Award-winning writer Elizabeth Ruth’s first collection of poems, This Report is Strictly Confidential, (Caitlin Press, 2024) is stunning readers with its tender and biting look at Elizabeth’s aunt’s life in a notorious government-run residential hospital. These are poems that centre humanness in inhumane situations and undress taboo, pushing darkness into light and giving voice to the often voiceless.
Because the collection is so autobiographical in nature, we wanted to ask Elizabeth about the choices she made in deciding to share these parts of her aunt’s story with the world. Elizabeth was gracious enough to answer our question.
Welcome, Elizabeth!
This Report is Strictly Confidential by Elizabeth Ruth
Q: Your collection includes poems about your aunt, who lived for decades in a government-run residential hospital. What sorts of concerns (if any) did you have about bringing her story to light? And why did you select poetry as the form to explore her life?
A: I have spent years considering the ethics and implications of sharing pieces of my aunt’s life. Barbara, (or Babs as our family called her) was institutionalized in the 1960’s as a teenager. She was autistic, but her neurodivergence was misinterpreted, repeatedly misdiagnosed as psychosis, rudeness, treatment resistance, extreme shyness, belligerence, willfulness and more. She was examined, evaluated, assessed, poked and prodded, and medicated to the point of incoherence for thirty years. She was also born a type 1 diabetic with cognitive challenges. Barbara had very little, if any, agency in her day-to-day life. She was not allowed to make decisions about her body, where she lived or with whom, or how she spent time. This is the story of thousands of people, disabled children and adults locked away, women on the spectrum, women who behave in ways that contradict the norms and expectations of their time. People who are trying, in vain, to be nothing more than themselves in a world that doesn’t see or value them. I have no qualms about shining a light on my aunt’s story. No single life can be fully captured on the page, nor should it be left to fade into silence and obscurity.
In 2013, a multi-million-dollar class action lawsuit was settled against the Ontario government by former residents of my aunt’s institution, and their survivors. The government made a public apology. My aunt didn’t live to hear that apology. However, before she died, she gave written consent for me to receive copies of her official records which include medical, psychosocial and day logs. This paperwork chronicles her hour-by-hour experience within the institution from the perspective of those in power and paints a chilling picture.
Barbara lived a better life her final 18 years, in a Toronto group home with autistic friends, her own room and ensuite, where she used the kitchen, socialized, entertained visitors, made day trips, was able to think without the fog of medications she did not need. She had access to art therapies and a job that gave her a sense of purpose, and she could come home to us at her request.
The records she left with me, sat in a box under my desk for years. I couldn’t bring myself to shred them, to erase a life that had already been lived in the shadows. Finally, out of anger and out of love, and because she trusted me, I have tried to give my aunt the final word. These poems are not, of course, the final word. They are a keyhole glimpse into dynamics of power within a complicated, messy, often violent world. They are filtered through my lifelong relationship with Barbara.
In the beginning, I thought a great deal about which form would best tell her story and about the ethics of using her records for a project with my name on it. But I felt a duty to do something with the documents. I considered writing personal essays or a novelized version of events. In the end, the records themselves offered the clearest voice.
If I’ve hesitated in writing this collection, it’s because of my life, not my aunt’s. Exposing part of her experience necessitated that I expose parts of my own as well. Until now, I’ve rarely been public about myself in print. As a novelist, I’ve been tucked safely behind a wall of fiction. Thanks to my aunt, we are both a little freer today.
More about This Report Is Strictly Confidential:
Part exposé, part memoir, all heart—critically-acclaimed novelist Elizabeth Ruth’s poetry debut is an act of love and commemoration, inspired by real life events that have left a lasting imprint on generations of family. This collection offers readers rare glimpses into private worlds. With fresh, inventive use of language, biting irony and an unflinching gaze upon the human condition, these intimate poems give voice to the things that can’t be said.
Author Elizabeth Ruth.
More about Elizabeth Ruth:
Elizabeth Ruth is the author of the novels Ten Good Seconds of Silence, Smoke, Matadora, and Semi-Detached. Her work has been recognized by the Writers’ Trust of Canada Fiction Prize, the City of Toronto Book Award, the Amazon.ca First Novel Award, and One Book One Community. CBC named her “One of the Ten Canadian Women Writers You Must Read.” This Report Is Strictly Confidential is Elizabeth’s debut poetry collection. She is also the author of a plain language novella for adult literacy learners entitled Love You to Death and the editor of the anthology Bent on Writing: Contemporary Queer Tales. Before publishing, Elizabeth worked with homeless women and children, counselling in the areas of violence, trauma and recovery. She holds a BA in English Literature, an MA in Counselling Psychology, and an MFA in Creative Writing. Elizabeth Ruth teaches creative writing at the University of Toronto and lives in the city with her family. Insta: elizabethruthauthor. Website: elizabethruth.com