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The September 30th Movement’s coup attempt and the ensuing government crackdown on communists are among the darkest and bloodiest chapters of Indonesian history, yet these events are rarely discussed openly and honestly.

Until now, there is no clear explanation as to why the state blamed the 1965 coup, in which six generals were murdered, on the Indonesian Communist Party (PKI) and used it to justify killing hundreds of thousands in the purge.

In an attempt to shed some light on those tumultuous years, a journalist using the pseudonym Gitanyali, or Gita, has written an autobiographical novel called “Blues Merbabu,” where he recounts his experiences growing up as the son of a Communist Party member.

In a sign of how taboo the subject still is, Gita has changed names and various details in the book to conceal his identity. But the story, presented in an interview format, rings true and offers a fascinating account of that era.

The writer begins his tale in a small town at the foot of Mount Merbabu in Central Java. Though his birthplace remains unnamed in the novel, some speculate it is the city of Salatiga. His father, Sutanto Singayuda, was a charismatic leader of the PKI.

Gita’s early years were filled with raucous party meetings and cultural performances. Born to a wealthy family, he was surrounded by affectionate maids, neighbors and relatives.

But his idyllic youth was suddenly shattered in 1965, when Gita was in fourth grade. He sees the comet Ikeya-Seki in the wee hours of the night, and believes this to be a bad omen.

Gripped with a sense of dread, Gita wakes up one morning to find his father having breakfast alone, as men armed with guns wait in the next room.

He exchanges a few words with Sutanto before his father is taken away, never to return. Gita’s family had to confront the cold reality that Sutanto was killed for his involvement with the PKI.

In vivid detail, he recounts the paranoia of the Suharto regime, where radical ideas were demonized and dissenters were imprisoned, killed or stigmatized.

Gita then enters an escapist phase, preoccupying himself with girls, literature and films. He seeks solace in these pleasures, being unable to deal with the trauma of losing his father and the weight of being under constant surveillance by the government. Eventually, he agreed to leave for Jakarta as his mother wished. In the capital, the author led a quiet life, simply enjoying concerts, taking up photography and getting absorbed in his writing.

He learned to keep a reserved and watchful attitude toward others, particularly authority figures.

In the book, Gita takes pains to hide his family history — and his true self — by instinctively avoiding attachments with others. The only thing he feels truly connected to, he writes, is the beautiful Mount Merbabu that can be seen from every corner of his childhood home.

The story is an admittedly personal view of the political events of the mid-1960s, with the Red movement seen through a relatively narrow prism.

Although Gita sympathized with the Communists, the author said he opted to exercise suloyo , the Javanese concept of passive resistance, in the face of such harrowing oppression.

This book is more of a reflection on the social impact of the Communist purge. Gita, for one, learned to detect others who had ties to the PKI and who lost loved ones in the army crackdown.

He wondered how many families were thrust into similar situations and worried about whether they would ever find a sense of peace.

While the story is a dark one at its core, some readers may dismiss “Blues Merbabu” as little more than the author’s journey to sexual awakening.

Indeed, there are many passages in which the writer describes his erotic exploits. However, despite the volume of licentious material, these should not distract from the salient political issues tackled in the book.

Taking readers from his idyllic childhood to life in the burgeoning counter-culture of Jakarta and Bali in the 1970s, Gita presents a moving story of survival, love and human frailty.

The book’s greatest pleasures lie in the rich descriptions of Indonesia during a time of rapid change and cultural as well as political revolution.

The author’s strangely detached prose, which in a way reflects the extent of Gita’s emotional scars, can be occasionally frightening. But on the whole, “Blues Merbabu” is a compelling read.