Alicia Gaspar de Alba
Taking a string of real-life events horrific and terrifying enough to escape even the yellow journalism of 24-hour cable news stations and turning it into a gripping and compelling mystery novel is no small task. However, this book, while necessary and entertaining in the most basic sense of the word, ultimately falls prey to bad writing and contrived plot devices and fades into obscurity along with the murders of hundreds of young Mexican women along the El Paso/Juarez border. Gaspar de Alba does a good job of rendering the murders and creates a gripping enough story to keep readers interested, but by resorting to overplayed conventions of the mystery genre she undermines both her book and, unfortunately, the story behind it. Desert Blood, far from being a wake-up call to happily ignorant America, instead polarizes readers and turns them away with flat characters and predictable, unrealistic plot elements.
Gaspar de Alba does deserve some credit for this harrowing novel. She bravely attempts to pull back the curtain on an utterly ignored tragedy sadly close to home and, in writing the book, surely subjected herself to minor psychological terror. As a woman, it is immensely uncomfortable to read the multiple graphic accounts of brutalization and rape; necessarily written in the present tense and sparing no minute detail, these chapters bring the problem right to readers' eyes and minds. They are strong and evoke parallel strong reactions among readers. While this level of graphic detail should turn readers away, it actually serves the novel well by painting a no-holds-barred picture of the situation at hand. The time has long passed for the country to wake up, and if Desert Blood has to shock to raise awareness, so be it. The entire book is saturated in a grittiness that speaks to its real-life source material and makes it continually compelling despite its many flaws. Gaspar de Alba has real literary talent, but it's a shame that it is wasted only on the most terrifying passages of the book.
While the book provides an acute and three-dimensional sense of setting (El Paso and Juarez come alive), it cannot create even remotely realistic characters. Ivon, the main character, is hopelessly stereotypical. Even late attempts to distinguish her from other beer-swilling, men-hating, Doc-Marten-clad butch lesbians cannot override readers' first perceptions of her as just another rough and masculine lesbian, who happens to be in this situation. Her family situation shows a desperate attempt to come away from the stereotypes but instead plays off of others, proving that two stereotypes together does not defy either one and instead keeps the situation at bay instead of bringing it home. While I will be the last to argue that feminist lesbians should not be main characters in books, even I could not identify with Ivon. She is off-putting to those of us who wish to rise above popular perceptions and will certainly alienate most men and straight women who see yet another manifestation of the angry dyke. This is a narrative that calls for a sympathetic main character, a failure even more obvious in the short chapters that place readers in the shoes of the victims, with whom they identify completely despite their brief duration. There are a few truly unique characters in this book, but Gaspar de Alba takes such pains to refrain from individualizing most that character introductions and description induce groans and release readers from the story.
This kind of obvious and over-done attempt at characterization is reflected in the writing as a whole. Many implications can be easily drawn from the narrative without Gaspar de Alba's tiresome lecturing. Gaspar de Alba rightly chooses an entirely omniscient narrator for the book, but abuses it to the point where a limited view seems vastly superior. The novel is littered with sentences that function only as asides to the reader, in effect the author screaming through a bullhorn right in the reader's ear. All of this is unnecessary and only serves to put the reader off even more than the downright offensive stereotypes. Desert Blood, while attempting to raise awareness and provide biting social commentary, comes off as a protracted rant against The Man instead of a nuanced work exploring problems in a very realistic way. What is even more infuriating is that there is subtle talent evident at certain points in the book, the parts that will most likely turn readers off without an interesting surrounding narrative to make the disgust worthwhile.
The book is not a complete failure. It does present a real problem in harrowing terms and presents an interesting theory regarding the reason for the murders in Juarez, inviting readers to follow up themselves and begging the question, "Why isn't anything being done about this?" If only the book didn't actually ask this question so many times in plain and boring prose, if only the plot didn't wrap up nicely and follow predictable, groan-inducing patterns, if only the characters weren't infuriating to those whom they seek to represent as well as those whom they openly defy, if only it didn't try so hard, then maybe Desert Blood could have been a clear call to action and a hair-raising mystery. Unfortunately, we are left only with what we have, and it is far from great or even particularly useful. The Juarez murders linger in obscurity despite this attempt to bring them to the forefront of American discourse.
