I was Tituba. Or at least, everyone thought I was. During my freshman year at a small liberal arts Christian college in Wenham, Massachusetts, my lifelong fascination with the Salem Witch Trials and an empty bank account prompted me to apply for a job as a historical reenactor. For nine dolllars an hour, I dressed in heavy cloaks, long skirts, and leather boots with golden buckles. I revived the past as a member of the…

“Nobody understands me,” Norman says over tea at a crowded Barnes and Noble. We’re nearing the end of our conversation, and the fervor with which Norman had previously discussed his politics and explained his one-man show about the life of the controversial abolitionist John Brown has subsided. “But of course nobody understands me,” he says. “I don’t understand anybody else. I don’t care about anybody’s life, but I want everybody to care about mine. It’s…