?”
David made one of the array of noncommittal noises he’d mastered over the years.
Levitt clucked his tongue. “Or, in your considered professional opinion, is she more properly termed a sociopath?”
David nodded sagely for a moment, cocking his head thoughtfully, then gave in to the inevitable. “What’s the difference?”
The old man sighed. “Trick question. Technically , no one is a psychopath or a sociopath anymore—they’re sufferers of Antisocial Personality Disorder now, and even back in the ’50s the distinction was disappearing, with the terms used interchangeably. But some people say there are two varieties of APD. For instance, maybe psychopaths have poor impulse control, and they’re more fearless, risk-seeking, and incapable of internalizing social norms. Psychopaths are louder and easier to notice. Sociopaths, though, have better impulse control, they can hold their tempers better, and don’t often take unnecessary risks—they can control themselves, and they’re better at passing as… for want of a better word… normal people. Psychopaths are incapable of love, while sociopaths can love, and intensely, though being the object of their love can be extremely dangerous—they might just kill a pretty waitress who flirts with you, for instance, or burn your house down to encourage you to move in with them. A sociopath is a selfish lover—they don’t respect rules or boundaries, and deep down they don’t much care about your needs, they begin to see you as an extension of themselves. Probably sounds romantic, to someone who’s an idiot. Passion and madness are so thinly divided, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’ve… never thought about it,” David said.
Levitt continued. “Then again, some people flip the words, and say sociopaths are the ones who are obviously crazy and can’t fit into society, while psychopaths are the manipulative con men who cruise through human society like sharks. You shouldn’t use either term, really, though people still do, even doctors, even though neither one really means a damn thing exactly. But psychopath or sociopath, organized or disorganized, both lack empathy, both have a propensity for violence—or at least a willingness to engage in violence more easily than other people do—and deep down, they don’t believe other people are real, not entirely, not like they are.”
“Ah,” David said. “I… I’m not sure Chief Cusack would like hearing his daughter was a sociopath. Or a psychopath. Or anything like that.”
Levitt grinned. “You think? I think so too. Probably it’s all a misunderstanding, anyway, the principal’s note is careful to say it’s just rumors and rumblings, nobody’s sure.” Levitt shrugged. He looked at the ceiling for a while, long enough that David looked up there too, wondering if there was a water stain in the shape of Jesus or something similarly arresting, but it was just acoustical tile. “Who are we to say lack of empathy is a bad thing?” Levitt mused, still looking up. “There’s a movement among people with APD, self-diagnosed and medically diagnosed, to be considered just… non-neurotypical. Not crazy. Just… different. They call the rest of you—ah, us—‘empaths,’ some of them. They’re just not like the rest of the human race. Perhaps even superior, their minds unclouded by sentiment, capable of a sort of ruthless rationality. What do you think of that idea?”
“I think it’s something I’d have to think about a lot more before I had any thoughts about it, if you see what I mean,” David said.
“That’s what I like about you, Counselor. You fully commit to failing to commit. Well, let’s keep this letter to ourselves—” Levitt plucked the note from Bonnie Grayduck’s old principal from the desk. “—and keep an eye on Bonnie. If any of her friends… meet a bad end… we’ll make some discreet inquiries. No reason to bother Harry when this could be nothing, hmm?”
“Of
David made one of the array of noncommittal noises he’d mastered over the years.
Levitt clucked his tongue. “Or, in your considered professional opinion, is she more properly termed a sociopath?”
David nodded sagely for a moment, cocking his head thoughtfully, then gave in to the inevitable. “What’s the difference?”
The old man sighed. “Trick question. Technically , no one is a psychopath or a sociopath anymore—they’re sufferers of Antisocial Personality Disorder now, and even back in the ’50s the distinction was disappearing, with the terms used interchangeably. But some people say there are two varieties of APD. For instance, maybe psychopaths have poor impulse control, and they’re more fearless, risk-seeking, and incapable of internalizing social norms. Psychopaths are louder and easier to notice. Sociopaths, though, have better impulse control, they can hold their tempers better, and don’t often take unnecessary risks—they can control themselves, and they’re better at passing as… for want of a better word… normal people. Psychopaths are incapable of love, while sociopaths can love, and intensely, though being the object of their love can be extremely dangerous—they might just kill a pretty waitress who flirts with you, for instance, or burn your house down to encourage you to move in with them. A sociopath is a selfish lover—they don’t respect rules or boundaries, and deep down they don’t much care about your needs, they begin to see you as an extension of themselves. Probably sounds romantic, to someone who’s an idiot. Passion and madness are so thinly divided, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’ve… never thought about it,” David said.
Levitt continued. “Then again, some people flip the words, and say sociopaths are the ones who are obviously crazy and can’t fit into society, while psychopaths are the manipulative con men who cruise through human society like sharks. You shouldn’t use either term, really, though people still do, even doctors, even though neither one really means a damn thing exactly. But psychopath or sociopath, organized or disorganized, both lack empathy, both have a propensity for violence—or at least a willingness to engage in violence more easily than other people do—and deep down, they don’t believe other people are real, not entirely, not like they are.”
“Ah,” David said. “I… I’m not sure Chief Cusack would like hearing his daughter was a sociopath. Or a psychopath. Or anything like that.”
Levitt grinned. “You think? I think so too. Probably it’s all a misunderstanding, anyway, the principal’s note is careful to say it’s just rumors and rumblings, nobody’s sure.” Levitt shrugged. He looked at the ceiling for a while, long enough that David looked up there too, wondering if there was a water stain in the shape of Jesus or something similarly arresting, but it was just acoustical tile. “Who are we to say lack of empathy is a bad thing?” Levitt mused, still looking up. “There’s a movement among people with APD, self-diagnosed and medically diagnosed, to be considered just… non-neurotypical. Not crazy. Just… different. They call the rest of you—ah, us—‘empaths,’ some of them. They’re just not like the rest of the human race. Perhaps even superior, their minds unclouded by sentiment, capable of a sort of ruthless rationality. What do you think of that idea?”
“I think it’s something I’d have to think about a lot more before I had any thoughts about it, if you see what I mean,” David said.
“That’s what I like about you, Counselor. You fully commit to failing to commit. Well, let’s keep this letter to ourselves—” Levitt plucked the note from Bonnie Grayduck’s old principal from the desk. “—and keep an eye on Bonnie. If any of her friends… meet a bad end… we’ll make some discreet inquiries. No reason to bother Harry when this could be nothing, hmm?”
“Of
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