Grade: B-
Gaspar de Alba does deserve some credit for this harrowing novel. She bravely attempts to pull back the curtain on an utterly ignored tragedy sadly close to home and, in writing the book, surely subjected herself to minor psychological terror. As a woman, it is immensely uncomfortable to read the multiple graphic accounts of brutalization and rape; necessarily written in the present tense and sparing no minute detail, these chapters bring the problem right to readers' eyes and minds. They are strong and evoke parallel strong reactions among readers. While this level of graphic detail should turn readers away, it actually serves the novel well by painting a no-holds-barred picture of the situation at hand. The time has long passed for the country to wake up, and if Desert Blood has to shock to raise awareness, so be it. The entire book is saturated in a grittiness that speaks to its real-life source material and makes it continually compelling despite its many flaws. Gaspar de Alba has real literary talent, but it's a shame that it is wasted only on the most terrifying passages of the book.
While the book provides an acute and three-dimensional sense of setting (El Paso and Juarez come alive), it cannot create even remotely realistic characters. Ivon, the main character, is hopelessly stereotypical. Even late attempts to distinguish her from other beer-swilling, men-hating, Doc-Marten-clad butch lesbians cannot override readers' first perceptions of her as just another rough and masculine lesbian, who happens to be in this situation. Her family situation shows a desperate attempt to come away from the stereotypes but instead plays off of others, proving that two stereotypes together does not defy either one and instead keeps the situation at bay instead of bringing it home. While I will be the last to argue that feminist lesbians should not be main characters in books, even I could not identify with Ivon. She is off-putting to those of us who wish to rise above popular perceptions and will certainly alienate most men and straight women who see yet another manifestation of the angry dyke. This is a narrative that calls for a sympathetic main character, a failure even more obvious in the short chapters that place readers in the shoes of the victims, with whom they identify completely despite their brief duration. There are a few truly unique characters in this book, but Gaspar de Alba takes such pains to refrain from individualizing most that character introductions and description induce groans and release readers from the story.
This kind of obvious and over-done attempt at characterization is reflected in the writing as a whole. Many implications can be easily drawn from the narrative without Gaspar de Alba's tiresome lecturing. Gaspar de Alba rightly chooses an entirely omniscient narrator for the book, but abuses it to the point where a limited view seems vastly superior. The novel is littered with sentences that function only as asides to the reader, in effect the author screaming through a bullhorn right in the reader's ear. All of this is unnecessary and only serves to put the reader off even more than the downright offensive stereotypes. Desert Blood, while attempting to raise awareness and provide biting social commentary, comes off as a protracted rant against The Man instead of a nuanced work exploring problems in a very realistic way. What is even more infuriating is that there is subtle talent evident at certain points in the book, the parts that will most likely turn readers off without an interesting surrounding narrative to make the disgust worthwhile.
The book is not a complete failure. It does present a real problem in harrowing terms and presents an interesting theory regarding the reason for the murders in Juarez, inviting readers to follow up themselves and begging the question, "Why isn't anything being done about this?" If only the book didn't actually ask this question so many times in plain and boring prose, if only the plot didn't wrap up nicely and follow predictable, groan-inducing patterns, if only the characters weren't infuriating to those whom they seek to represent as well as those whom they openly defy, if only it didn't try so hard, then maybe Desert Blood could have been a clear call to action and a hair-raising mystery. Unfortunately, we are left only with what we have, and it is far from great or even particularly useful. The Juarez murders linger in obscurity despite this attempt to bring them to the forefront of American discourse.
Grade: B-
No comments:
Post a Comment