Deb Olin Unferth

Calling Deb Olin Unferth's debut memoir by its short title alone will leave readers confused and hungry for something else--this book is, in fact, all about its subtitle: The Year I Fell in Love and Went to Join the War. What is most redeeming about Olin Unferth's literary journey is just this--her utter honesty, the narcissism of coming of age, even when one is eating only bread, preparing for a shortage of water, and fending off spiders in the shapes of plates. There is a beautiful show more restlessness to it, especially to Olin Unferth's romance with fellow "Sandalista" George. She writes, at the beginning of the essay "Love" (the book is composed of very short "flash" memoirs, "We didn't use the word 'love' with each other. We prided ourselves on it. Not for the usual fairy-tale Communist reasons (love is a capitalist prison) (Communists are always so drearily romantic) but for our own fairy-tale reason: we wouldn't say it unless we knew our love would last forever..." Here we are at a pivotal point in Central American history--the perpetual turning-over of governments, of revolutions, again and again, all across the map--and Olin Unferth writes of her simple human experience. It is refreshingly politically incorrect.

The book reads very quickly--the prose style is very minimalist--very fitting for the setting/scenes of the story. It didn't blow me out out of the water, but it seems to me the sort of thing you have to do at least once. Much like going off to join a revolution. show less

Memoir with an impossible-to-describe but perfectly pitched voice, will remind everybody what it is like to be 18-years-old and lost.

Quote: "One morning I looked out the window and a huge tank stood in front of our house. It took up the whole street. So the FMLN ran away and the army moved in. They put a missile launcher in the window and my mother dusted it every day. ‘Mom,’ I said, ‘stop dusting that thing. It doesn’t matter if it’s dusty.’ Still, she dusted. And she tidied. show more All day she went around the living room, putting the grenades into little rows and folding the soldiers’ clothing. They never lived anywhere so clean." show less

This memoir is a little on the slim side, but it is utterly fascinating. It's part memoir, part travelogue. It has the air of someone recounting a time in their life when ever single thing was different, trying to explain it to people who clearly don't understand. That's not to say it doesn't make sense - it's easy to picture her scenarios, to see her wandering through towns, no water, her dress torn. It's one of those things, though, that you can't fully understand unless you've lived it. I show more highly recommend throwing this book into your bag if you're heading off to unfamiliar territory. It's not your typical travel novel. There's a lot more introspection woven into this one, with just a touch of philosophy. show less

Near the start of this book, Unferth writes,

"My boyfriend and I went to join the revolution.
We couldn't find the first revolution.
The second revolution hired us on and then let us go.
We went to other revolutions in the area . . . "

I had close friends who were there in those days; I spent a lot of time wondering if they'd been killed. The CIA opened my mail routinely. (No kidding: they'd slash it open, tape it up & stamp it "Langley, VA -- they wanted me to know, were trying to scare me.) So show more this blithe tone made me a bit wary.

Soon, though, I was charmed. Unferth doesn't except herself from her irony (she refers to revolutionaries such as her boyfriend & herself as sandalistas) and allows this book to become a story less about political revolution, more about a personal one.

For instance, a ban on an opposition newspaper is lifted. Unferth tells the story wonderfully, then admits she's not sure it happened that way at all. But there's a quiet moment in her hostel that she has all the details for: "My coming of age story, if I had one, would be right here. It didn't involve a loss of innocence or man's inhumanity to man. . . . I just knew -- I wasn't who I would be. More of me was coming."

Unferth is likable as a narrator and as a character. Her writing is witty, wry, and compassionate. When she does deal with the politics of the time she can be devastatingly effective. If you're looking for a book about the Sandinistas, this wouldn't be the first I'd recommend. If you like smart, well-written books about being young, being female, just being human, then maybe you should check this out. I'll certainly be reading more of her work. show less