Q&A with Jennifer Dupree

Jen and Katie talk friendship, disability, advocacy, and the release of Jen's new memoir, SLOW MOTION

ABOUT SLOW MOTION

At twenty-one, Jen Dupree is working as an Activity Director in a nursing home when she meets Marcel—a man twenty-five years her senior who has cerebral palsy. Despite the physical limitations of his disability, Jen sees in Marcel a magnificent spark: endless curiosity, infectious humor, and an unshakeable propensity for joy. When a doctor tells Marcel to "get up and move around" despite his chart clearly noting he's never walked, Jen asks if the doctor brought his magic wand. It's the beginning of a friendship that will span three decades.

Slow Motion is both a heartfelt tribute to an extraordinary friendship and an awakening to disability rights and advocacy. By turns hilarious and heartbreaking, these stories reveal how Marcel has navigated prejudice, medical dismissal, and an ableist culture with grace and determination—and how Jen learned to see the world through entirely new eyes.

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Jen, thank you for engaging in this Q&A with me! I adored your book, and I’m so excited to hear your thoughts and responses to these questions. Let’s jump right in. Slow Motion is a story about friendship, disability, and advocacy, with the primary characters being you and your friend Marcel. How did you conceptualize how, and with which lens, you would tell this story?

To me, it’s primarily a book about friendship (I’m so glad that comes first in the subtitle).

I originally had in mind that I’d write the entire thing as direct address–the “you” voice that’s still peppered throughout the book–because I was convinced it needed to be a  letter to Marcel. I wanted this very intimate and personal material to be just between me and Marcel. Of course, we decided it should be out in the world (Marcel came to this way before I did), I wasn’t sure I could be so vulnerable. But, Marcel is vulnerable every day, with no choice, and so I figured I could be, too.

The book definitely puts friendship first. For that reason, did you have any reservations about branding yourself as an advocate? Did you always feel comfortable using the term?

I don’t have reservations about the term “advocate,” maybe because people have been telling me for so long that I am one. Sometimes they say it like “Thank you for your advocacy,” in a tone that makes me think they aren’t that thankful!

This is your story featuring Marcel—but for many reasons it is not Marcel’s own voice telling it. Why couldn’t Marcel write this book? What are the ethical stakes of telling someone else’s story, particularly someone marginalized by disability? 

Marcel never learned to read. Things were very different when Marcel was growing up in the 50s and 60s than they are now, and kids with disabilities didn’t have the same opportunities and support they have now. Marcel is incredibly smart and curious and he has, over the years, learned to sight-read quite a bit. But he doesn’t feel comfortable with his command of language. When I approached him with the idea of writing about him, I actually framed it as “you don’t want me to write about you, do you?” I leaned hard into the kind of inflection that made it obvious to him I expected him to say no, that he didn’t want me to write about him. But he got pretty excited and said yes, he wanted me to write about him. I absolutely worried about appropriation, but I read most of this book to Marcel (not all of it because he found it a bit boring to hear about things he already knows), and I told him absolutely everything in it. He had veto power. He put so much trust in me, and I am honored by that. I believe whole-heartedly in people with disabilities telling their own stories, but, in this case, Marcel couldn’t. And his is a story that also deserves to be told.

I’m someone who has found my most valuable friendships in those who are much older than me. I’ve always valued mentorship and am always fascinated by how it can flow in different directions. You were twenty-one when you met Marcel, who was twenty-five years your senior, was this situation out of the ordinary for you?

It’s funny because Marcel has always looked young, so I didn’t really know how old he was when we first met. Age doesn’t really matter to me, but I do think I’m an old soul. My husband is nineteen years older than me, and one of my dearest friends just turned ninety-five. I’m an only child and I didn’t have any cousins near my age, so I was around adults a lot. I’m definitely more comfortable, and have always been more comfortable, around adults. Kids make me a little nervous!

On a similar note, there’s an excellent chapter in the book where you discuss boundaries in the relationship, being two heterosexual people in a platonic relationship. Did you ever feel that you had to have “the talk” about the nature of your friendship with Marcel? Or was it an unspoken agreement?

I was only very briefly single during the span of our friendship. And once my husband, Steve, and Marcel met, they formed a strong friendship of their own. There is always the question of feelings, and I skirted it more than I should have with Marcel. But, also, once you have that conversation, there’s no un-having it. And it can make things pretty awkward. I think if I’d had any indication to think Marcel had more than platonic feelings for me, I would have talked with him about it. It would have been unkind not to! 

The book asks: What does it mean to live slowly in a culture obsessed with speed and efficiency? How does Marcel’s pace confront cultural values about productivity and worth?

There really is something about our culture that values productivity over everything else. I see it in myself, too, but I do think being friends with Marcel has taught me that sometimes you can just be. Sometimes just being a presence for someone is enough, just trying to be kind and thoughtful. To listen, to not always offer solutions. I think I’ve learned to do that for Marcel (because there often aren’t solutions for the things he needs), but he has always done that for me.That said, Marcel is often embarrassed by his physical slowness, by the things his body can’t do. I think a lot of that shame comes from what society says is “healthy” or “contributing.” But society tells us a lot of things that aren’t true–what beauty is, what love is, what defines worth, just to name a few things.

Independence, too, is something society gets wrong. How would you define independence? Is that different from how society defines it? Has your personal journey with Marcel altered how you view your own interdependence with people and society?

