Sato

A five-year-old boy is brought to see a psychologist: Kostya claims he is a prisoner—Counter-Admiral Sato, commanding a punitive corps. His freedom is limited: he has to live by a certain daily schedule, wear tights, and eat broccoli. At the same time, for his age he is surprisingly collected and erudite, and his sense of humor is definitely not childish. The novel’s events unfold over twelve years—up until the main character reaches adulthood. The reader has to find out: is Kostya suffering from dissociative identity disorder—or does Sato really exist? Why is the family, where there’s always some kind of hell going on, considered normal? And why isn’t the boy who thinks he’s a counter-admiral? Notice, though: all that would require was respecting his rights—agreeing with him, following rules, not lying—and the problems wouldn’t have arisen. But there is a norm according to which a child is not a person. And that’s why the boy who zealously guards his boundaries became a problem—because what they expected of him was passivity, unquestioning obedience, and a complete absence of his own opinion. This socially acceptable lie is fear. Fear of hurting, fear of looking bad. They endure humiliations and justify those who humiliate them. They’re weak. And it’s not about physical capabilities. Good therapists help their clients; bad ones get treated by them.