Kampusch - 3,096 Days in Captivity
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- Book:3,096 Days in Captivity
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- Year:2011
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3,096 Days in Captivity: summary, description and annotation
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As one of the worlds top experts on psychopathy and criminal behavior, Mary Ellen OToole has seen repeatedly how relying on the sense of fear alone often fails to protect us from danger. Whether you are opening the door to a stranger or meeting a date you connected with online, you need to know how to protect yourself from harm--physical, financial, legal, and professional. Using the SMART method, which OToole developed and used at the FBI, we can confidently know how to: respond to a threat in any situation; hire someone who will work inside your home, like a contractor or housekeeper; figure out whether a prospective employee is a safe bet; know whom you can trust with your children. A useful book for women living alone, parents who are concerned about their childrens safety, and employers worried about employees who might go postal.--From publisher description.;Test your instincts -- The dangers of relying on instincts and intuition -- Personality : its what makes people tick -- What makes people dangerous -- Why we miss the details that matter -- How to improve your judgment -- How to assess and mitigate risk -- How to uncover information -- How to size someone up -- How to make a decision -- The dangerous instincts safety guide -- Appendix: the dangerous instincts resource list.
Kampusch: author's other books
Who wrote 3,096 Days in Captivity? Find out the surname, the name of the author of the book and a list of all author's works by series.
Kampusch
Rebecca Hagelin
Wayne LaPierre
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Table of Contents
A testament to the power of the imagination in the face of a most terrifying predicament... A brilliantly insightful dissection of her years in captivity. [Kampusch] calmly recounts not just the tricks of the sadistic kidnapper... but also gives her reader a taste of the nightmarish fantasies that stalked her own mind.
The Observer
Thoughtful, unflinching, and remarkably devoid of self-pity... Remarkablenot just for Kampuschs account of her ordeal but as a testament to her indomitable spirit.
The Sunday Times
One of the most gripping books Ive read in a long time, largely because its so absolutely inconceivable that a person (a little girl, to make matters worse) could spend eight years in conditions that not even imprisoned criminals have to endure. As a reader, you swing between disbelief, anger, and then incomprehension.
The Citizen
An excellent book... Kampusch takes us coolly through her extraordinary experience.
Mail on Sunday
Psychological trauma is an affliction of the powerless. At the moment of trauma, the victim is rendered helpless by overwhelming force. When the force is that of nature, we speak of disasters. When the force is that of other human beings, we speak of atrocities. Traumatic events overwhelm the ordinary systems of care that give people a sense of control, connection and meaning.
JUDITH HERMAN, TRAUMA AND RECOVERY
MY CRUMBLING WORLD
My Childhood on the Outskirts of Vienna
My mother lit a cigarette and took a deep puff. Its already dark outside. Think of all the things that couldve happened to you! She shook her head.
My father and I had spent the last weekend of February 1998 in Hungary, where he had purchased a holiday house in a small village not far from the border. It was a complete dump, with damp walls where the plaster was crumbling off. Over the years he had renovated the house, furnishing it with beautiful old furniture, making it nearly inhabitable through his efforts. Still, I was not particularly fond of going there. My father had a number of friends in Hungary with whom he spent a great deal of time, always drinking a little bit too much thanks to the favourable currency exchange rate. In the bars and restaurants we visited in the evenings, I was the only child in the group. I would sit there saying nothing, bored.
I had reluctantly gone with him to Hungary on this occasion as well. Time seemed to move incredibly slowly, and I was angry that I was still too young and had no say in how I spent my time. Even when we visited the thermal spa in the area that Sunday, I was less than overjoyed. In a rotten mood, I was strolling through the spa premises when a woman I knew asked me, Would you like to have a soda with me? I nodded and followed her into the caf. She was an actress and lived in Vienna. I admired her because she always exuded great serenity and seemed so self-assured. Besides, I had always secretly dreamed of being an actress. After a while, I took a deep breath and said, You know, I would like to become an actress too. Do you think I could do that?
She beamed a smile at me. Of course you could, Natascha! Youd be a great actress if thats what you really want!
My heart leapt at that. I had truly expected not to be taken seriously or even to be laughed atas had happened many times before.
When youre ready, Ill help you, she promised me, putting her arm around my shoulders.
On the way back to the swimming area, I bounded about in high spirits, humming to myself, I can do anything if I want it enough and believe in myself enough. I felt more light-hearted and untroubled than I had in a long time.
However, my euphoria was cut short. The afternoon was already getting on, but my father wasnt making any move to leave the spa. When we finally returned to his holiday house, he again didnt seem to be in any great hurry. Just the opposite. He even wanted to lie down for a short while. I glanced nervously at the clock. We had promised my mother that we would be home by seven oclock, because the next day was a school day. I knew that there would be a heated discussion if we didnt get back to Vienna on time. While he lay snoring on the couch, the clock kept ticking away inexorably. It was already dark when my father finally woke up and we began the trip home. I sat in the back seat pouting and saying nothing. We wouldnt make it on time, my mother would be angry, and everyting that had been so pleasant this afternoon would be ruined in one fell swoop. As always, I would be caught in the middle. Adults always ruined everything. When my father stopped at a petrol station and bought me a chocolate bar, I crammed the whole thing into my mouth at once.
It wasnt until 8:30, one and a half hours late, that we arrived at the Rennbahnsiedlung council estate. Ill let you out here, run home quickly, said my father and gave me a kiss.
I love you, I muttered as always when saying goodbye. Then I ran through the dark courtyard to our stairway and unlocked the door. In the foyer there was a note from my mother next to the telephone: Ive gone to the cinema. Be back later. I put my bag down and hesitated a moment. Then I scribbled a short note to my mother that I would wait for her at our neighbours flat, one floor below ours. When she came to pick me up there a while later, she was beside herself.
Where is your father? she barked at me.
He didnt come with me. He dropped me off out the front, I said quietly. It wasnt my fault we were late and it wasnt my fault that he hadnt walked me to our front door. But still I felt guilty.
Jesus Christ! You are hours late. Here Ive been, worrying. How could he let you cross the courtyard by yourself? In the middle of the night? Something could have happened to you. Ill tell you one thing: You are not to see your father anymore. Im so sick and tired of this and I wont put up with it any longer!
When I was born on 17 February 1988, my mother was thirty-eight years old and already had two grown-up daughters. She had had my first half-sister when she was just eighteen years old and the second came about a year later. That was at the end of the 1960s. The two small children were more than my mother, who was on her own, could handle. She and the girls father had divorced soon after the birth of my second half-sister. It was not easy for her to make a living for her small family. She had to struggle, took a pragmatic approach to things, was somewhat tough on herself and did everything in order to get her children through. There was no place in her life for sentimentality or a lack of assertiveness, for leisure or lightness. At thirty-eight, now that both girls were grown up, she was free from the obligations and worries of raising children for the first time in a long while. It was exactly at that time that I came along. My mother had not counted on getting pregnant again.
The family that I was born into was actually in the process of dissolving itself once again. I turned everything on its head. All of the baby stuff had to be brought out of storage, and daily life had to adjust one more time to the needs of an infant. Even though I was welcomed with joy and spoilt like a little princess by everybody, as a child I sometimes felt like the third wheel. I had to fight to establish myself in a world where all the roles had already been assigned.
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