Red Star Tattoo: My Life as a Girl Revolutionary - Hardcover

Larsen, Sonja

3.58

176 ratings by Goodreads

9780345815279: Red Star Tattoo: My Life as a Girl Revolutionary

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0345815270 ISBN 13: 9780345815279

Publisher: Random House Canada, 2016

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Winner of the Edna Staebler Award for Creative Non-Fiction
Finalist for the Hilary Weston Writers' Trust Prize for Nonfiction

Red Star Tattoo is Sonja Larsen's unforgettable memoir of a young life spent on the move, from hardscrabble Milwaukee to dreamy Hawaii, from turbulent Montreal to free-spirited California. At the age of 16, Sonja joins a cult-like communist organization in Brooklyn--unaware of the dark nature of what awaits her.

A small, skinny 8-year-old girl holding a teddy bear stands by the side of a country road with a young man she barely knows. They're hitchhiking from a commune in Quebec to one in California. It is 1973 and somehow the girl's parents think this is a good idea.
    Sonja Larsen's is a childhood in which family members come and go and where freedom is both a gift and a burden. Her mother, thrown out of home as a pregnant teenager by her evangelical preacher father, is drawn to the utopian ideals and radical politics of communism. Her aunt Suzie is gripped by schizophrenia, her behaviour so erratic she eventually loses custody of her daughter. And then there is her cousin Dana, shunted back and forth long-distance between her parents--Dana, whose own need to escape leads to tragedy.
     Looking for a sense of family, searching to belong, to have your life mean something--this is what all these girls and young women share. As a teenager, Larsen moves to Brooklyn, embedding herself with an organization known publicly as the National Labor Federation and privately as the Communist Party USA Provisional Wing. Over her three years at the organization's national headquarters, Larsen works sixteen-hour day, eager to prove herself. Noticed and encouraged by the Old Man, the organization's charismatic leader, he makes her one of his "special girls," as well as the youngest member of the organization's militia and part of its inner circle. But even as she and her comrades count down the days on the calendar until the dawning of their new American revolution, Larsen's doubts about the cause and the Old Man become increasingly difficult to ignore.
     Red Star Tattoo explores the seductions and dangers of extremism, and asks what it takes to survive a childhood scarred by loss, abuse and the sometimes violent struggle for belonging.

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About the Author:

SONJA LARSEN is a graduate of the Simon Fraser University Writer's Studio. Larsen's work has been published in The Globe and Mail, Room and Descant, and a number of other print and online literary magazines. She works with youth in Vancouver's Downtown Eastside. The author lives in Vancouver, BC.

A canvas backpack.
   A sleeping bag.
   A drinking cup that collapsed flat into a little case.
   Two matching wooden bowls, one for Dale and one for me.
   A combination fork and spoon. The spork.
   My teddy bear.
   Some clothes.
   A toothbrush.
   A small case, hand embroidered by my mother, to hold my "travelling papers."
   Pounds and pounds of homemade granola, made the night before and packed in plastic bags. Slightly burned.
   I remember what we packed for the journey.
   But what did my parents say to me when it was time to go—goodbye? See you soon? See you later?
   When the drivers slowed down to look at us, I tried to catch their eye. Sometimes I wiggled my outstretched thumb slightly, optimistically, and sometimes I tried to look sad and hopeful. Anything to imprint this scene in their mind: little girl sitting on a grey canvas backpack, young man with a guitar case, standing by the highway. Anything to slow them down until curiosity or sympathy made them stop.
Everyone knew that a kid was better than a dog or a woman for hitchhiking. At the Sweetgrass commune, where me and Dale, my parents, and another dozen or so people lived, everyone pitched in, did their share to keep things going. This was something I could do. I was eight years old and already an experienced hitchhiker, a travelling partner for anyone who needed luck and company on the road. I’d also sung in the Sweetgrass band that played folk and gospel songs at old folks’ homes and rock and roll at high school dances. I’d helped sell wildflowers, daisies and goldenrod and fireweed tied up in twine, to tourists in the city. But hitchhiking was the thing I did best. Up and down country roads into town, or the hundred-mile trip from Lennoxville to Montreal and back.
   I was Dale’s plan to get west cheap and in a hurry. Dale was in his early twenties and from Los Angeles. He and another Californian played the lead guitars in the band. They’d helped start Sweetgrass, but Quebec winters and the winding down of the Vietnam War had them longing for home. His friend had already left with another commune member who was caught up in a custody battle for her baby. Dale and I were the second wave. My parents and a few others would be following soon. Behind us was Sweetgrass. Ahead of us was California and a new life. But in between was this long stretch of road.
   By day three I could feel Dale starting to wonder if this highway was more than my small charm could manage. We’d spent hours waiting to catch the next ride. I knew it didn’t help to look too miserable or be crying. No one wanted to deal with that kind of kid. Instead I sat by the side of the road with my teddy bear and sucked my thumb, trying to look younger and cuter than I really was.
   To keep us entertained, Dale played his guitar and sang. He sang the Beatles and Dylan but the old country songs were my favourites.

   Take me home, my heart is heavy and my feet are sore
   Take me home, I don’t wanna roam no more

I liked that song, I liked the idea that what we were doing was roaming, and that when we got to California our roaming days would be over.

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