Erdman: Flawless super woman?

This was my third Peace Corps Memoir. Though all three were similar in that they were all written by Peace Corps Volunteers stationed on the African continent, this book stood out because the writer, a female, seemed to write in a gentler tone. While Packer was the most introspective of the trio, Erdman and Tidwell were less so, writing more about what happened than how they felt or interpreted events.

Erdman chooses, like Packer, to begin her book with a scene from her service that she thinks symbolizes her experience. It is an engaging story of her first time witnessing a live birth in her village. At the end of the telling, she writes that she has written this book to answer the question many have asked her since she returned: "What was Africa like?" This is different from Packer, who said no one wanted to hear his stories, and he wrote his book to put to rest his struggle with his decision to leave early.

But Erdman's telling, like Tidwell's, lost my interest as I read on, finally grabbing me near the end. Erdman more recounted her stay in exposition than in scenes or dialogue. I found this choice tiresome, even though her successful projects and interesting encounters filled these pages.

In the second chapter, Erdman recounts her time in her training village, where she focuses on her host family and how famously she got along with them. The chapter frustrated me because Erdman chose to elude to things never mentioned before, a choice that left me wanting more.

Erdman chose to divide the third chapter, in which she focused on her site, into 22 sub-chapters (I became frustrated that Erdman only wrote about her village and nothing else - nothing about her friends and family at home or her fellow volunteers). To her credit, I thought Erdman made a good choice to introduce the villagers who she spent most of her time with and then to continue using the characters until the end. This stood out from Tidwell's choice to mention many people only a few times. Erdman's choice gave me the opportunity to feel for the characters and attempt to understand them.

As we read on there is another treat. Erdman gets to go where the male Peace Corps writers could not - where the women go. Erdman sat in on many births, helped some, sat and worked with the women, witnessed a wedding ceremony "behind the scenes" and even got to drink with the women behind closed doors. She could have stressed how unique her experience was, but did not.

Also, though Erdman doesn't dwell on it, she spends time trying to understand the villagers' animistic beliefs in order to work within these belief to introduce Western medicines and health practices.

Perhaps Erdman is most successful when she focuses on certain events and the people involved. For example, in the chapter "Grasp," Erdman begins an informal French-language class with a few of the village boys. It is when Erdman writes about her interactions with these boys, about their desire to learn even when others do not, and about how she adores them that I became more drawn in. She also does this later with her maternity clinic project and the young men she works with, though to a lesser degree. Yet Erdman raises the bar again when she recounts the AIDS party and the play her young men put together.

About halfway through my read I flipped over to the back cover of the book and read the reviews. One struck me:

"Calling all Margaret Mead and Ruth Benedict worshippers: Nine Hills is the lyrical diary of a Peace Corps wonder woman."

And that's when I began to understand. I began to call the book chic lit and feminist. It seemed Erdman was tooting her own horn as not only a successful Peace Corps volunteer but as a successful American woman making it on her own (I would have hated her if I served with her - because I would have looked so bad in comparison). So, I venture to propose that Erdman is not trying to answer the question "What was Africa like?" rather "How awesome am I?" Which goes back to Tidwell and Packer, who may not have wanted to write about themselves but did anyway - you can't help it.

Like Packer, Erdman took advantage and flexed her artistic muscle, a few times, when she described that natural world around her. An example in the chapter "Deluge":

"So infants are tied under their mother's arm, and older babies swing under there themselves to grab a nipple. Mothers can breast-feed with no hands, while washing dishes, grinding peanuts, or hanging up the laundry." (pg 187)

And when she describes the oncoming rain:

"There is that one climactic moment when the air is electric and the leaves turn eerie and neon against dark sky and women scream out to bring in the last cooking pot and Baba's chair! Children's voices ripple on the wind and birds shriek and [my dog's] hair stands up straight and goose bumps prickle on my arms and the whole world just teeters on the brink of the storm." (pg 187)

But these are very few and very far between (I have started Thubron's Behind the Wall and immediately picked up on the superior skill level - he writes this way the whole time). It was a good choice to use them, though a poor choice to use them so little.

As Erdman nears the end of her book and experience, it seems she is finally comfortable with her writing and the quality improves. On pages 294-5, for example, Erdman strikes gold: a good friend and fellow PCV died, and Erdman reacted physically as Angelique reacts to her brother's death in hospital. I finally felt a real, deep emotion as I grieved with the two women.

In Erdman's last "Village" chapter, she says goodbye to her friends. It is quite moving - she receives many gifts though she can not believe she deserves them, a child asks to go with her, the people ask when she will return. Erdman asks herself, "Will I ever be this good again?" as self-doubt creeps in - it works that she is showing her flaws here - I see she is real (I also felt this when she still stressed about getting everything done on time). Maybe that is what's missing from the formula: to engage the reader, a writer must tell the whole truth, meaning s/he must confess the good, the bad and the ugly truth about themselves. This introspection, this confession is key. Erdman dwells mostly on the good.

Erdman could have ended with a great scene where she is writing by candle light and the light blows out. But she adds another chapter updating the reader on the political situation in Cote d'Ivoire. While interesting, I think this choice harmed more then helped by breaking up a great ending and giving us nothing more than a "news update."