It’s interesting because independence and autonomy are two different things, in my eyes. Marcel can’t actually be all that independent–he has to rely on other people to do a fair number of things for him. But that has nothing to do with his personhood–the way he thinks and feels, what he believes, what he enjoys. Don’t get me wrong–he values whatever independence he can get and I often help him advocate for that, but it’s so clear to me that depending on other people doesn’t lessen your essential self. That said, it’s always been hard for me to need other people. Being friends with Marcel and seeing how he has no choice but to depend on others, has made me more willing to ask for and accept help. 

The doctor telling Marcel to “get up and move around” is both absurd and infuriating. Did you ever fear speaking up against the ableist professionals in your workplace?

Oh, for sure. I’m scared all the time–physically my heart beats fast and adrenaline courses through my body. I often shake. And I’m afraid, too, of what might happen to Marcel if I push too hard and someone takes their dislike of me out on him. I almost always remember to check in with Marcel and ask him if he thinks I’ve gone too far, and he’ll tell me if I have. I have a terrible temper! Ultimately, though, I’m not just speaking up for Marcel–I hope that I’m moving the awareness and empathy needle just a little bit. 

And do you think the needle has moved? Was this kind of medical ableism more common when you first met Marcel? Has it changed?

It is and was common. It’s changed in the sense that we don’t practice forced sterilization of people with disabilities anymore (at least for now, although I fear we’re headed that way again). But there still seems to be this automatic assumption that people who are physically disabled also have cognitive impairment. I always push back against that, too, and ask why it matters–if someone has cognitive impairments, shouldn’t we still speak to them and treat them like they’re sentient beings? There’s a story in the book about a woman who called me because she saw Marcel out wheeling by himself and wanted to make sure he was okay. Both Marcel and Steve thought I over-reacted a bit when I lit into this woman about ableism. They both pointed out that she was only trying to be nice. But I actually think this a sneaky, insipid ableism–it’s telling a person they don’t belong in a certain space, but disguising it (confusingly) as care. She was worried about Marcel not because he was bleeding or tipped over or stuck in the mud or throwing up–she was worried based only on the way he looks. So, yes, I think ableism has shifted from overt hatred to a more subtle “you don’t belong here” vibe. 

Speaking of which, this book does have its sad, frustrating moments where Marcel faces, if not hatred, major discrimination. But you, and Marcel, are both hilarious. How does humor function as a survival tool in the book? As defiance?

Right from the get-go, Marcel and I recognized a shared sense of humor. But I also  think that, whenever I have the chance, I like to show off Marcel’s sense of humor because humor is a sign of intelligence (I actually think it’s way harder to do comedy than tragedy). I want people to see how funny he is because then maybe they’ll understand how smart he is. I don’t know if humor is defiance for me, but I for sure use it as a barometer to judge if a person is going to be someone I like or not!

A lot of us who experience immense amounts of privilege (whether it's gender-based, racial, or because of ability) are inspired to make change because of our exposure and relationships with those who are different from us. How does personal friendship evolve into political awareness and advocacy? Can something so small, like a connection between two people, make lasting change on a greater scale?

I really think it can! Only recently did I get to know a Drag Queen through my work at the library. I’ve known of drag, but I never had the opportunity to get to know someone who does drag. (Or maybe I did and just didn’t know they did drag.) I’ve always been pretty open-minded, but I never advocated for drag before I knew this person. And then, once I started and I personally received hate mail and threats, well, there’s no shutting me up now! 

Wow. Librarians really are on the front lines these days!! Ending on a more personal note, I grew up with a physically and neurologically disabled father. While reading Slow Motion, I felt such a confusing mixture of validation, guilt, comfort, familiarity, joy, sadness, the whole range of emotions! But I want to briefly touch on the feelings of guilt—I think that many children of disabled parents probably feel an uncomfortable level of guilt about the situation. It’s an unnatural reversal of events, feeling that you have to take care of the one taking care of you. It’s a situation most people don’t find themselves in until they are well into adulthood. Your situation is a little different because you and Marcel are not blood-related, but did you ever experience guilt for not doing enough, or not being enough for this person whom you love?

I was raised Catholic, so I feel guilt about everything! Seriously, though, it’s hard not to feel guilt–like when I can’t understand what Marcel is trying to tell me, I beat myself up about it even though I know he forgives me. It’s this constant feeling that I have been given a very easy life and that it isn’t fair. But, also, what am I supposed to do about that? I think I’m lucky in the sense that Marcel has always been firm that he doesn’t want to come live with us. If he did want that and I couldn’t do it, it would be terrible. He tells me not to drive in the snow because he knows I hate it. He tells me to go home when I’ve been with him in the hospital for a long time. He makes sure I eat, even when he can’t. He withholds a lot of things that happen that he knows I’ll worry about and feel bad I can’t do more about. I think this is how he takes care of me, he protects me from feeling guilty by not asking for things I can’t deliver. (which also makes me feel guilty, but see above about being raised Catholic). 

Thank you so much for your time, do you want to end by telling us a little bit about what Marcel’s life is like in 2026? What is he looking forward to this year and is he excited about the book?

Marcel has had a new wave of health issues in 2025-2026, but that hasn’t stopped him from being happy and optimistic. He’s planning on attending his beloved Pine Tree Camp this summer. And he’s very much looking forward to this book being in the world. He wants people to know what it’s like to live with a profound disability and he’s pretty excited that (I think) we’ve done it.

AND WE FEEL THE SAME!

SLOW MOTION IS OUT TUESDAY, MARCH 3RD, 2026

Join us for Jen's book launch party at Longfellow Books on Thursday, March 5th at 6pm. Come hear Jen and Maine Writers and Publishers Alliance's Taryn Bowe have a discussion about the book, and get your copy signed by Jen! Books will be on sale at the event or can be pre-ordered through Longfellow.