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Powell's Staff:
Five Book Friday: In Memoriam
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Every year, the booksellers at Powell’s submit their Top Fives: their five favorite books that were released in 2023. It’s a list that, when put together, shows just how varied and interesting the book tastes of Powell’s booksellers are. I highly recommend digging into the recommendations — we would never lead you astray — but today...
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Brontez Purnell:
Powell’s Q&A: Brontez Purnell, author of ‘Ten Bridges I’ve Burnt’
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Rachael P.:
Starter Pack: Where to Begin with Ursula K. Le Guin
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olivasdan has commented on (18) products
Lost City Radio
by
Daniel Alarcon
olivasdan
, February 25, 2007
Novelist finds hope in the aftermath of war [This review first appeared in the El Paso Times] With the publication two years ago of his short-story collection "War by Candlelight" (HarperCollins), Daniel Alarcón received critical acclaim that included comparisons to Mario Vargas Llosa, Flannery O'Connor and Ernest Hemingway. Born in Peru and living in northern California, Alarcón unflinchingly portrays people battered by civil strife, natural disasters and governmental abuses. He now brings us his first novel, "Lost City Radio" (HarperCollins, hardcover $24.95), a potent, disturbing, but, in the end, hopeful portrait of a nation torn by years of war and betrayal. Set in an unnamed South American country, Alarcón's novel centers on Norma, the host of a popular program, "Lost City Radio," in which she reads the names of missing persons and lends an understanding ear to callers who hope she can help them reunite with lost loved ones. Norma has become a celebrity, a voice everyone knows, the apolitical salve for a nation that has lost too much. Why Norma? "She was a natural: She knew when to let her voice waver, when to linger on a word, what texts to tear through and read as if the words themselves were on fire." Norma's unctuous boss, Elmer, wants high ratings without angering those in power. Government authorities are more than willing to make radio employees disappear if they seem to sympathize with the Illegitimate Legion, a guerrilla faction based in the nation's mountains and jungles. Though the war with the IL is technically over, suspicion and distrust are ingrained in the nation's psyche. Norma is no stranger to loss. She nurses the hope of finding her husband, Rey, who disappeared 10 years earlier. Rey, an ethnobotanist, would leave Norma for long stretches to venture into the jungle, ostensibly to study indigenous remedies. With cities and villages stripped of their original names, Rey often visited "Village 1797." He failed to return home after one such foray. Rey's covert jungle activities as an IL sympathizer has convinced Norma that the government is responsible for her husband's disappearance. One day, a village boy, Victor, is brought to the radio station to meet Norma. "He was slender and fragile, and his eyes were too small for his face. His head had been shaved -- to kill lice, Norma supposed." The boy carries a letter from the residents of Village 1797, who pooled their money to send Victor to the city for a "better life." The letter includes a list of lost people, some of whom may have fled to the city. "Perhaps one of these individuals will be able to care for the boy," says the letter. The list of names includes one Norma recognizes: an IL pseudonym once used by Rey. Could Victor be Norma's last and best chance of finding her husband? Norma and Rey share the stage with unforgettable characters whose histories connect in compelling and poignant ways. Manau, the village schoolteacher who takes Victor to see Norma, is a man whose body is covered with sores from his life in the humid jungle, a man who enjoyed a too-brief romance with Victor's late mother, Adela. And there's Zahir, another resident of Village 1797, whose hands were hacked off by zealous members of the IL. Though falsely accused of stealing food, Zahir accepts his punishment because of other evil things he has done. Alarcón's narrative has the ebb and flow of a dark dream. With a fluid chronology that curves upon itself and doubles back effortlessly, he allows the past to mingle and compete with the present. There are no false steps or strained sentences. "Lost City Radio" is, quite simply, a triumph. Alarcón has created a sublimely terrifying, war-ravaged world populated by unforgettable and fully realized characters. But at the novel's core is a story of hope, one that renders the resiliency of human nature in all its imperfect glory.
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Things Kept, Things Left Behind
by
Jim Tomlinson
olivasdan
, February 04, 2007
Book Review By Daniel A. Olivas There's much to be said for those who pen their first books at an age when many working folks are winding down their careers. Such writers can draw upon decades of experience, giving their writing the kind of nuance and ambiguity that comes with mature hindsight. For these reasons, one may rejoice in Jim Tomlinson's debut short-story collection, "Things Kept, Things Left Behind" (University of Iowa Press, $15.95 paperback), for which Tomlinson won the prestigious Iowa Short Fiction Award. Born in 1941 three weeks after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, Tomlinson grew up in a small Illinois town and now lives in rural Kentucky. Perhaps not surprisingly, most of the 11 short stories in this collection have the Bluegrass State as their backdrop and have struggling, working-class folks at their center. An example is LeAnn McCray, who appears in the two title stories, "Things Kept" and "Things Left Behind." In the first, we learn that LeAnn sometimes "felt restless, strange to her own skin. It was a troublesome feeling, one that would come on her without warning, as it did one Tuesday afternoon in late October." That day, LeAnn's sister, Cass, needs to talk about helping their stubborn and widowed mother, Georgia, out of debt. Cass suggests that LeAnn ask a mutual friend, Dexter Chalk, for help. The married LeAnn agrees, never letting on that she and Dexter are having an affair. The plan to aid Georgia spirals into an unintended climax, in which LeAnn learns that it's not just the living who have secrets. In "Things Left Behind," LeAnn's secret affair with Dexter is unwittingly divulged to her husband, Lonnie, by a well-intentioned hotel maid. Because Lonnie is far from a perfect husband and father, Tomlinson allows ambiguity to seep into LeAnn's infidelity. In "Prologue (two lives in letters)," we are introduced to two young, idealistic teenagers, Davis Menifee Jr. and Claire Lyons, through a sampling of their correspondence spanning 34 years. Thrown together as delegates to the 1963 Congressional Youth Leadership Conference for one week in Washington, D.C., Davis and Claire become close friends in the wake of Kennedy's assassination and political uncertainty. But they take radically different paths. Claire becomes an activist lawyer and eventually a member of Congress. Davis protests the Vietnam War and flees to Canada to evade the draft. Both start families, question their choices, wonder where their youth has gone, and hope for better times. For many readers who have spent a few decades on this good earth, the words of these two Americans may be painfully familiar. There are other gems in this collection: In "Stainless," Warren and Annie have one last dinner together as they divide up their belongings at the end of their marriage. In "Squirrels," a man is bedeviled by his ex-wife because she is bedeviled by squirrels that invaded her attic. And there are the two brothers in "Lake Charles" who share a bond forged in a horrendous, life-altering childhood accident. In such stories, Tomlinson keeps his observations and humor sharp, his prose lean as a marathon runner. Sometimes in a Tomlinson tale, it's difficult to tell the winners from the losers, the resilient from the fragile. But his magic lies in the shadows of people's lives, those dark recesses where uncertainty reigns. It's as if Tomlinson holds a mirror up to us and says: It's all a confusing mess, but we will survive because the other option is just too damn scary. This is unadorned wisdom earned through experience. And it takes a skilled, mature writer such as Tomlinson to bring it to life. [This review first appeared in the El Paso Times.]
