Showing posts with label sprinkling of Spanish. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sprinkling of Spanish. Show all posts

Monday, August 8, 2011

Pretty but not much else

Book: Come Together, Fall Apart
Author: Cristina Henriquez
Published: 2006 (Riverhead Books)
Pages: 306
It’s nice.
I wish I had more to say about this book. But really, “nice” is the only word that fits. These short stories and novellas are about relationships between lovers, families and, occasionally, a little bit, about the political upheavals going on around them. They’re all set in Panama, which is the most interesting thing about them and saves them from collapsing under all the symbolic weight placed on such light words. These are the kind of stories that are meant to Mean Something.
I’m talking like I didn’t like them. I did. I thought they were…nice. There’s that word again. They’re floaty and dreamy and don’t leave much behind but they’re nice to read.

A note on the tag “old books:” When I use that, I’m not necessarily talking about books written twenty or more years ago (although there are a fair number of those in my reading pile); I’m talking about books I’ve personally owned (one way or another) for at least nine months and have yet to read because of everything else that distracts me. This book is one of those, a small hardback priced at $2.99 from a warehouse sort of store in my college town that was labeled with a giant banner that just said BOOKS and contained massive amounts of discounted, well, books. I went into that store once or twice, went into spasms of glee, but now they’re closed, so no more from them.

Saturday, July 9, 2011

Pretty people with problems

Book: Birds of Paradise

Author: Diana Abu-Jaber

Published: September 2011 (Norton)

Pages: 362

So. It’s official. I’m getting bored with lit fic, and it’s all the fault of books like this.
When my boyfriend handed me this one, I did what I always did with paperbacks: flipped it over and hoped there’d be a decent summary and not just a cover of unhelpful blurbs (although I like trying to figure out what the publisher left out of the ones with ellipses in their middles). So far so good.

As I read the nice full summary, I went down a mental lit fic calculation list: a couple is “still haunted by the disappearance” [check] “of their ineffably beautiful” [check] “daughter” [check] “who ran away when she was thirteen.” [check] The daughter’s a not-quite-street-urchin [check] who somehow survives on infrequent modeling jobs [check]. Her mom’s a pastry chef [check] and her dad’s an attorney [check]. Her brother grows up to own an organic food market [check for that and check for the fact that he really believes in the lifestyle]. They all work too much [check] which is probably the result of the girl’s disappearance [check]. They “must all confront their loss and sense of betrayal” [check] while the girl “must reckon with the guilty secret that drove her away.” [Check. A giant one.]



That, my friends, is a whopping 14 on the Contemporary Literary Fiction Typicalness Scale, which, okay, I totally just made up. But it sounds like the same general scenario that every other lit fic novel has had since like 1999, or at least since Jodi Picoult got so popular. In fact, this sounds exactly like a JP novel, doesn’t it? (The answer is yes).

However. HOWEVER. The writing elevates the subject matter.
Do you realize how exciting that is? The writing is good and treats the setting Miami like the strange wondrous place it is and manages to make most of the characters pretty much human in their shared but separate sufferings.
…until about page 130 or so, when the descriptions suddenly seemed to go bloated and way too detailed. They got heavy, those details, so the second half felt like slogging through the mother’s pastry dough.

Then things just ALMOST happen. Seriously. The brother needs money from his parents to keep his store open; attorney dad has a crush on this chick at the office and almost starts an affair, thinks about putting up $2.3 million for a sketchy condo deal; Hurricane-freakin’-Katrina is bearing down on everyone by the last hundred pages. AND GUESS WHAT HAPPENS. It all makes me angry. Grocery Boy gets the money from his parents, the condo deal turns out to be a scam that cuts and runs BEFORE the attorney puts up ANY money, and the hurricane leaves the grocery store AND the house PERFECTLY SAFE WHILE WRECKING EVERYBODY ELSE’S LIVES. For no good reason.

DAMMIT. Give me something at stake here, people! Why does the author even need to mention any of this if each problem is going to loom large and then just puff away like a cloud in wind? Focus completely on the daughter if that’s what you want to do. She’s more interesting anyway, although she makes me mad, too, because the book keeps saying she could have this awesome modeling career if she would bother to go to more go-sees or whatever, which first of all makes her stupid because it sounds like such little effort to get off the street (yet she still looks like Elizabeth Taylor, y’all, the young one) and have such a glamorous career and secondly this is literally all hearsay. There’s not one scene of her at these places with agents or whatever actually saying, “Hey, wanna come up to New York?” like the book says happens. But it doesn’t show us. It reminded me of that friend you have who’s always bragging about something cool in their life but never has any definite proof so you get suspicious and then tired of them talking about it because you never really believed them anyway.

And I don't know if the typos I spotted were still in the book because it's an advanced copy (I will never get tired of those), but a few were pretty jarring; one or two key words were left out, one looked only half typed, and a few times the dialogue attribution was confusing.


In one word: frustrating.

Sunday, July 3, 2011

Nerdboy's epic adventure for love

Book: The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao

Author: Junot Diaz

Published: 2007 (Riverhead Books)

Pages: 335

I had no chance against this Pulitzer Prize winner.

It’s centered around a desperate geek who can’t get any girls (and he wants them so badly), who is half planted in his Dominican Republic family’s ancient curse set off by a snubbed dictator sixty years before, who is lonely and over literate and big and convinced he’s going to die a virgin.

At one point Oscar dresses up like Dr. Who for Halloween when he’s in college, and from the dates he’s there he must’ve made himself an awful Colin Baker patchwork coat complete with kitty pin on lapel because he’s teased so much for looking like Oscar Wilde that the nickname sticks, slightly bastardized and full of contempt: Oscar Wao. He answers to it.



There’s a musical sprinkling of Spanish, love enduring beatings in a cane field, and a magical mongoose across several generations, echoing each other in a life cycle that none can seem to pull themselves from despite knowing what happens next.

It culminates in a sacrifice that’s made me cry every time I’ve read the ending. It’s not a sacrifice for love, either; although that’s what it looks like and what Oscar was going for, I read it as more a sacrifice for what that love meant, for the life potential it let him glimpse.

And before it starts sounding all deep and shit—I mean, it is, but it’s written in the easy seriousness of Oscar’s college roommate that doesn’t drag all that epic down into melodramatics.


So, this is one of my favorite books, and Junot Diaz, I will find and read your short story collection Drown. It will be done