Guardianship of life in a civilized society is a monumental responsibility, especially for those whose window to the world has blinds on both sides that shields the Good, the Bad and even the Pangals. They only have a cloistral view that offers no real education by application: a tried and tested experience of the consequences of the before when they toss caution to the wind, and the what ifs after they taste the forbidden fruit.
“From Mistress to Minister” by Nel Endaluz Prentiss is as a whole, exceptionally narrated chronologically with no stones unturned when it comes to details, in fact, too much repetitive details to the point where a reader would toss it aside or in my case, I take deep breaths to keep me on her road to victory. Although the book is an autobiography, I don´t believe it is necessary to be so self ´how-do-it´ and then reminded in future scenes. This is an adult read; in fact, numerous R-rating events. There is just no room for the reader to use their own ´soap´ which will also remove the stains of addiction.
Nevertheless Nel was robbed of her innocence and necessarily not by choice; moreover the adult role models in her life who branded as Pangal (ugly), and then added more salt to the wound by repeatedly flaunting their favoritism to her same gender sibling in the public eye. A big Ouch – huge stain for any child, but then she found the way to self-heal, mast the words by showing her real God-given gift: A beautiful mind, one that academically assures every educator their career choice was the right road.
Although all guardians want the best for those who they guide, ´rose bushes´ in an adolescence stage should stay rooted in their own soil until they have matured; are strong enough to withstand being transplanted from the field to another place with ´divine´ surroundings. I would not have separated my child from their soulful best friend; those bonds become the pillars to support the weights of sorrows, and nor would I have also chosen the higher educational institution, because I now can afford it to pay the tuition, and then expect for them to not feel the peer pressure of having to travel to and from by ´donkey´ verse their other classmates standard transportation: Daddy´s gifts of sports cars and chauffeurs.
On the other hand, I do not want to paint a picture that author Prentiss was deprived of family love, kindness and morality. Those were obvious passages she fondly wrote about, even though, she was not privy to all of the ´31 flavors´ – but fortunately her childhood was blessed with the perks of happiness. Unfortunately when a person is exposed to more than they have rightfully earned, born into as well as lack the maturity to mindfully realize the gap between need and want is only separated by the stains from starvation.
In Nel´s case mixed with her ever-changing human female physiology, the sprout of her endowments became more of an antidepressant to treat her scarred self-confidence of not being pangal. She was further injected with the assurance by her first love, whose adoration that probably started out to be just another notch on the bedpost, united two in addiction: Nel´s need for emotional love, Leon´s physical (no playwright would have to add to spice up the scenes) and all blended with trappings of wealth; and mainly her life began a hovering over the devil´s pit.
As Nel recants her life in “From Mistress to Minister”, it may seem like the ´pit´ was always within a few steps before she was finally ´raised up´ and put on the righteous path that formed a new unity of two, and then two more gifts sprouted, but I am quite confident Nel was never without a higher support. He gave her a monumental prize to love, to care for and all her tears of sorrow became the water as her rose came to full bloom on October 6, 2006.
But there still remains a question in my mind. The house Nel built in her heart has many rooms now that hold all her treasures acquired in the right place, but I sense hidden out of sight is a door that only one earthly man can truly unlock. If not, she would have honored his wishes and torn up his letter and not have exposed it to the public. That act is not closure, in a way willful, but still a heart yearning to feel the pounds of youth, the softness of love that finally comes as a union ages, with the self-assurance of no more hurt; moreover, hearts that finally bond at the right time.
Review by Ben Rayman