Nothing to Declare
Memoirs of a Woman Traveling Alone
by Mary Morris
Overview
From the Publisher
Traveling from the highland desert of northern Mexico to the steaming jungles of Honduras, from the seashore of the Caribbean to the exquisite highlands of Guatemala, Mary Morris, a celebrated writer of both fiction and nonfiction, confronts the realities of place, poverty, machismo, and selfhood. As she experiences the rawness and precariousness of life in another culture, Morris begins to hear echoes of her own life and her own sense of deprivation. And she begins, too, to overcome the struggles of the past that have held her back personally; as in the very best travel writing, Morris effectively explores her own soul while exploring new terrain and new experience. By crossing such boundaries throughout the pages of
Nothing to Declare, she sets new frontiers for herself as a woman—and as a writer.
My thoughts
I'm a little surprised that I'm rating this a three, but a three it is. The author can definitely write, and she tells some great stories. My problem with the book is that part way through, she reveals a little too much about herself, sometimes physically, sometimes emotionally, sometimes metaphorically. I found that disturbing.
I also have some problems with someone putting their life at risk for no particular reason. OK, yes, the argument can be made that we put our life at risk every time we cross the street, get into a car, or fly in a plane. But I think there's a difference between those life activities and disregarding advice not to go into a country as a single female traveler because of civil unrest and an impending military coup.
But after all that, the book is still a very good read. The author is likable and has some very interesting travels. It was well worth my time.
Least Favorite Passage
Rather than give you a favorite passage as I usually do, I'll share a strange one with you.
I had an odd dream that night that has proved to be prophetic. A cat is being carried off by black mice. The cat has lived a long time and has had thirty years of suffering. Her wounds are purple. When I find her, she offers no resistance. I remember thinking to myself as I am dreaming this dream, a cat would fight off the mice; the mice would not attack the cat. But in this dream the situation is reversed. I tend to the cat. Her insides fall out like filleted steaks. A man I know but cannot name comes and wipes these innards clean. He washes each organ in water. The cat doesn't die but stares at her insides. Somehow she will live.
