Land of Childhood

Claudia Lars, author of Land of Childhood (iUniverse, 2003), has constructed a memoir that evokes all the nostalgia, poignancy, and sheer joy of being a child in her native El Salvador.  It is a warm and beautiful place, a sensual feast for the reader.  Lars is one of the greatest writers to come out of Central America, and this book, along with her fourteen books of poetry, has been enjoyed by generations.  For English language readers, this book, translated by her granddaughter, conveys all the richness and beauty of the land along with a plethora of memorable characters who enrich the story with their presence.  Each one teaches the young Lars (real name, Margarita del Carmen Brannon Vega) about life and its truths.  This edition also includes a helpful glossary.

The book is constructed in vignettes, scenes of daily life in the small villages in the Salvadoran countryside.  Lars is a child of an Irish father and a Salvadoran mother, and her history is steeped in story.  Each vignette expands the narrative until the cataclysmic finale and the end of her childhood.

She opens the book with a meditation on the old family house, the strength of its foundations, its “comfortable simplicity.”  Guests come and go in addition to family members who have various roles to play in governing the land.  Her first character is her grandfather, a “primitive being” in his simple life.  His Indian blood makes him sensitive to those who have less, and he often opens his doors to wandering tribes looking for shelter.  From these guests, Lars learns a lot about life.  It is a peaceful, bucolic existence, with time for beauty and observation.

In juxtaposition to the slower-paced life of the old house is the smoking volcano, the rumblings, the lava-spewing in the distance.  It is a reminder that at the horizon, something is always bubbling and oozing and threatening.  The world is always changing.  For children, though, this is the land of adventures, where every day is summer, and fruits and traditional dishes are plentiful.  Lars learns the medicinal properties of plants and herbs.  She watches her aunts cook and clean and keep the old house going.  She studies her grandparents, the Indian grandfather with the more refined Spanish grandmother, a sort of yin and yang.

Her father is Patrick, an Irishman born in America.  He is restless and was a rebellious child, growing into adulthood sailing around the world on cargo ships.  He fell in love with tropical America, first in Panama, where he was given the title of “bachelor of the street,” and then in El Salvador.

This is a book about how children used to occupy themselves without screens and devices.  Lars has ample time in her young life for wonder and investigation.  She and her playmates find ways to entertain themselves.  She loves books but she also loves nature and beauty.  There are mysteries in her life, questions that will not result in clear answers, but the magic of the moment is appreciated for its own value.  She recounts dozens of stories, like the one where her sister gets her head stuck in a metal, helmet-like soup tureen while they are playing soldiers.  It is a moment of panic, but the episode offers its own logic and lesson.  Since Lars had a hand in the mischief, she sustains a spanking by her grandfather (how would that go over today?), but her sister comes into her room late that night to offer a bouquet of flowers.  “I didn’t want Grandfather to punish you,” she says.  Lars struggles with her pride.  She puts on a brave front and says the punishment did not hurt her.  “Maruca placed her cheek against my lips, silencing my words and, after gently stroking my hair, quietly said good-night.”  No one spoke about the incident in the morning.

Lars does not spare the darker nature of childhood, the bullying, the unfairness of things.  But these are the stumbling blocks on the path to wisdom.  Children must experience the dangers, the near-misses of childhood.  That is the only way to grow up and become an adult.  But this is an idyllic childhood, and the events as described lead to a resounding and frightening conclusion that takes her into adulthood.

Her final vignette is for her mother, a discussion with the dead.  “I want to tell you—my beloved dead mother—words I dared not speak before, but that vibrated in the depths of my secrets like little bubbles of love.  I regret not saying them sooner…Nonetheless, I know that silence, that guardian of dreams and songs, was never a cause for misunderstandings between us.”  Her mother was the tranquil, flexible sounding board for Lars’ more stormy, childish explosions.  She lauds her mother’s patience, and has come to believe that her mother embodied the “land of my first joys.”  Those joys are evident on every page of this memoir.  It is a gorgeous, heartfelt book by a great, underappreciated writer from a small country with big dreams.  It is time to share this book with the world and make it required reading everywhere.