The Phantom Prince / Elizabeth Kendall

The Phantom Prince: My Life with Ted Bundy by Elizabeth Kendall
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

This was an impulse read, a book which I noticed our library had on order. Years ago I read Anne Rule's book on Ted Bundy The Stranger Beside Me: Ted Bundy: The Shocking Inside Story and she mentioned this woman (in a somewhat derogatory way, if I remember correctly). Bundy was a big story when I was in high school and his actions and trials may have been what started my life long fascination with true crime stories. Sometimes I wonder if I read this genre to get clues about keeping safe. On the theory that if I can figure out where other women went wrong, I can avoid the same mistakes.

Rule mentioned this book in passing and I tried to find it years ago without success. This version is a new edition with some new thoughts from a woman who has hit bottom and has struggled to free herself from the expectations of patriarchal religion, from addiction, and from an abusive, manipulative relationship. There were several times that it seemed to me that she was assuming responsibility for things that weren't hers. This idea that somehow women are responsible for the behaviour of their boyfriends and husbands. This lets the men off the hook and makes women feel like they are crazy. As if there was anything that Liz could have done to fix Bundy.

It's hard to believe awful things about anyone, let alone someone you have an intimate relationship with. This is one of the reasons that people remain in abusive situations. When one of my sisters was extracting herself from an abusive marriage, her counsellor told her that taking 4 to 6 years to take decisive action isn't unusual. This means that Liz, who was involved with Bundy for 6 years, was completely within the bounds of normal. But her subconscious was working overtime. Her drinking just kept getting worse, probably because she didn't want to see the situation clearly. Her suspicions kept driving her to talk to the police, followed by feelings of guilt for having those doubts. No wonder that these swings in view added to her substance abuse led the police to unkindly call her “a real squirrel.”

I wonder if she would receive better treatment today, with our greater understanding of addiction. One can hope so. I really felt for her daughter, who kept some unsettling experiences to herself for a long time. So many of us keep secrets for fear of not being believed. I think both of these women are exceptionally luck to be alive. I wish them both peace.

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