Civil War – Borderless

Book Review by Andreas Giesbert

Title: Requiem of a Lost Nation

Author: Angel Ramon

Angel Ramon is best known for his B-movie horror books. The Frogmaster, as he is called because he unleashed a whole swarm of killer frogs onto the zombie genre, is quite popular in the independent horror community.

With Requiem of a Lost Nation, however, he takes a completely different path. Instead of entertaining B-movie horror, he explores his own family history and the generational trauma caused by the Salvadoran Civil War. Loosely based on the life of his beloved mother, the novel follows Otilia, who, after emigrating to the United States, returns to El Salvador to come to terms with her harrowing experiences during the Civil War that lasted from 1979 to 1992.

This is done in a rather interesting way, as the novel alternates between chapters set in the present day (2019) and chapters depicting Otilia’s childhood, particularly the events during the outset of the Civil War atrocities 1980-1982. Together with diary entries and reports by British journalist Jon Snow—whose original reports can actually still be found on streaming services—the book leads us into the complexities of Salvadoran culture and politics. We learn about the country’s social divide, its invisible walls, and the Red Scare.

What makes this especially interesting is that Otilia—just like the author—comes from a very conservative background. Raised in a wealthy household, she was heavily influenced by her father, whose hatred of the communist rebels shaped her worldview. Looking back, however, she revises many of these beliefs and arrives at a more balanced perspective. That saves the novel from descending into one-sided accusations. In the end, it boils down to the idea that “both sides were to blame,” or, more poetically: “War was a demon indeed. It didn’t care who got hurt.”

Talking about demons: just to be clear, despite the monster on the cover, this is not a horror novel. It certainly deals with the horrors of war, which can easily be described as demonic, but there are no supernatural elements. More importantly, it isn’t about suspense or the specific atmosphere of dread that Lovecraft once described as essential to horror fiction. Requiem of a Lost Nation is best described as historical fiction.

Especially during the first quarter of the book, I learned a great deal about Salvadoran culture, its social structure, and the causes of the Civil War. Unfortunately, from that point on, it falls a little short. This is mostly due to its rather limited level of analysis. Ultimately, the novel tells us that both sides share responsibility and that war and forced migration can result in identity crises and generational trauma.

My overall impression is mixed though, because the novel uses some rather obvious foreshadowing, and for a historical novel there are simply a few too many convenient coincidences to remain believable. On the other hand, the integration of Spanish dialogue works very well. The passages are paraphrased seamlessly, so readers who don’t understand Spanish won’t miss any important information, while the original dialogue adds considerably to the atmosphere. Unfortunately, such strengths are offset by a handful of odd sentence constructions. Besides these criticisms, I am always appreciative when genre authors step outside their comfort zone. Ramon certainly deserves credit for taking such a personal path and writing the book he clearly felt he had to write.

This requiem is not over yet. While the novel reaches a natural stopping point, it leaves several plot threads and foreshadowed events unresolved. A second volume is planned for late 2027 and will presumably focus on Otilia’s life in the United States.

Andreas Giesbert is a reviewer of speculative fiction, board games and more based in the Ruhr Valley. He mostly writes for online magazines such as www.zauberwelten-online.de, or Ginger Nuts of Horror.

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Contending with a Complicated History

Photographs and narrative by Suzanne Kamata

I felt some trepidation as I prepared to enter the United States from Japan. It would be my first time to return to my native country since the new administration took office. Rumour had it that immigration officials would check my phone for leftist activity on social networks (they didn’t). I’d heard about books being banned, libraries and museums being closed, and the words “diversity,” “equity,” and “inclusion” being suddenly prohibited in government documents.

My parents, originally from Michigan, in the North, live in South Carolina. This is where the Civil War began in 1861 when state legislators voted to secede from the union. They wanted to preserve slavery and allow its expansion into western territories. South Carolina and six other Southern states formed what was called the Confederacy.

The Confederate flag, a symbol, for many, of an ugly past, was first flown from a flagpole in front of the capitol building in 1961, in commemoration of the hundredth anniversary of the Civil War. It remained flying in protest of the Civil Rights movement, and was only taken down in 2017, after a twenty-one-year-old white supremacist entered a historically black church in Charleston and opened fire on a prayer group. He killed nine people and injured one. Now the flag is on display in a special room at the State Museum.

My visit to South Carolina coincided with a visit from my son, a student of history with a keen interest in politics. My dad thought it might be fun to take his grandson to the Statehouse for a tour. My son was enthusiastic about this idea. I went along, too, with some reservations.

We drove into the city of Columbia and parked in a public lot at the back of the Statehouse. As we entered the grounds, we came upon a statue of Strom Thurmond. He was a teacher, a lawyer, and a highly decorated soldier. He served as governor of South Carolina from 1947-1951, and as senator for 47 years after that, right up until his death at the age of 100. Until very recently, he held the record for the longest filibuster, which is a tactic used to delay voting upon a contentious bill. Basically, a senator takes the floor and keeps talking for as long as he possibly can. In August of 1957, Strom Thurmond gave a speech lasting 24 hours and 18 minutes in opposition to a law promoting civil rights. After his death, it was revealed that he had fathered a child with his family’s 16-year-old African American maid. Of course, that is not inscribed on the plaque at the base of the statue.

To be honest, I had expected to see this statue, as well as other monuments devoted to Confederate generals and segregationists. But I was pleasantly surprised to find a new monument commemorating the accomplishments of South Carolinian African Americans.

We went inside the building and were ushered to a room off to the side for a short film before the tour began. I noted that the film was narrated by a young African American man, which seemed like a nod to diversity, equity and inclusion. He mentioned, perhaps with false pride, that Strom Thurmond held the record for longest filibuster in the history of the United States. Nevertheless, I was glad to see that the film highlighted the achievements of women and minorities, such as South Carolina’s first – and so far, only – female governor, Nikki Haley, the one who ordered that the Confederate flag be removed from state grounds.

During the rest of the tour, I breathed a bit easier, admiring the intricate ironwork on the stair railings, and the stained glass above the chambers. I enjoyed hearing that Magdalen Feline, a woman goldsmith had crafted the symbolic mace, which is placed in a rack at the front of the Speaker’s podium when the House of Representatives is in session. And I was pleased to see a portrait of African American educator, philanthropist, and civil rights activist Mary McLeod Bethune (1875-1955) prominently displayed.

South Carolina is a complicated state, and this is an increasingly complicated world. However, going on this tour gave me hope that my fellow Americans might get back to celebrating diversity, equity, and inclusion, and all of the best parts of human nature.

Suzanne Kamata was born and raised in Grand Haven, Michigan. She now lives in Japan with her husband and two children. Her short stories, essays, articles and book reviews have appeared in over 100 publications. Her work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize five times, and received a Special Mention in 2006. She is also a two-time winner of the All Nippon Airways/Wingspan Fiction Contest, winner of the Paris Book Festival, and winner of a SCBWI Magazine Merit Award.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

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