reveals the family's silence, the middle-class shame, the rage, the guilt, and the ambivalence. Farré exposes, without romanticizing it, the unspoken desire for the suffering to end, even if it means her brother's death, and how the guilt that follows only reopens the wounds. Farré's brother doesn't embark on any redemptive journey, nor does he return with any treasure; instead, he is destroyed by heroin. The journey we witness, then, is that of his sister, which is neither epic nor glorious, but rather long, chaotic, and full of contradictions. It doesn't culminate in an external conquest, but in an intimate integration that, paradoxically, ends up making the wound a witness. Farré explains that for her, heroin has only ever meant a drug. But her journey is undoubtedly an act of courage.