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eviewed by Ian Lipke
In 1954, a four year old girl, playing in a remote Colombian village, was abducted and left in the middle of an equatorial forest. Tired and frightened and very hungry she fights her way through the jungle. Eventually, she comes upon some Capuchin monkeys and mimics their habits and, being seen as not offering any threat, becomes accepted by them as one of their own. She learns to find food, and shelter from the big cats and the fierce storms. To all intents and purposes, she becomes a monkey. For five years or thereabouts Marina Chapman lived with the monkeys before being rescued by hunters and sold into slavery. But the story of The Girl With No Name has only just begun.
This is a story of survival in circumstances of extreme poverty and unrelenting danger. It is a story that bludgeons us into reassessing who is human and who is animal. I was captured by the anecdote of the little girl, the tamarind’s deadly twin, and Grandpa monkey (49 – 50). That this little girl was present when an out of control car went off a cliff and killed her companions, staggered me (157 – 58). I was appalled by the tale of the hunters, the little girl, and the slovenly Ana-Karmen (121ff). And what horrified me was the knowledge that all this was true, that there were many more episodes of blind ferocity and terrible cruelty that this little girl had to suffer. At one point she remarks, “I was an adolescent girl with no home and no family, so when and if I was noticed by any of these men, it would be entirely for the wrong reasons” (197) – and so it proved to be the case. One of the crime bosses attempted to molest her, and a whole new chapter of fear entered her life. But I was thrilled to find that there was also goodness in the world in the form of Maruja, brave neighbour to a Mafia family.