Reading Kimbra Martin's first book, Snapshots, is both an excruciating and an inspiring experience. She bravely shares her childhood memories of being physically and sexually abused by her father. Although her story is one of cruelty, her message is remarkably one of hope. Martin explains in the first chapter what compels her to write about events from her traumatic childhood:

My mind is a camera for a little girl lost so long ago. . . . Someday, she will have all the snapshots she needs. I will throw my arms around her one long time close my eyes and let her reclaim her place in me. She will not need to ask me if I love her. (p. 14)

In this spirit of connecting the past to the present, Martin delivers her story in two voices: one of herself as a child and the other of herself as an adult. The first voice, speaking in the present tense, creates several "snapshots" of outstanding incidents in Martin's childhood.

These are lucidly recorded and reveal the sharp insight of a child. One such incident occurs on her twelfth birthday. Her father continued the "family tradition" by making her suffer through twelve spankings—from all five members of her family. She remembers how her brothers and sister did it as quickly as possible because, she knows, they could all relate to the pain and humiliation.

The second voice, set off by italics, is interspersed throughout the "snapshots" and represents Martin's adult understanding of the events of her childhood. In a touching way, this voice seems to be communicating with her childhood self, and serves as the warm, caring parent that she never had.

Martin also uses this voice to compare her reasonably happy adult life with her troubled childhood. She is able to reflect on the differences between her severely dysfunctional family and her new, loving family of husband and son. The adult voice comes from a safe place and consciously analyses her past: "Had I not lived the polar opposite, could I ever know this intense happiness I have found with David and my son? It seems boundless and full of promise. . . . My life is a comparative study." (p. 55)

But if there is one message that Martin is bearing, it is one of acknowledging a balance in her life. She wants us to know that nothing is all good or all bad. Even while she shares some devastating moments from her childhood, she shows us that there were moments of light. She recalls being excited to discover beautiful flowers near her house, and watching the moment when her brother stood up to her father, an experience that gave her the confidence that she too, could be that strong. One of her most uplifting experiences was being taken into the safe arms of her friend's family in her last year of high school. The warm, unconditional love the family showed her convinced her of the existence of angels: "I really do believe in angels. They are of this world. Not what one would expect, from fairy tales and movies and books. There are no wings, no halos, no outward signs." (p. 125)

Again stressing that life is a balance of dark and light forces, Martin does not see her childhood as a separate existence from her present, stable life: "The memories are integral to the person I've become. . . . It is all a part of me, even the most wrenching reminders." (p. 55) Even so, it is obvious that her spirit has survived, and that is the message of hope.

Although it is easy to be overwhelmed by the emotional content of the book, one can see that Martin has a gift for writing. In both narrative voices, she is able to translate her experiences into sensitively wrought language. But it is in the child's voice that Martin's talent shines through; she conveys a child's sly knowingness, the spontaneity and innocence of a child's mind, and a child's tendency to use metaphor for experiences too painful to describe. Martin will be expanding into fiction in her next book (see my interview with her in this issue for more on this), and I look forward to seeing what else she will do as a creative writer.

Snapshots seems to be a dark but fruitful journey for Martin. Writing is her way of letting go. But far from merely serving her own therapeutic needs, the book offers a lesson of how a child can emotionally survive child abuse. She has told me that many counseling professionals have found the book very useful in their practice. Undoubtedly everyone can appreciate her story though; it opened my eyes to the unthinkable horrors of child abuse and what it takes to overcome the damage done. I am glad I was able to read her story. I'm interested to hear more from this talented, soulful writer.