Pilgrims travel to the Soria family in Bicho Raro in the Colorado desert to receive miracles. But what they discover is that the miracle is actually two miracles: the first miracle makes a pilgrim's darkness manifest, and then they're on their own for the second miracle where they conquer that darkness. If the Sorias interfere and help a pilgrim with their darkness, the Soria's own darkness comes upon them, and Soria darkness is worse than normal peoples'. So Bicho Raro is filling up with pilgrims who can't vanquish their darkness and can't speak to the Sorias. When Daniel helps a pilgrim and his darkness comes and he runs into the desert to save his family from the temptation of helping him and having their own darkness come out, the younger generation set out to aid their cousin with the use of a pirate radio station.
This one made me uneasy in a way I can't quite shake. It's not that it's cultural appropriation, because I believe Stiefvater did her research and shows respect. (But I also haven't seen a review from a Hispanic reviewer, and if you see one, send it my way.) But there was still something that didn't sit right with me. You all know that I love love love Scorpio Races, and if you haven't read that, stop and go get it. So maybe I was upset that this veered away from that so much (so so much)? No. Is it that Stiefvader is famous and (as gross and unfortunate and not her fault as it is) this book probably means that a debut Hispanic author writing as #ownvoices didn't get published? Yeah. A little. But what is she going to do? Are white authors only allowed to write about white people in a never ending feedback loop of blinding whiteness?
I just keep coming back to how it's SO MUCH like Gabriel García Márquez's work. There's a large family, each with quirks and communication problems, and magical realism and a narrative mostly told in summary rather than scene and an omniscient narrator who doesn't let things like characters not being in a scene keep them from telling you what they would think if they were there. I love all of that, but this story felt more like derivative than inspired by--like it was trying so hard to be Márquez. I think this book is exactly what it set out to be. But it was distracting for me that I could tell what it was trying to be.
The magical realism was awesome though.
On the first day, he'd completed the stucco walls for a small structure the size of his stallion's box stall, and the other Sorias had been pleased. On the second day, he'd torn free a section of abandoned railroad and melted it into a beautifully intricate metal gate, and the other Sorias had been pleased. On the third day, he'd fired on thousand ceramic tiles with the heat of his own belief and installed a roof made of them, and the other Sorias had been pleased. On the fourth day, the Virgin had appeared again, this time surrounded by owls; he'd carved a statue of her in this state to place inside the Shrine, and the other Sorias had been pleased. On the fifth day, he'd made a rich pigment from some sky that had gotten too close to him and used it to pain the Shrine's exterior turquose, and the other Sorias had been pleased. On the sixth day, he'd held up a passenger train, robbed the passengers, killed the sheriff on board, and used the sheriff's femurs to fashion a cross for the top of the shrine. The other Sorias had not been pleased.
Outstanding.
I ddon't know how I feel about the combination of magical realism and outright magic. The book did take a while to get moving. But I liked all the characters. I liked the descriptions of the desert.
So I don't know what I'm talking about here.
***
Next week: Eliza and Her Monsters, YA about secret web comics, by Francesca Zappia.
