"Live Through This:" one mother, two vanished daughters

"Amanda was cutting herself." So begins "Live Through This: A Mother's Memoir of Runaway Daughters and Reclaimed Love" (Houghton Mifflin/Harcourt, 240 pp., $24), a heartbreaking memoir about a broken family, by Debra Gwartney and centered on her two runaway daughters. "I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe it was nothing. I would have liked to keep thinking it was no big deal when I spotted long, scabby lines on the inside of her forearm a few days later. I wanted to convince myself that this slicing of skin wasn't a sign of danger ... "

Such denials don't last long. As the book progresses the author, a former Oregon correspondent for Newsweek, affords the reader a harrowing look at what a single mother goes through when her worst fears are realized.

The seeds were probably planted when Gwartney married Tom, a carefree man with a fondness for alcohol and a string of police arrests during his college years. Early on she sees problems surfacing in the marriage: "Tom on the edge, whatever edge, while I'm standing back, cautious and often very afraid."

In the aftermath of their divorce, Gwartney moves from Arizona to Eugene, Ore., with her four young daughters. The two older ones, Amanda and Stephanie, barely in their teens, share a close personal bond. Soon they begin to have problems in school. Occasionally, when they are 14 and 12 years old respectively, they fail to come home, and Gwartney begins to suspect they're hanging out with unsavory boys.

Boys "nearly through their teens, into their twenties, who wore skintight black pants and black T-shirts with anarchist A's painted on the front and jackets covered in patches and woolly hats on their heads; boys who no doubt gave the girls beer and drugs and showed them how to Dumpster-dive and beg for spare change, and who offered them a place to settle in and be part of the edgy coolness of the street scene. I was no competition for any of that."

The mother's suspicion proves to be correct. No matter how many times she reminds them of the rule of having to come home at night, they ignore her. They even telephone their father and complain about her; they threaten to leave if she yells at them. What follows are nightmarish scenes of 1990s youth subculture — mean streets, drugs, stealing, arrests, counseling, foster homes, wilderness therapy and more.

In the midst of all this Gwartney must hold a job and care for her two younger daughters. It is a difficult journey, mitigated somewhat by the kindness of friends. One such reassuring presence in her life is Pacific Northwest author Barry Lopez. (They have since married.)

The later part of the book deals with Amanda and Stephanie's struggle to overcome their self-destructive behavior and escape their nihilistic street existence.

To her credit, Gwartney doesn't attempt to assign blame, instead using the book as a vehicle for personal catharsis. A few minor flaws detract from the reading experience. At times the author's narration seems self-absorbed and lengthy, bordering on being monotonous. And, while she portrays domestic scenes in exquisite detail, she glosses over other equally important episodes. Nevertheless, this tale stands out as one of courage, persistence and ultimately redemption.