Rebecca J. Sanford’s The Disappeared is an acute examination of Argentine dictator Jorge Videla’s Dirty War and the scars it left on a population. Its dark and tragic consequences were not limited to Argentina but spiraled throughout the region and across the globe.

“The government ran a ‘process’ to eradicate subversion,” explains one character partway through the novel. “Thirty thousand people disappeared, many of them innocent — and Lorena Ledesma was among them. The psychology behind it was very effective at creating a state of terror — the families had no answers and no closure.”

It’s December 1976 in Buenos Aires. Young housewife Lorena hurries home in the twilight but is stopped at a military checkpoint. Both furious and terrified, she lies when she describes her activities, saying she’s been running errands when she’s actually been at the university looking for a former classmate/revolutionary/lover, Claudio.

She makes it home, followed shortly by her mother, Esme, carrying Lorena’s 2-year-old son, Matias. Lorena greets her husband, Julio, and then prepares dinner. This is the last family meal they will share; later that night, they’re awoken by terrifying bangs on the front door. Officials from the military junta are there to arrest them all on suspicion of subversion. Lorena convinces them to leave Esme and Matias, so only she and Julio are taken. Esme never sees them again.

Three decades later, Rachel Sprague, an adoptee, is contacted by an NGO devoted to unearthing the fates of political prisoners from the Videla period. The organization believes DNA testing will confirm that Rachel is tied to at least one of the long-ago political prisoners. From here, the novel alternates between Rachel’s and Lorena’s stories, with Esme — who never gives up her frantic search for Lorena and joins the real-life Grandmothers of the Plaza de Mayo, a network of women determined to learn their loved ones’ fates — serving as a throughline.  

Page after page, Sanford deftly recreates the oppressive anxiety of life in a police state, complete with its heartbreaking physical violence and pernicious psychological torture. We realize early on that Lorena will not escape, but her saga is no less compelling for that revelation. The sense of fear pulsing beneath even everyday activities — fueled by the knowledge that one misstep could prove fatal — permeates the novel, coloring virtually every interaction. Here, Esme grapples with the weight of trying to discover what happened to her daughter:

“She needed someone who understood the unforgivable thoughts that tangled inside her mind…Esme’s thoughts weren’t rational; she knew Lorena would never leave Matias. But as time passed without any explanation or clue as to Lorena’s whereabouts, her cognition scattered like water, seeking answers at the edge of reason.”

Interspersed with Esme’s struggles are scenes of Lorena’s (unbeknownst to her mother) torture in prison at the hands of her guard, “Lentil Eyes.” We hear the crackle of the electrical currents being used to torment inmates, and we hold our breath as we await the inevitable blasts of gunfire used against the mothers and grandmothers at the prison gates, risking their lives in order to uncover the truth about their loved ones.  

In a dictatorship, of course, those in power control events and manufacture the truth. With such power, history can be rewritten — or at least rearranged — at will. The only hope? The determination and courage of the people never to give up their fight:  

“Esme…Glanced at it over the shoulder of another woman seated on the couch…indeed, there were articles about alleged prisons where missing people were being held, interspersed with notes: CONTINUE TO CIRCULATE THIS INFORMATION IN WHATEVER FORM YOU CAN. TERROR IS BASED ON A LACK OF INFORMATION. DISTRIBUTE THE TRUTH.”

Between 22,000 and 30,000 individuals were “disappeared” during Argentina’s Dirty War; most remain unaccounted for. Despite its intensity, The Disappeared is not a thriller about that devastating period but rather an engrossing lesson in the consequences of venal politics and an illustration of how trauma can move down through generations. It should serve as a wake-up call for any nation flirting with putting a strongman in — or back in — power.

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