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Inlandia A Literary Journey Through Californias Inland Empire
by
Gayle Wattawa
olivasdan
, January 23, 2007
Book Review By Daniel Olivas Long the Rodney Dangerfield of Southern California, the Inland Empire sits about an hour east of Los Angeles and encompasses the fast-growing counties of Riverside and San Bernardino. Far from the beaches of Malibu, it is a tough land, some say, the home of biker gangs and urban sprawl, a land buffeted by the unrelenting Santa Ana (or "Devil") winds that can flip cars and jangle nerves. Tell an Angeleno that you make your home in the Inland Empire and be prepared for the condescending half-smile followed by a wisecrack: "Oh, the methamphetamine capital of the world." But this era of insult might have come to an end, if Heyday Books and Santa Clara University have any say in it. Inlandia: A Literary Journey through California's Inland Empire, meticulously edited by Gayle Wattawa ($18.95 paperback), is an ambitious collection that finally gives the area its due as a culturally and historically vital component of Southern California. In the anthology's introduction, Riverside native and National Book Award finalist Susan Straight tells us that she has striven to infuse her writing with "the fierceness we retain in these small places where people loved their own with the vehemence, the stubborn and suspicious and inventive qualities required to survive this part of Southern California." Straight is not alone in attempting to depict all the complexities and beauty of the Inland Empire and its people. More than 70 authors are represented in fiction, poetry, native legends, journal entries and other writings from the 1700s to the present. Some of the writers enjoy worldwide fame and have been translated into many languages. We're treated to an excerpt from a 1930 tough-guy novelette, "Blood-Red Gold," by Erle Stanley Gardner, the creator of Perry Mason. And there's the exquisitely creepy essay, "Some Dreamers of the Golden Dream" by Joan Didion, concerning a woman accused of murder in the 1960s. Other "big names" abound, including Norman Mailer, John Steinbeck, Joan Baez and Raymond Chandler. Wattawa includes newer voices, writers who have lived or are living in the region and who feel compelled to chronicle the history and culture of their home through fiction. Kathleen Alcal?, who grew up in San Bernardino, offers the short story "Gypsy Lover," a haunting tale of one girl's attempt to come to terms with her older sister's mysterious disappearance. And in "Georgie and Wanda," Michael Jaime-Becerra skillfully fictionalizes the racial bigotry faced by a young couple in Riverside circa 1956. Many of the nonfiction pieces are simply heartbreaking. Diary excerpts from George Fujimoto Jr. starkly recount the federal government's rounding up of his family members, who were housed in Arizona internment camps for the duration of World War II. Similarly, Malcolm Margolin's "The Cupue?o Expulsion of 1903" details the removal of a native people for their valuable land. Smaller-scale tragedies are perfectly rendered here, too, as in Alex Espinoza's powerful short story, "Santo Ni?o," that brings us into the lives of two young women as they battle economic hardship, infertility and strained relationships. And in "hap & hazard highland" by Keenan Norris, a young ex-con tries to reconnect with his old neighborhood as well as with his youthful dreams. At the turn of each page, there are surprising little shocks as we enter themes radically different from the one before. For example, after the essay "909," Percival Everett's wry and provocative contemplation of Riverside County, out of the blue follows Sholeh Wolp?'s poem, "Morning After the U.S. Invasion of Iraq," in which the community of Redlands seems unfazed by the beginning of the war: "The chatter is as always, quiet, / The smiles as always, broad." No review can fully capture the breadth and spirit of this remarkable anthology. Suffice it to say that each author surprises, informs and entertains. Inlandia paints a complex and compelling portrait of a region that is simultaneously beautiful and harsh, multicultural and alienating, vibrant and destructive. Without question, it is a portrait that commands our respect. [This review first appeared in the El Paso Times.]
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Crossing Vines
by
Rigberto Gonzalez
olivasdan
, December 29, 2006
Review by Daniel Olivas If you were unfamiliar with Rigoberto Gonzalez, it wouldn't take many pages of reading his first novel, "Crossing Vines," to suspect that his prior book was one of poetry, not prose. Each sentence, every paragraph, all chapters possess the clarity and music of poetry even in recounting the often harsh and always difficult lives of a crew of grape pickers in California. In a series of vignettes focusing on different characters--young, old, gay, straight, male, female--Gonzalez allows us into the lives and painful pasts of these workers. Gonzalez avoids the melodramatic and cliche when it would be easy to fall into such traps. The final result is a mosaic of disparate and sometimes desperate lives that all connect to the backbreaking farmworker experience. This is a poetic, powerful first novel.
