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** spoiler alert ** Some things are better left unsaid, so the saying goes.

I personally disagree with that sentiment. While very few topics are considered “taboo�� anymore, a few cultural taboos still linger; subjects upon which many writers still fear to tread due to its general unpleasantness. Cancer used to be taboo. So did adultery and homosexuality. Taboos succeed in creating an atmosphere in which feelings never get expressed and problems never get solved. Taboos generally make things worse.

Pedophilia is, in some ways, still a taboo subject. It’s probably taboo for a good reason, as the word itself is cringe-worthy. It stops conversations dead, makes everyone feel uncomfortable, and brings to mind nothing but disturbing thoughts and images. It’s understandable why pedophilia is a taboo subject, but it’s also important to note that it’s an issue that needs to be addressed. Keeping quiet and turning a blind eye is what got the Catholic church in trouble regarding this issue, so it’s not an issue that can simply be swept under the rug anymore. Of course, tactfulness and discretion is always in order.

Outside of memoirs and other nonfiction, pedophilia is not an issue many fiction writers are willing to tackle. The few writers willing to confront the subject matter often find ways of doing it subtly; bringing it up without actually having to bring it up. Those few writers who don’t tiptoe around the subject are often accused of being too “in your face�� or “graphic��. It’s a tough subject to deal with in writing.

Michael Connelly, in his riveting but disturbing novel “The Poet��, attempts to write about pedophilia without walking on eggshells. It’s graphic and horrifying and makes the reader naturally uncomfortable, which are the book’s strengths AND weaknesses. I consider “The Poet�� a successful failure of a novel. To explain: Connelly uses the subject matter of pedophilia to create a taut, edge-of-the-seat crime thriller, something which he succeeds in doing. He also succeeds in creating a thoroughly unpleasant read, precisely because of the subject matter. “The Poet�� is an excellent thriller, but it is not a fun read.

Of course, I may be coming at this reading with a unique perspective, one that I did not have a year ago. Indeed, if I had read this book a year ago, i’m sure that may appreciation for this book would have been much different. What’s changed?

Well, for one, I’m now a father.

Prior to having a child, I never fully appreciated or understood how truly life-changing it was to become a parent, nor how completely in love one person can be with another. In my child’s face I see a perfect genetic blend of my wife and me. I see my past and my future, and I see a hope for the human race. I also now understand the intense feelings of protectiveness that inherently comes with parenthood. I would do anything to shelter and protect my little girl from the evils of the world.

Pedophiles are the natural enemies of parents. They are a parent’s polar opposites: Whereas parents want to nurture and see grow, pedophiles want to defile and destroy. Whereas parents want to keep pure, pedophiles want to sully and contaminate.

Prior to having my child, I was, perhaps, somewhat of a “bleeding heart�� liberal and a Christian in my views toward pedophiles: maybe they CAN be rehabilitated and cured of their sickness, and it is the judicial system’s and the church’s duty to try. Pedophiles aren’t monsters, after all. They are still human beings, albeit flawed, and, most likely, victims themselves.

Nowadays, to that I say: Bullshit.

Pedophiles are evil and incomprehensibly so. Whatever possesses a human being to do something so ugly and inhuman to a child is beyond comprehension and beyond my sympathetic and empathetic capabilities. I don’t care if they were victims themselves. I no longer care or believe that they can be rehabilitated, because I would never allow a known pedophile---rehabilitated or otherwise---anywhere near my child. And, despite my Judeo-Christian upbringing and belief in tolerance and nonviolence, I would have no hesitation or guilt in defending my daughter, even if it includes killing a pedophile. It frightens me to say that, but it is true.

In “The Poet��, one of Connelly’s characters, a seasoned FBI agent named Rachel Walling, expresses similar views to the protagonist, Jack McEvoy. He and the reader are, I suppose, expected to feel shocked and appalled by her statement. She is, after all, an agent of the Law. She is beholden to upholding the Law and supporting the basic moral tenet that murder is wrong and unforgivable, and yet she admits to having no problems wanting to put a bullet in the brains of a pedophile. I found myself surprised to feel no shock or disgust at what she was saying. I whole-heartedly agreed with her.

There is a certain genius in Connelly’s writing talent that one is never sure how one is “supposed�� to feel about anything in the book. There is no manipulation of emotions. He leaves it up to us, the readers, to bring our own sense of morality to the reading.

Take the protagonist, Jack McEvoy, for example: He is a Denver journalist who, after the very controversial and publicized suicide of his older brother (the lead homicide detective of an investigation into the brutal murder of a young schoolteacher), stumbles upon evidence that the police originally missed that confirms that his brother’s suicide was actually a murder. McEvoy quickly does more research that reveals a serial killer’s trail across the country.

While his investigative skills carry the investigation, the reader is never fully convinced that he is doing it for the right reasons. Is he doing all this to avenge his brother, or is he simply hoping to find that Big Story, the one that may finally get him a Pullitzer Prize and a higher-paying job as a staff reporter for a newspaper like the Chicago Tribune or the Los Angeles Times? At times, McAvoy seems like a good guy, just trying to clear his brother’s reputation. At other times, he looks like a self-aggrandizing asshole. Connelly refrains from making any editorial judgment.

The killer himself is an interesting character study in duality. At once perverted and vicious, the killer’s life is gradually revealed in bits and pieces that are meant to help us understand, if not necessarily sympathize, with why he does what he does. From an objective standpoint, the killer’s life is a sad one, and he appears (like almost all pedophiles) to have been a victim of gross sexual abuse as a child himself.

From a subjective standpoint, I didn’t give a shit. I hated him, and my hatred made me uncomfortable. It is not a side of myself that I liked seeing. Sadly, this discomfort carried over to the rest of the novel, tainting what I would have otherwise considered an excellent thriller. Through no fault of Connelly’s.

I respect Connelly for not walking on eggshells and for telling it like it is. I admire the fact that he was not afraid to be graphic when necessary because turning a blind eye to this kind of inhumanity is, in my opinion, just as dangerous as those who perpetrate this type of inhumanity. While some things may very well be better left unsaid, continued physical and sexual abuse of children should never be one of those things that are swept under the rug or dismissed or simply ignored because it’s “too uncomfortable�� a subject matter.