The Year We Disappeared: A Father-Daughter Memoir (Cylin Busby and John Busby)

The Year We Disappeared is the memoir of a Falmouth, Massachusetts, police officer, John Busby, and his daughter, Cylin, who alternate the narration as they recall the brazen murder attempt on John in 1979, the subsequent damage to their family, and finally, their hard-earned healing.

For nearly a year after John is shot in the face with a shotgun, the Busby family stays in their house in Falmouth with round-the-clock police protection as the “investigation” bungles along.  The longer they stay, the more guarded they must become, until they’re essentially prisoners in their house.  Meanwhile, the slimeball culprit lives freely, protected by his own connections in the political structure.

During his narrative, John matter-of-factly relates how he knows who shot him, how the investigators suppress the evidence, and how he plans his revenge.  He also plainly describes the unpleasantries of his medical treatment and recovery.  In her comparatively innocent nine year-old voice, Cylin describes the childhood angst associated with constant visible police presence, the resulting dissociation from her friends, the terror of living with ever-looming death threats, and the horror of losing a happy, healthy, handsome father, and having him replaced with an angry, freakish, machine-dependent waif.

John and Cylin before the shooting

In the course of the year, John’s anger surges as he sees that the investigation has been lost to corruption and he witnesses the harm done to his family:  His wife suffers nervous breakdowns.  The children can’t play in their own yard.  Cylin’s brothers perform poorly and behave violently in school.  All of the kids lose friends and withdraw, suppressing their emotions and refusing to talk about their struggles.  So, in order to pursue a normal life, John and his wife decide they all should “disappear.”  They move from Massachusetts to a farm in Tennessee where they know absolutely no one, and where no one - not even law enforcement - knows they’ve gone.

John and Cylin now

The Year We Disappeared is, to say the least, an easy read for adults.  I blew through the 329 pages in a few days and never consulted my dictionary once.  Cylin (the primary author) has written several books for the tween and teen set, and this book, while fine for adults, is also more appropriate for juvenile readers.  She handles the violence and medical descriptions gracefully enough to be emotionally manageable for young readers, but starkly enough to illustrate the horrific nature of the crime.  This book may teach your kids to appreciate the threats placed upon police officers, to understand that evil exists even in institutions that are supposed to suppress it, and to be empathetic to others who have problems they can’t understand.

Check it out on Amazon!

My Michael (Amos Oz)

As an Israeli author, Amos Oz composed My Michael in Hebrew.  So, as a typical monolingual American, I had to settle for the English translation.  The translator (Nicholas de Lange) did a beautiful job, as far as I can tell.  The prose is elegant and maintains the intended dark timbre and simmering hostility of the original.

In 1950s Jerusalem, Hanna and Michael are a seemingly normal young married couple.  They start out fairly impoverished in a small apartment in a none-too-prestigious neighborhood, and over time, they do the things most couples do: have a baby, acquire nice stuff, take family trips, develop relationships with in-laws and neighbors.  But beneath the normalcy, Hannah emotionally detaches from her real-life circumstances as she increasingly engages with her fantasies.  Michael, who is pragmatic, responsible, and studious, can’t offer Hannah the adventure she craves.  She inwardly resents the stability and routine, and she drifts away from her husband.

The story isn’t plot driven.  Instead, it focuses on Hannah’s psychological evolution. Early in the narrative, she admits that she has always pined for a time in her youth when she was sick and bedridden because she loved the adventure of her vivid dreams while she rested. In her adulthood, her dreams and visions grow fantastically wild and frighteningly dangerous, even masochistic.

Aside from the central story line, My Michael also poignantly illustrates the social environment of the time in a study of contrasts - the scholars in Jerusalem and the laborers of the kibbutzim, the orthodox families and the secularists, the generally even-tempered men and the comparatively hot-headed women.

As for the artistic quality, the English is gorgeous, much better than most originally American-English books.  Even so, I realize that much was unavoidably lost in translation.  For example, my Israeli cousin pointed out one contrast which otherwise would have been completely lost to me because of the intrinsic meanings of the Hebrew city names.  She explains:

“Even the opposition between Jerusalem (where Michael and Hannah live) and Holon (where Michael's father lives) is extreme.  The abbreviation of Jerusalem is Yam, which means sea in Hebrew (even though there is no sea in Jerusalem).  And the Hol in Holon means sand in Hebrew.  Hannah drowns in Jerusalem in her dreams and hallucinations, but in Holon she thrives (and visits the seashore).”  

Thanks to my cousin Michal (aka Miki) for her linguistic insight (and for gifting me with this beautiful book).  

I also found this audio recording of a BBC World Book Club interview with Amos Oz. (Note:  They spell his first name Amoz.)  The primary-source perspective is a treat, as Oz discusses lots of cool details I didn't cover, such as how the story psychically came to him as a young man living in a kibbutz, and whether he personally likes or dislikes the characters of Hannah and Michael.  If nothing else, it’s fun to hear the author’s voice and beautiful Israeli accent.

Check it out on Amazon!