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Big Lonesome: Stories
by
Jim Ruland
olivasdan
, November 27, 2006
Review by Daniel Olivas There are no disappointments in this collection; each story offers something different while displaying a mastery of language and an empathetic understanding of what makes us human. Jim Ruland is a remarkable writer who has produced a debut collection that cannot be ignored. He's not afraid to challenge our assumptions, and in doing so we get to look at the world from a slightly off-kilter angle. [The full review first appeared in The Quarterly Conversation.]
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Hope & Other Dangerous Pursuits
by
Laila Lalami
olivasdan
, November 21, 2006
AUTHOR WRITES OF A DIFFERENT DANGEROUS MIGRATION By Daniel Olivas Under cover of night, with the aid of a high-priced human smuggler, a frightened group of men, women and children attempt a dangerous trek from their homeland to another country -- all in search of a better life. Who will succeed in entering the foreign land and improving their daily circumstances? And who will be apprehended by the authorities and returned to desperate poverty or other oppression? Such is the premise of Laila Lalami's debut novel, Hope and Other Dangerous Pursuits, now available in paperback from Harvest Books ($13). But the immigrants Lalami writes about are not Latinos attempting to get into the United States. Her protagonists are four Moroccans who huddle with about 20 others in a small boat to cross the Strait of Gibraltar. Their hope: to avoid the watchful eye of the authorities as they travel 14 kilometers to their haven, Spain. Lalami notes that this "more recent phenomenon of dangerous sea crossings ... is a result of the rising unemployment in Morocco combined with the tightening of visa regulations in Europe in the 1980s." The story will sound familiar to people in the United States: "Desperate to find jobs, people began to cross the short distance between Morocco and Spain on small boats, which has led to the loss of several thousand lives." Authors such as Luis Alberto Urrea and Reyna Grande have written books that eloquently recount similar dangers faced by Latinos trying to enter the United States through the unforgiving deserts of northern Mexico and the U.S. Southwest. But hope springs eternal. When her novel first hit the bookstores in hardcover last year, Lalami not only enjoyed critical acclaim but also had the "very pleasurable experience" of meeting and chatting with readers while on tour. "The only disturbing dialogue was when a woman at a book reading told me, point-blank, that 'Moroccan immigrants refuse to adapt and integrate.' And I, a perfectly 'integrated' immigrant, was standing before her. She couldn't see the irony." Born and raised in Morocco and now living in Oregon with her family, Lalami earned her bachelor of arts in English from Universite Mohammed V in Rabat; a master's degree from University College, London; and a Ph.D. in linguistics from the University of Southern California. Her work has appeared in the Boston Globe, the Los Angeles Times, the Oregonian, the Nation, the Washington Post and elsewhere. She is living the American dream, to be sure. But Lalami has never forgotten her roots. Before the novel's publication, most readers knew of Lalami through her blog, Moorishgirl.com, which reflects her Moroccan roots by often covering -- and confronting -- literary news relating to the "other" in our society. Latino writers have received a generous share of Lalami's coverage. Not surprisingly, Lalami is "just thrilled" that her novel has also come out in a Spanish edition translated by Monica Rubio under the title Esperanza y Otros Sue?os. Lalami sees "many similarities" with the way undocumented immigrants are viewed in the United States and Europe, "particularly the tendency to periodically blame immigrants for everything that ails society." All the while, "these immigrants are keeping the service industry afloat, they are taking jobs citizens consider too low-paying to take, and they contribute millions to retirement plans and other benefits that they will never get to receive." But perhaps by humanizing undocumented immigrants through her fiction, Lalami can help the public become more compassionate and less fearful. One can only hope. [This profile first appeared in the El Paso Times in slightly different form.]
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People of Paper
by
Salvador Plascencia
olivasdan
, November 12, 2006
Book Review By Daniel Olivas Salvador Plascencia?s debut novel, The People of Paper (McSweeney?s Books), is a wonderfully strange, hallucinogenic and hypertextual blending of fiction and autobiography. The Prologue?s first sentences thrust us into an almost familiar yet purely mythical world while introducing Plascencia?s sly brand of humor: ?She was made after the time of ribs and mud. By papal decree there were to be no more people born of the ground or from the marrow of bones. All would be created from the propulsions and mounts performed underneath bedsheets?rare exceptions granted for immaculate conceptions.? The papal decree shuts down the monk-run factory where people were made so that humans could be free to populate the world in a more organic fashion. They begin a march that ?was to proceed until the monks forgot the location of the factory?an impossible task for a tribe that had been trained to memorize not only scripture but also the subtle curvature of every cathedral archway they encountered.? But one monk, the fifty-third in the procession to be exact, sneaks away from the formation and wanders off. He eventually gives the coordinates of the padlocked factory to the brilliant paper surgeon, Antonio, who uses the factory to create his masterpiece, the ?she? of the first sentence. Antonio, when finished, collapses on the factory floor, blood dripping from his hands. The paper woman silently steps over him, leaves the factory and walks into a storm: ?The print of her arms smeared; her soaked feet tattered as they scrapped against wet pavement and turned her toes to pulp.? Now comes the strange part (or the first of a series of strange parts). Chapter One switches from standard book-page format to what will become a recurring visual motif: columns (similar to the look of a typical newspaper), each one headlined by the name of a character and written either in the first or third person. We learn of Saturn, the omniscient presence who lets us see poor Federico de la Fe, a bed wetter who is married to the beautiful Merced. They have a daughter, Little Merced, who sucks limes like her mother and who loves her father very much. Merced cannot stand the bedwetting (at least that is Federico de la Fe?s belief) so she leaves him for another man. To quell his heartbreak, Federico de la Fe discovers a ?cure for remorse?: the infliction of pain through fire. He also decides to leave Mexico and head to Los