This is the third book that HarperCollins has sent me free to review for them. It’s the first novel, and it wasn’t bad. Here’s the review I’m sending them:
I love historical novels, and I’m afraid I’ve learned much of my history through them. I am much better at remembering names, dates and places when I’m caught up in a story. So Our Lives Are the Rivers did one important thing well; it cured me of my total ignorance of Simon Bolivar, of Santander, of the fight for independence from Spain, and of Manuela Sáenz. The story was stirring and, in places, poignant. The prose style and particularly the dialogue is oddly formal, and not to my taste, although similar to other successful Latin and Central American novelists who I also don’t much like, so people fond of that style will probably like this as well. The central conceit, having the story told by Ms. Sáenz with short interpolated bits by two household slaves, allows for shades and complexity of characterization without sacrificing coherence or focus.
On the whole, I enjoyed reading the book, and feel like I know a lot more about a fascinating period of history. I find myself more interested in the subject than in the book; I am more inclined to read another book about Ms. Sáenz or General Bolívar than another book by Jaime Manrique.
Oh, and one more thing—I hope somebody caught and fixed the “plaintiff coo of the mourning doves” on page 187. There weren’t many errors like that, but that one was a doozy.
Had any of you, Gentle Readers, heard of Manuela Sáenz? I sure hadn’t. Of course, if I had to name any Latin American feminists, I would have come up entirely blank, so this is due to my ignorance and, I think, the general Eurocentrism of my world. I feel in a way like I ought to know something about the history of South America, and of Africa, and Asia, but neither am I going out of my way to learn those histories. Which, of course, means that there are really interesting stories, like the Simón Bolívar story, that have just passed me by. And which also mean that I am unlikely to enjoy Latin American novels and plays, because I am missing so much of the cultural foundation.
Of course, there’s also a taste thing. I get that the author of this book is aiming at a formal language, not a natural language, and y’all know, Gentle Readers, that I am scarcely one who insists that characters talk like people talk, but the sense I get from this book, and from a handful of novels I’ve read translated from Spanish, is a sense of translated speech, rather than majestic speech or poetic speech. As an example, from page 147, La Sáenz is speaking with her childhood friend Rosita, who is also a mistress of a revolutionary general, the two each alone while their lovers are away. Rosita says “Even if I never see San Martín again, I don’t regret—have never regretted—having been his mistress. To welcome him to a liberated Lima, in that intoxicating period after the defeat of the Spaniards—my life was glorious. Even if I’ve lost the support of my family and my place in society, it was worth it for those fourteen months of glory.” Now, I know Mr. Manrique isn’t aiming at naturalism, but to me, the language seems stilted, rather than stirring. And somehow, I’m not sure how, it seems, well, translated.
Anyway, I’m just glad Harper sent me another book after that last one. I’ve enjoyed two out of three, so far, and although neither of those two have been new Fave Raves, what do you want for nothing?
Oh, before I close this ... is Our Lives Are the Rivers a reference to something, or what? I mean, if it’s a line from a ... oh, wait. TSOR tells me that it is a famous quote I’ve never heard of, from a famous poem I’ve never heard of, by a famous poet I’ve never heard of. More of my ignorance. Damn, but there’s a lot to know in the world.
chazak, chazak, v’nitchazek,
-Vardibidian.