In the introduction of this small book of political commentary, journalism, live-history Rushdie, ten years on admits to getting caught up a little in the glitz and glamor of the event. I’ve felt the same when I look into revolutionary movements in countries I don’t understand, where my understanding of it must convert more to almost caricature and flattness, or if I am lucky typology, in the absence of knowledge and understanding. And Rushdie admits for falling a little for the romanticism here. It’s not to say he’s wrong in a lot of his statements and conclusions, but he’s clearly played a little for a stooge at times.
That said, I think this book tells an important history and needs a more outsider approach than it has, but narrates events surrounding the Sandinista Revolution. It especially gives an amazing list of public figures and writers to look into and helps create a frame around the events in ways that could be useful. But this certainly can be your only exposure to these events, in this country, if you want to understand.
“Ten years ago, when I was living in a small flat above an off-licence in SW1, I learned that the big house next door had been bought by the wife of the dictator of Nicaragua, Anastasio Somoza Debayle. The street was obviously going down in the world, what with the murder of the nanny Sandra Rivett by that nice Lord Lucan at number 44, and I moved out a few months later. I never met Hope Somoza, but her house became notorious in the street for a burglar alarm that went off with surprising frequency, and for the occasional parties that would cause the street to be jammed solid with Rolls—Royce, Mercedes-Benz and Jaguar limousines. Back in Managua, her husband ‘Tacho’ had taken a mistress, Dinorah, and Hope was no doubt trying to keep her spirits up.”