Angeles where he and Little Merced can begin a new life. On the bus, they encounter the Baby Nostradamus whose columns are not filled with words but with black ink. They also meet the paper woman who tells Little Merced that she was never christened. So Little Merced dubs the woman Merced de Papel?a name that can translate loosely to ?paper favor? or ?at the mercy of paper? or even ?thanks to paper.? Federico de la Fe and Little Merced eventually settle in El Monte, a predominantly Latino community about a dozen miles east of downtown Los Angeles. It is here that Federico de la Fe becomes the leader of an army to fight Saturn who lives in the sky and can read everyone?s thoughts. Federico de la Fe recruits a gang of cholos as his troops. Other story lines abound. There?s Margarita Cansino, the Mexican beauty who sleeps with lettuce pickers until Hollywood discovers her after she changes her appearance to look white; she becomes Rita Hayworth. Merced de Papel makes a home in Southern California and passes the time by sleeping with many men who cut their tongues and fingers on her private parts; these men belong to a secret society of those who have suffered such exquisite paper cuts. There?s also the wrestling saint, Napoleon Bonaparte, a curandero, flower pickers, Cardinal Mahoney of Los Angeles, a glue sniffer, and a mechanic who makes robot tortoises whose lead shells Federico de la Fe uses to encase the homes of his troops to keep Saturn from penetrating their thoughts. And who is this mysterious Saturn? As the novel progresses, we learn that he is Mexican who is dumped by his Mexican girlfriend, Liz, who falls for a white man. Saturn eventually attempts to fill the void with another woman, Camaroon. All the while, a curious cholo, Smiley, who doesn?t heed Federico de la Fe?s warnings, searches out Saturn to learn whether he is good or bad. How does he do this? He rips a whole in the sky and enters the bedroom of Saturn aka Salvador Plascencia. Saturn is really nothing more than a writer. And his creations are taking over his life. Smiley confronts Plascencia who sadly does not recognize him much to Smiley?s consternation. Is he not important enough a character that his creator should know him immediately? Too many characters, apologizes Plascencia. Too many to remember. The battle continues. Plascencia fights heartbreak. His creations fight for autonomy. When Plascencia is too depressed to control his characters, their voices spill onto the page in haphazard fashion, columns running vertically and horizontally, all semblance of plot ripped apart by voices wanting to be free and heard. At one point, the novel begins again when Camaroon complains about being turned into a character in Plascencia?s book. What an astonishing, strange and deeply moving novel this is. In all his playfulness, Plascencia nonetheless grapples with troubling issues of free will, religious fidelity, ethnic identity, failed love and the creative process which he melds into a dreamscape that is impossible to forget. Plascencia?the God of his paper people?has given us a startling work of fiction that stretches not only the norms of storytelling, but also the bounds of our imagination. [This review first appeared in The Elegant Variation.]
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Butterfly Boy: Memories of a Chicano Mariposa
by
Rigoberto Gonzalez
olivasdan
, October 27, 2006
Book Review By Daniel Olivas What makes a writer? This seemingly simple question can elicit many complex answers and even more questions. Case in point: Rigoberto Gonz?lez's poetic and heartbreaking memoir, "Butterfly Boy: Memories of a Chicano Mariposa" (The University of Wisconsin Press, $24.95 hardcover). Gonz?lez is an award-winning author of poetry, fiction and children's books. He is also a book critic contributing regularly to the El Paso Times. How did Gonz?lez, the son of migrant farmworkers whose first language was Spanish, become Gonz?lez the writer? Answers begin to emerge from his painful assertion of himself as a gay man in a culture steeped in machismo. Gonz?lez tells of his journey into adulthood and a life of literature in a nonlinear fashion, moving back and forth from childhood to adulthood, Mexico to the United States, self-loathing to self-revelatory empowerment. The book begins in Riverside, Calif., in 1990. Gonz?lez, as a college student at the Riverside campus of the University of California, has fallen in love with an older man who, as symbolized by painful yet beautiful "butterfly" marks he places upon Gonz?lez, brings both tenderness and brutality to the relationship. The unnamed lover cheats on Gonz?lez and doesn't hesitate to beat him up to establish his superiority over his young man. At times, Gonz?lez believes he deserves such brutality. Other times, he is grateful to have escaped the oppressiveness of his family and its legacy of dropping out of high school to work in the fields. The escape comes in the form of literature. A sometimes-callous, sometimes-tender teacher named Dolly lends the young Gonz?lez a poetry book and works with him to subjugate his accent. And the fire is lit: "I became a closet reader at first, taking my book with me to the back of the landlord's house or into my parents' room, where I would mouth the syllables softly, creating my own muted music." Gonz?lez then suffers the death of his mother when he is only 12. Compounding this loss, he is shipped off to live with his tyrannical grandfather. His own father -- who abuses alcohol and carouses with women --eventually starts another family, further alienating Gonz?lez. Again, books prove to be Gonz?lez's salvation, eventually leading to his surreptitious and successful application to college. Gonz?lez remains closeted in both his sexuality and intellect, realizing that neither facet of his identity would be understood or appreciated by his family. In the midst of scenes from his college life in Riverside and his adolescent exploration of sex and literature, Gonz?lez recounts a long and agonizing bus trip with his father. He leaves Riverside and travels to Indio, where his father lives, so they can begin their journey "into M?xico, into the state of Michoac?n, into the town of Zacapu, where my father was born, where my mother was raised, and where I grew up." This passage home takes on a special aura because Gonz?lez will turn 20 while there. Throughout the trip, Gonz?lez longs for his lover while seething with an almost uncontrollable anger toward his father. Throughout, he wonders if this trip was a mistake or a necessary part of becoming an adult. What makes a writer? Obviously, talent is a necessary ingredient. And in the case of Gonz?lez, add to the mix hard work and a burning desire to be heard. Ultimately, it is a mysterious alchemy. In any case, "Butterfly Boy" is a potent and poetic coming-of-age story about one man's acceptance of himself. There's no mystery in that. [This review first appeared in the El Paso Times.]
