And there are already two characters capable of flying over the cuckoo's nest. In the first place, Randle Patrick McMurphy, to whom we all put the face of a histrionic Jack Nicholson in his insane interpretation of the protagonist of this groundbreaking story about psychiatric hospitals and their inhabitants. In second place we now find Sydney, a woman halfway between the real character and this pseudonym used for the story of a phase of introspective madness from the traumatic moment in which she decided to leave the world on a flight that only served to break various bones.
The truth is that the strange metaphor of flying over the cuckoo's nest seems to me the most accurate to define any phase of mental daze. Nothing so crazy and at the same time so symbolic. In the strangeness of the idea resides that initiatory magic of someone who invents a concept. Flying over the cuckoo's nest to define that exit from oneself, the depersonalization that projects the individual's will towards the uncontrolled flight of a senseless flight.
And besides, as I say, Sydney tried to fly. In principle, not on the cuckoo's nest but from that bridge where he tried to say goodbye to the world, a world as empty as it is apparently full of blessings and fortunes on what average people consider happiness to be.
The story of what happened to Sydney's bones comes from Ana, who projects on her character the passage through that period between psychiatrists, medications and internment centers. And that story goes through the 37 days that Sydney was circling that cuckoo's nest from above, looking for a landing strip at the same time that she began to enjoy the views.
Because sometimes that depersonalization, that loss of will that builds our destiny, also serves to discover us human and helpless, exposed but predisposed to feel again with greater intensity without the walls raised for years.
In the diary written "two-handed" between Ana and her alter ego Sydney we discover a story of ups and downs down that slide that the mind can be. But above all we see how humanity, in its kindest sense, is to a greater extent among those who unite in the face of adversity. And no worse adversity than the ghosts awakened from within in all those who fly over the cuckoo's nest at some point.
You can now buy the book How I Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Sydney Bristow's diary, here: