Ryan McDermott’s Downriver is a gripping, soul-baring journey through war, love, loss, and redemption. Told with brutal honesty and poetic depth, the memoir follows McDermott from his childhood in Florida through the invasion of Iraq, the collapse of his marriage, and the aftermath of a Wall Street crash—all woven together with heartfelt prose and stirring poetry. What sets Downriver apart is how it tackles both battlefield chaos and the quiet devastation of postwar life, showing that the real war often begins once the uniform comes off.

Right away, I was pulled in by how personal this book feels. McDermott doesn’t hold back. He opens with a harrowing moment—bruised and bloodied after a home invasion, alone in a city apartment, stripped of everything but memory. That raw vulnerability never lets up. He takes us through childhood in a fractured home, trying to make sense of who he is without a father. Chapters like “Foreclosing of a Dream” hit hard; the foreclosure wasn’t just on a house, but on his sense of stability and identity. It’s not often you read a military memoir that starts this far upstream, and I appreciated that McDermott let us walk with him through every bend of the river.

The writing, at times, just knocked the wind out of me. His use of poetry throughout—like the haunting “Remains of the Night”—adds emotional punch in all the right places. When he writes about leaving for war in “Saying Goodbye,” or about the surreal emptiness of returning home in “Coming Home,” I didn’t feel like a reader. I felt like I was there, sitting beside him, taking the same blows. His style is clean and unpretentious, yet layered with meaning. Even the way he describes seemingly mundane things—like living off canned tuna in a DC apartment—feels heavy with metaphor. This guy doesn’t just tell you what happened. He makes you feel why it mattered.

That said, it’s not all poetry and heartbreak. There’s grit here. There’s leadership, courage, and a whole lot of failure-turned-growth. I loved the chapters about his early military training, particularly “Becoming a Leader.” The scenes of combat are vivid but not glorified, and what stuck with me wasn’t the action but the moral gray zones, the toll on the soul. I saw echoes of The Things They Carried and even a bit of Catcher in the Rye, but with more sand, steel, and stock market crashes. When he pivots into his postwar life—working at Lehman Brothers during the 2008 collapse, then spiraling—it’s not a smooth arc. It’s jagged, messy, human. Just like real life.

In the end, this book left me with a deep respect for what veterans face—not just in uniform, but in the years that follow. Downriver isn’t just about surviving war. It’s about surviving everything after. I’d recommend this book to anyone who wants to understand the emotional aftermath of war, or who’s ever felt lost and tried to find meaning through pain. It’s a must-read for fans of memoirs, veterans, poets, and anyone wondering what resilience really looks like when the river turns dark.

Pages: 294 | ASIN : B0DYRH1GLN