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Hummingbirds Daughter
by
Luis Alberto Urrea
olivasdan
, October 27, 2006
Book Review By Daniel Olivas In the harsh yet thriving landscape of Mexico, circa 1880, the poor, illiterate and unmarried Yaqui woman (known by her tribe as The Hummingbird), gave birth to Teresita with the help of the town's healer, the curandera called Huila. Huila-one of Urrea's most remarkable creations-is as cantankerous as she is powerful. So powerful in fact that she lives in a room behind the kitchen of the great hacienda owned by the wealthy Don Tomas Urrea. Don Tomas does not care much for religion but he knows that Huila is an asset and puts up with her magic as much as Huila puts up with her patron's habit of spreading his seed despite having a beautiful, attentive wife and several children who populate the hacienda. Teresita eventually-and literally-wanders into Don Tomas's life and is subsequently taken under Huila's wing. Huila notices two things about this unusual girl: she resembles the Urrea family and she possesses the power to heal. Don Tomas ultimately owns up to paternity and is determined to make a lady out of this barefooted urchin. But as Teresita matures, her powers grow until all know that she is the curandera women should go to when they are about to give birth or when a child becomes ill. Then one day, when Teresita goes out to the fields, she is raped, beaten and eventually dies. But on the third day, at the end of burial preparations, in the midst of five mourning women, Teresita awakes. The town is abuzz with news of this miracle. With her resurrection comes greater healing powers and, of course, fame. The Yaquis, as well as other native tribes, mestizos, and even Americans, make pilgrimages to the Urrea hacienda. The Catholic Church views this "saint" as a heretic, the vicious and corrupt government of Porfirio Diaz considers the girl a threat, and revolutionaries want to insinuate themselves into her sphere of influence for their own political cause. The climax brilliantly mirrors the immigrant's experience of seeking safe passage to a foreign land while relying on loved ones as well as fate. Urrea, who is the award-winning author of ten books-fiction, non-fiction and poetry-tells us in an author's note that Teresa Urrea "was a real person"-his aunt. The Hummingbird's Daughter is his fictionalization of family lore based on twenty years of intense research and interviews. The result resonates with such passion and beauty that it doesn't matter whether Teresita's legend is based more on a people's wishful thinking than truth. The Hummingbird's Daughter is a sumptuous, dazzling novel to which no review can do justice; one simply must read it. [The full review first appeared in The Elegant Variation.]
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Hummingbirds Daughter
by
Luis Alberto Urrea
olivasdan
, October 27, 2006
Book Review By Daniel Olivas In the harsh yet thriving landscape of Mexico, circa 1880, the poor, illiterate and unmarried Yaqui woman (known by her tribe as The Hummingbird), gave birth to Teresita with the help of the town's healer, the curandera called Huila. Huila-one of Urrea's most remarkable creations-is as cantankerous as she is powerful. So powerful in fact that she lives in a room behind the kitchen of the great hacienda owned by the wealthy Don Tomas Urrea. Don Tomas does not care much for religion but he knows that Huila is an asset and puts up with her magic as much as Huila puts up with her patron's habit of spreading his seed despite having a beautiful, attentive wife and several children who populate the hacienda. Teresita eventually-and literally-wanders into Don Tomas's life and is subsequently taken under Huila's wing. Huila notices two things about this unusual girl: she resembles the Urrea family and she possesses the power to heal. Don Tomas ultimately owns up to paternity and is determined to make a lady out of this barefooted urchin. But as Teresita matures, her powers grow until all know that she is the curandera women should go to when they are about to give birth or when a child becomes ill. Then one day, when Teresita goes out to the fields, she is raped, beaten and eventually dies. But on the third day, at the end of burial preparations, in the midst of five mourning women, Teresita awakes. The town is abuzz with news of this miracle. With her resurrection comes greater healing powers and, of course, fame. The Yaquis, as well as other native tribes, mestizos, and even Americans, make pilgrimages to the Urrea hacienda. The Catholic Church views this "saint" as a heretic, the vicious and corrupt government of Porfirio Diaz considers the girl a threat, and revolutionaries want to insinuate themselves into her sphere of influence for their own political cause. The climax brilliantly mirrors the immigrant's experience of seeking safe passage to a foreign land while relying on loved ones as well as fate. Urrea, who is the award-winning author of ten books-fiction, non-fiction and poetry-tells us in an author's note that Teresa Urrea "was a real person"-his aunt. The Hummingbird's Daughter is his fictionalization of family lore based on twenty years of intense research and interviews. The result resonates with such passion and beauty that it doesn't matter whether Teresita's legend is based more on a people's wishful thinking than truth. The Hummingbird's Daughter is a sumptuous, dazzling novel to which no review can do justice; one simply must read it. [The full review first appeared in The Elegant Variation.]
