The Jezebel Tracks is a searching and fiercely theological essay collection where you examine family abuse, covert Christian narcissism, addiction, spiritual warfare, and survival. What first convinced you that these essays needed to exist as a book rather than remain private reflections?

I think a couple of things are at play here.

1) People who grow up in the almost Truman Show-like dynamics of a family like mine come to understand that something is wrong, but often, they don’t know exactly what it is unless they seek help and begin a search for the reality behind the smokescreen. It is so frustrating and so strange, and when the picture becomes clear, the depth and darkness of the evil it reveals is transfixing. It can be simultaneously liberating and horrifying—it stops you in your tracks. I think a lot of people who are on this kind of search, especially if they come from a family like mine, might benefit from a boost up the research tree in their quest to make sense of the strangeness from which they come. I hope this book can help provide that kind of boost.

2) Getting all the way into the demonic, I believe the spirit of Jezebel likes to hide. This is a key aspect of the covertness of covert Christian narcissism. I believe this thing doesn’t want to be found out, and I am grateful to have the opportunity to expose it, at least insofar as my upbringing under the tacitly dominating authority of my maternal grandmother and the family dynamic she created is concerned. I think these essays needed to be published in book form to at least have the potential to reach people who come from a cocktail of darkness like the one in which I was raised, and let them know they are not alone, that these dynamics are documented phenomena, and to encourage them to keep going—to keep fighting to at least get on a path to breaking free. I feel very strongly about trying to reach these people. I think that is the primary reason I wrote this collection.

You describe abuse that often arrived through politeness, performance, or spiritual language rather than open violence. Why was it important to explore that quieter form of control?

Covert narcissism seems to me to be the most pernicious form of the disorder. The mannerliness, the performance, and the spiritual rhetoric that characterized the atmosphere my grandmother engendered were aspects of deceit. The concept of the wolf in sheep’s clothing is highlighted in several New Testament books. This quiet form of control is the wolf-in-sheep ’s-clothing dynamic. I think it is more evil than overt narcissism because its cornerstone is deception. This deception—what you see is the opposite of what you will get—echoes the same elemental aspect of evil presented in Genesis. The Nachash, the serpent-like entity in the account, is primarily a deceiver. The world my grandmother fabricated, orchestrated, and funded—an elaborate bal masqué—papered over the dark spiritual realities in the family, which, in addition to covering her motives, also helped obscure the true personalities and motives of some other family members. Again, at least for me, it was kind of like The Truman Show. My grandmother was so good at her act, and so consistent with it, that I bought it hook, line, and sinker in my naïve youth. Finally understanding the depth of that deception and the personality disorder ramifications of it shook me to my core. How can a person who looks so good be so evil? Well, my conclusion is that people who engage in this kind of deception may be some of the most evil there are.

The phrase “covert Christian narcissism” carries enormous weight in the book. How would you define it for readers unfamiliar with the concept?

This is a great and central question. Over the decades, through counseling and a lot of research, along with the support of a few truly prayerful friends, I came to understand pieces of the puzzle of my background—like my dad’s overt narcissism, but there was a lot more to dig up. It was like doing a big jigsaw puzzle over decades. If I recall correctly, I started watching Christian counselor and narcissism expert Kris Reece’s videos in July of 2024 when I was in Mexico. I had never heard of covert Christian narcissism, and, as she explained it, all the light bulbs lit up simultaneously. That was the last piece of the puzzle. Additionally, it was as if an electromagnetic force caused all the slightly out-of- place pieces to arrange themselves and fall into place—creating a clear and complete, if devastating, picture of my background. It was transfixing—truly stunning. At that point, I was ready to write, and I started the first piece in the collection that would become The Jezebel Tracks right then and there. Eleven months later, at the end of June 2025, the manuscript was complete. Covert Christian narcissism is covert narcissism with a thick veneer of Christianity shellacked around it as a disguise. A covert narcissist uses guilt and creates a sense of obligation in his or her targets, often presenting himself or herself as a perpetual victim or almost a martyr. They use this act to pull in empathetic people to provide them with the attention—the narcissistic supply—they need to feel important and substantial. Their inner worlds are so barren that, parasite-like, they need to get their validation from others’ attention and their dependence on them. They do not have the emotional and spiritual warm bloodedness of genuinely caring, empathetic people, but they need these people attending to them to feel viable as persons, to not feel hollow inside. I think of narcissists—both covert and overt—as emotionally and spiritually cold-blooded—essentially reptilian in nature, and devoid of the warmth of true human empathy, kindness, and, most importantly and devastatingly, love. Something I read many years ago put it succinctly. The author wrote, “The narcissist has made the terrible decision not to love.” A covert Christian narcissist’s doing this in the name of Christ while adopting a persona of performative holiness makes the decision all the more chilling and insidious.

Despite the darkness in the book, it ultimately argues against despair. Why was it important that the collection end in defiance rather than collapse?

There is defiance in the collection and particularly in the ending, but the most elemental sense is of having come through the storm of my life. It is kind of a deep exhalation that really required my whole life experience to that point to fully leave my psychological and spiritual respiratory system. I think the collection ends in release—the release from my depression and the release from not understanding the full picture of the darkness from which I come. I didn’t make the story do anything or happen a certain way. This is nonfiction. It actually happened. I didn’t rescue me. God did. And the first major assignment after the rescue was writing The Jezebel Tracks.

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Did you grow up in a family of extreme narcissists and their enablers, or have you ever wondered what it’s like to live in that kind of fishbowl environment? If so, The Jezebel Tracks is for you.

Gardner Landry’s essays feature both overt and covert histrionic narcissists—at least one of whom likely qualifies as a psychopath—while also exploring the bizarre psychodynamics of his family. Along the way, he reflects on Houston and New Orleans, and the curious ways these cities relate to one another.

You’ll meet Landry’s dramatic, buffoonish father, his chillingly psychopathic side, and a maternal grandmother who is outwardly sweet yet privately manipulative—the queen bee of the family. Topsy-turvy gender roles, financial charades, and spiritual dimensions of abuse reveal themselves, as Landry examines what he believes to be the spiritual roots of these disorders, culminating in an unexpected journey toward redemption. Buckle up for the ride.