The price of freedom for Ms. Lindhout and Nigel Brennan, the Australian photographer, was about $1.2-million. Her father mortgaged his house to raise part of the money. (The ransom effort was unusually complicated because it involved two governments, two families and a private negotiator; they seldom saw eye to eye.) The RCMP set up an office in Alberta to advise her family, and dozens of people were seconded to the Canadian high commission in Nairobi to work on her release.
Experienced hands are also kidnapped and killed, of course. The CBC's Mellissa Fung (kidnapped in Afghanistan) and diplomat Robert Fowler (kidnapped in Niger) were two notable examples. But foolish amateurs do not help. When four Christian Peacemakers from Canada were abducted in Iraq in 2005, it took a multinational rescue force to free them. Only three survived - the fourth had already been killed by his captors. The others had to be prompted to thank their rescuers.
Ms. Lindhout's book has received a sympathetic hearing from many journalists, who point out that that we should honour the brave souls who put their lives on the front lines to bring important stories to the world. Yes, we should. But how can they do that if they don't know what they're talking about?
Amanda Lindhout's story, in fact, has little to do with journalism. It belongs in the sturdy genre of captivity narratives - more or less factual accounts of real people who fall into the hands of barbarians and live to tell the tale. These stories (which used to feature Barbary pirates, or North American Indians) have enthralled readers for centuries. They are even more enthralling when the captive happens to be young and and female.
Ms. Lindhout's book will bring her fame and fortune (and probably a movie deal), which, after all, is what she wanted. It's too bad that she had to pay such a terrible price to get it.