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Hummingbirds Daughter
by
Luis Alberto Urrea
olivasdan
, October 27, 2006
Book Review By Daniel Olivas In the harsh yet thriving landscape of Mexico, circa 1880, the poor, illiterate and unmarried Yaqui woman (known by her tribe as The Hummingbird), gave birth to Teresita with the help of the town's healer, the curandera called Huila. Huila-one of Urrea's most remarkable creations-is as cantankerous as she is powerful. So powerful in fact that she lives in a room behind the kitchen of the great hacienda owned by the wealthy Don Tomas Urrea. Don Tomas does not care much for religion but he knows that Huila is an asset and puts up with her magic as much as Huila puts up with her patron's habit of spreading his seed despite having a beautiful, attentive wife and several children who populate the hacienda. Teresita eventually-and literally-wanders into Don Tomas's life and is subsequently taken under Huila's wing. Huila notices two things about this unusual girl: she resembles the Urrea family and she possesses the power to heal. Don Tomas ultimately owns up to paternity and is determined to make a lady out of this barefooted urchin. But as Teresita matures, her powers grow until all know that she is the curandera women should go to when they are about to give birth or when a child becomes ill. Then one day, when Teresita goes out to the fields, she is raped, beaten and eventually dies. But on the third day, at the end of burial preparations, in the midst of five mourning women, Teresita awakes. The town is abuzz with news of this miracle. With her resurrection comes greater healing powers and, of course, fame. The Yaquis, as well as other native tribes, mestizos, and even Americans, make pilgrimages to the Urrea hacienda. The Catholic Church views this "saint" as a heretic, the vicious and corrupt government of Porfirio Diaz considers the girl a threat, and revolutionaries want to insinuate themselves into her sphere of influence for their own political cause. The climax brilliantly mirrors the immigrant's experience of seeking safe passage to a foreign land while relying on loved ones as well as fate. Urrea, who is the award-winning author of ten books-fiction, non-fiction and poetry-tells us in an author's note that Teresa Urrea "was a real person"-his aunt. The Hummingbird's Daughter is his fictionalization of family lore based on twenty years of intense research and interviews. The result resonates with such passion and beauty that it doesn't matter whether Teresita's legend is based more on a people's wishful thinking than truth. The Hummingbird's Daughter is a sumptuous, dazzling novel to which no review can do justice; one simply must read it. [The full review first appeared in The Elegant Variation.]
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Nothing In The World
by
Roy Kesey
olivasdan
, October 22, 2006
Book Review By Daniel Olivas In his hypnotic and chilling debut, "Nothing in the World: A Novella" (Bullfight Media, $8 paperback), Roy Kesey introduces us to the young Josko Banovic, who lives in Croatia just below his kinsmen's radar and prefers it that way. As his parents argue about politics and Croatia's growing tensions with Serbia, Josko pines for his newly married sister, Klara, who has left Jezera to begin a new life in Dubrovnik. Josko collects abalone shells for Klara, hoping to give them to her when she returns home. In school, the "teachers rarely called on Josko, and the few times he volunteered an answer, they looked at him as though they remembered having seen him before, but weren't quite sure where." And Josko keeps his distance from the other students because it "was easier simply to be alone." He is, in a word, anonymous. But Josko's unassuming existence takes a dreadful turn when the Serbs escalate the conflict with Croatia with attacks on the towns of Krajina, Tenja and Dalj: "For the first time in his life, Josko had someone to hate." Josko enlists in the army, beginning a journey that will take him from heroism to the more ambiguous terrain often traveled by soldiers who commit and suffer from acts of violence that attend war. Kesey seamlessly weaves the gruesomeness of battle with a dreamlike, almost fabulist style as we follow Josko in his transformation from hero -- he is a brilliant sniper -- to physically and emotionally wounded fighter who abandons the war to find Klara. Josko wanders from town to town, each ripped apart by battle, the few remaining inhabitants numb to violence. He encounters near starvation, exhaustion and hallucinations. He hears a girl's voice, calling him, leading him, somewhere, perhaps to Klara, guiding him on his quest: "She sang ballads and folk songs and at times only his name, and he wondered if she was beautiful." At one point, Josko is arrested as a deserter and sent to a prison where, he is warned, "Sooner or later you sign your confession and then you disappear." When interrogated, Josko honestly tells the guard who he is. But truth is met with disbelief and mockery: "Ah. So you're the famous Josko Banovic, the man who shot down two jets over Sibenik, who left the head of that Muslim sniper on a caf? table in Split." Josko realizes that he will undoubtedly face death unless he escapes. And escape he does, in a flurry of brutal, premeditated and bloody acts against his own countrymen. Interspersed throughout the narrative, Kesey offers three fables, each beginning with "What happened was this" rather than the usual "Once upon a time." The first concerns an old woman whose home is attacked, "bullets from a far hill poured into her house, sizzling and popping all around her." She survives at first. Upon her eventual death, the townsfolk revere her as a saint and eventually turn the old woman's home into a shrine, which is soon desecrated by soldiers. The other two fables similarly demonstrate the struggle between the sacred and the profane, hope and destruction. Kesey has created a quietly brilliant protest against war, an exquisitely rendered tale in the absurdist spirit of such classics as "Slaughterhouse-Five" and "Catch-22." It is a tale whose heroes and villains, through the course of battle, often change places until their roles blur. It is a tale that sadly remains relevant and in need of telling today. [This review first appeared in the El Paso Times.]
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Brides and Sinners in El Chuco
by
Christine Granados
olivasdan
, October 16, 2006
POTENT LITTLE PORTRAITS OF BRIDES AND SINNERS Book Review By Daniel Olivas In this gritty yet often comical debut collection, Christine Granados offers sharp, honest portraits of the people who cobble together decidedly unglamorous lives in El Paso known as ?El Chuco? by its Mexican American inhabitants. Granados sets the tone with the first story, ?The Bride,? where the narrator recounts her older sister?s dream to have a wedding like the ones pictured in glossy bride magazines: ?Rochelle was obsessed. Because all these ridiculous magazines never listed mariachis or dollar dances, she decided her wedding was going to have a string quartet, no bajo, horns, or anything, no dollar dance, and it was going to be in October. . . . I wasn?t going to tell her there is no ?elegance? to autumn in El Paso.? Despite such planning and dreaming, Rochelle?s ?perfect? wedding gives way to tarnished, unplanned reality that she unblinkingly accepts. Granados?s women sometime prefer familiar abuse over healthy, mutually fulfilling relationships. In ?Comfort,? Courtney has a history of dating men who beat and degrade her. But when her new boyfriend, Eliseo, fails to follow this pattern, she grows bored: ?Respect. Something every girl wanted but didn?t really need. What Courtney wanted was passion.? She decides to push Eliseo to the breaking point, make him lose control, by needling him and challenging his manhood. Similarly, in ?Love Web,? a receptionist falls for the office?s womanizer and willingly accepts sexual degradation just to be part of his life. These two women believe they are control of their private lives, and in many respects they are no matter how misguided they may seem. Granados allows her audience to understand how they got to this place without preaching about the importance of self-respect. In other words, she trusts the intelligence of her readers to come to their own conclusions. Not all of Granados?s women suffer at the hands of men. In ?Small Time,? a mother forces her daughter to learn how to scam department stores by ?returning? stolen merchandise. And in ?Inner View,? a young woman cannot escape the inept and unintentionally humorous meddling of her family as she tries to interview for a well-paying paralegal position. But in neither of these stories does Granados implore us to pity these women because, in the end, they do not pity themselves. Granados is a gifted writer who refuses to sugarcoat the lives of her characters. These stories are potent little portraits of brides and sinners who struggle through ordinary lives propelled by nothing more than a vague hope for something better. Granados is a writer to watch. [This review first appeared in La Bloga.]
