The Lacuna

Okay, okay. I know it's been awhile. I promised a "review" of The Lacuna by Barbara Kingsolver, and now I will give it. The only reason why I put "review" in quotes is because I'm really not comfortable with this book review format. It is clearly an art. I don't know how to shake your arm to tell you all the reasons why to read a book (or not!) and make you read the book without giving the best parts away. Or any part away!, for that matter. All I know is that when I took a week off from real life to sit under a cabana at a resort in Puerto Rico, I read three books that just sucked me in. The third of those (see prior posts for the other two) was The Lacuna by Barbara Kingsolver. First of all, if you know even a minimum of Spanish, you keep wanting to say La Lacuna. But whatever. The book is masterful. It takes places in the 1920s, 30s, 40s, and 50s in Mexico and the United States. A particularly free-wheeling mother takes her son from Washington, DC to Mexico to live in her lover's house, and the story takes off from there. The book is purely fiction, but it sets the protagonist in a scene where he can only become Diego Rivera's plaster mixer for his famous murals and then as a fixture as a cook in the house Rivera shares with Frida Kahlo. The narrative is uplifting and depressing all at the same time. The only thing I will say is that I learned more about the being blacklisted as a Communist during McCarthyism and the trauma it left in its wake than I ever wanted to know. This book isn't a beach read in the totally frivolous sense, but if you have some hours to spare you will be rewarded.