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The Disappearance
by
Ilan Stavans
olivasdan
, October 13, 2006
STAVANS PLUMBS THE MYSTERIES OF IDENTITY By Daniel Olivas In the preface to ?The Disappearance: A Novella and Stories? (Northwestern University Press), the prolific and often provocative Ilan Stavans informs us that the ?three stories in this volume are concerned, in one way or another, with silence?both earthly and divine.? Hopefully Stavans will forgive those readers who discern a different thematic pattern in these well-crafted little mysteries which are?in both tone and structure?reminiscent of tales by Jorge Luis Borges and W. Somerset Maugham. One can argue that the heart of these stories concerns the question of identity: ethnic, religious, national and cultural. Stavans, a professor of Latin American and Latino Culture at Amherst College, has often explored this rocky but fascinating terrain drawn from his own experiences of being a Jew of Mexican birth who has moved within the languages of Spanish, English, Hebrew and Yiddish. Stavans is a true craftsman, a lover of language, a detective in search of what makes us similar to each other yet also unique. The stories in this slim but potent collection remind us that we belong to a complex and ultimately mysterious species for which there is no easy definition. [The full version of this review first appeared in the El Paso Times.]
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Samba Dreamers
by
Kathleen De Azevedo
olivasdan
, July 02, 2006
Refugee Trades Demons of Brazil for Those of Hollywood "Samba Dreamers" is a dark, fantastical and, indeed, brilliant cautionary tale for those who search out paradise without first confronting -- and defeating -- their inner demons. If Nathanael West had been Brazilian, "The Day of the Locust" would have looked a lot like "Samba Dreamers." De Azevedo is a remarkable new literary voice. [The full review by Daniel Olivas first appeared in the El Paso Times.]
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Dirt Cheap
by
Lyn Miller-Lachmann
olivasdan
, May 22, 2006
Misfits and mystery Activist's first novel is a lively eco-thriller By Daniel A. Olivas [review first appeared in the El Paso Times] Lyn Miller-Lachmann has dedicated her life to promoting multicultural literature in the hope that readers of all ages learn to appreciate and admire those who come from different cultures. She also has been active in human rights, social and environmental justice, and peace groups since the mid-1970s. She could easily rest on her laurels and call it a day. But she now brings us her first novel, "Dirt Cheap" (Curbstone Press, $15.95 paperback). In it, as with her other work, Miller-Lachmann does not shy away from tough questions of what we, as a people, are doing to our planet and to each other. And she does so with crisp dialogue and fully realized characters. The heart of this novel is the relationship between Nicholas Baran and Sandy Katz. Baran, who was raised in a scrapyard by an alcoholic father, is now deep into middle age and teaching at a community college, but with an anger toward life's injustices that drives him to radical politics and a brilliant, junkyard-dog intensity in the classroom. His anger helps him survive chemotherapy as he wrestles leukemia into remission. Baran is a handful for his wife and children, but they more or less allow him to live his radicalized life. Katz, on the other hand, is young and not yet jaded. She teaches at the local middle school and has Baran's son in her class. Katz struggles with her independence from her parents and her desire to reconnect with Judaism. She also is failing miserably as a teacher. So when she's tapped to coach the "B" team in basketball -- which includes Baran's son -- she accepts the opportunity to burnish her teaching record. Baran agrees to assist Katz in coaching, which leads to some of the novel's most interesting interaction between the world-weary rabble-rouser and the idealistic neophyte. But something more brings Baran and Katz together: There is an alarming rate of cancer among the children in the community. Baran already suspects corporate crimes and has been conducting soil and water samples, much to the consternation of his wife, Holly, and Marc Braxton, a local attorney who is concerned that Baran's quest could be disastrous to real-estate values and business. Baran and Katz eventually join forces to uncover hard evidence of the intentional contamination of their community's soil and water by the Hometown Chemical Co. Miller-Lachmann kicks her narrative into high gear as we watch this odd couple search for the truth. The novel succeeds beyond this "eco-thriller" aspect of the story because Miller-Lachmann imbues her characters with all the strengths and weaknesses that we see in those we love and know. And because Baran and Katz are so well-drawn, we eventually care for them -- despite their personal failings -- and cheer them on as they attempt to reveal the cause of the cancer clusters. "Dirt Cheap" is an enthralling novel that raises complex questions about how we treat each other as well as the environment in which we live. Miller-Lachmann can now add "novelist" to her long list of literary accomplishments.
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Across A Hundred Mountains
by
Reyna Grande
olivasdan
, April 26, 2006
Not So Alien After All: Timely Novel Gives Human Face to Immigration Review by Daniel Olivas [this review first appeared in the El Paso Times] As the public discourse over undocumented immigration becomes more heated and, at times, outright ugly -- particularly in the blogosphere -- attacks on such immigrants are often made in broad strokes and with gross generalizations. This should not be a surprise, because it is easier to denigrate and reject a group of people if you dehumanize them and make them faceless. But that's where talented writers come in: With skillful prose, they can focus on a small group of undocumented immigrants and make their struggles and humanity real to the reader so that it becomes difficult to dismiss their plight with a bumper-sticker slogan or the waving of a flag. Two years ago, Luis Alberto Urrea did exactly that with "The Devil's Highway" (Little, Brown), in which he brilliantly chronicled the plight of 26 Mexican men who, in 2001, crossed the border into an area of the Arizona desert known as the Devil's Highway. Only 12 made it safely across. The book received wide acclaim and was a finalist for the 2005 Pulitzer Prize for general nonfiction. Now comes a fictionalized story of undocumented immigration in Reyna Grande's debut novel, "Across a Hundred Mountains" (Atria Books, $23). Grande tells her story in evocative language that never falls into pathos. In the nonlinear narrative, chapters alternate between her two female protagonists, Juana Garcia and Adelina Vasquez. First, we have Juana, a young girl who lives in a small Mexican village in extreme poverty. When a flood leads to yet another death in her family -- a death that Juana feels responsible for -- Juana's father believes that he must earn more money to house his family in safer quarters. He believes that there are abundant opportunities "en el otro lado," based on a letter from a friend: "Ap?'s friend wrote about riches unheard of, streets that never end, and buildings that nearly reach the sky. He wrote that there's so much money to be made, and so much food to eat, that people there don't know what hunger is." With such dreams, Juana's father decides to leave his family and enter the United States by relying on a fast-talking coyote. He makes numerous promises to send money once he's found employment. But Juana and her mother hear nothing for years, leading to further poverty. Worse yet, Juana's father had to borrow money from Don Elias to pay the coyote's exorbitant fee. Once Juana's father embarks on his journey, Don Elias swoops down on Juana's beautiful mother with ideas as to how repayment can be made. A few years later -- after no word from her father, and after her abused mother has fallen into alcoholism -- Juana decides to leave home to find her father. Juana eventually crosses paths with a young U.S.-born prostitute, Adelina, in Tijuana. They make plans to join forces and sneak into the United States together. For Juana, there's a chance to find her long-lost father. For Adelina, there's hope to cast off the shackles of her abusive boyfriend-pimp. This friendship is perhaps one of the most affecting elements of Grande's narrative. And, after a twist reminiscent of Dickens, these brave young women end up insinuating themselves into each other's life more than one could imagine. The publisher tells us that Grande was born in Guerrero, Mexico, in 1975, and that she entered the United States as an undocumented immigrant at age 9. Despite such obstacles, Grande earned her bachelors of art degree in creative writing from the University of California at Santa Cruz and was a 2003 PEN USA Emerging Voices Fellow. In other words, Grande is living the American dream and has offered a striking and moving story about people who have traveled the same dangerous journey that she did. "Across a Hundred Mountains" is a beautifully rendered novel that maintains its power throughout because Reyna Grande keeps control over her language and does not feel a need to trumpet emotionally volatile scenes of alcohol and drug abuse, rape, poverty and infant mortality. This is a breathtaking debut.
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Nymphos Of Rocky Flats Felix Gomez 01
by
Mario Acevedo
olivasdan
, April 15, 2006
Sex, War and Chicano Vampires Review by Daniel Olivas In his debut novel, Mario Acevedo lets us know early on that his protagonist, Felix Gomez, is nothing like your father's private investigator: "I don't like what Operation Iraqi Freedom has done to me. I went to the war a soldier; I came back a vampire." We're immediately thrown into the hell of war as we follow then-Sergeant Gomez and his infantry division, "still ass-deep in combat along the Euphrates valley," searching out fedayeen guerrillas in a village south of Karbala. Gomez spots a group of what he believes to be the enemy apparently armed with RPGs or other weapons. Based on his confirmation, the division's lieutenant gives the signal to open fire and they do. When the lieutenant orders cease fire, Gomez's "heart pounded in euphoric victory" and he acknowledges that the "moment was exhilarating...." But the thrill quickly dissipates as Gomez and his comrades discover that they've just massacred a family. Only a young girl shows signs of life and Gomez tries to stop the bleeding from a hole near her navel. But it's hopeless. In a guilty daze, Gomez wanders until he comes upon a stranger with eyes that shone like a wolf's; the man immediately controls Gomez with nothing more than his gaze. Gomez confesses about what he has done and that he wants to be punished for his crime. The stranger obliges and bites Gomez on the neck. Gomez feels the transformation occurring and asks what's happened. The stranger answers: "...I've given you what you wanted. A punishment even worse than death. I've given you immortality. As a vampire." Back in the states, Gomez makes a living as a private investigator using special contact lenses and plenty of makeup and sunblock to venture out in the daylight. Gomez is a vampire with a conscience: he refuses to drink human blood because of his guilt over the massacre. He makes due on animal blood which slightly diminishes some of his vampire powers such as scaling walls and transforming into a wolf. But even in this weakened state, Gomez still outpaces humans with supernatural powers so that his private investigation practice becomes almost legendary. Gomez's successes lead to a lucrative job offered by his old college roommate, Gilbert Odin, who now is the Assistant Manager for Environmental Restoration at Rocky Flats, which had been a nuclear weapons plant. It seems that the Department of Energy needs to uncover the cause of an outbreak of nymphomania among female personnel at the plant. To complicate matters, the vampire society known as nidus, or the web, has its own investigation going into a deadly group of vampire hunters who seem to show up every time there's an outbreak of nymphomania. This setup allows Acevedo to take us on a wild ride-often with a wink and a nod-delving into everything from lying war mongers and vengeful scientists to Homeland Security cover-ups and alien abduction. And let's not forget that vampire stuff. Acevedo gleefully debunks vampire lore and creates new rules of the game with a bit of romance thrown in for good measure. In the end, The Nymphos of Rocky Flats delivers fast-paced fun topped off with wry humor and dead-on social commentary. One wonders who will play Felix Gomez in the screen adaptation. [This review first appeared in La Bloga.]
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(6 of 10 readers found this comment helpful)
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