I think I'll tackle Drown first.
Always good to inaugurate on a high note, right?
I saw this book for the first time at the Strand, three years ago. (Winter of 2006, if I remember correctly, which I can't say for sure because I wasn't keeping records then.) It was selling for seven dollars, which was three more dollars than I had at the time, but that didn't stop me from smashing my knees up against the stacks trying to finish it while my friends pursued the science fiction section. I hate borrowing money from people, but I thought about it; truly, I did. I'm happy I didn't in the end, because I bought it for full price two months ago. Diaz deserves every penny of the ridiculous trade paperback price. (It came to $29 for both books.)
Diaz won the Pulitzer for his (incredible) virtuosic novel: The Brief Adventures of Oscar Wao. Between these two works I don't think there are enough positive superlatives to hurl at him. Drown, his 1996 short-story collection, is much more compact. I don't want to say that it's more or less intense than his novel, but short stories are, as a rule. As a collection they're linked by palpable restlessness and a desire to understand themselves: to these narrators, I have to say good luck because understanding diaspora politics is impossible. Understanding New Jersey is another thing altogether.
So this is why I feel that I found the Holy Grail within these short stories. I don't mean to refer to the flawlessness of the writing -- which has everything to do with it -- but the characterization and strength of his voice. I can't say how many times in that Strand where I was thinking, "shit, I know that place," or that I've a good friend of mine give yet another friend almost exactly the same advice on women -- see the story How to date a Browngirl, Blackgirl, Whitegirl or Halfie.
I hate the word hooked but this thing had me from word go.
To explain: The first story Ysrael's about these two kids who unmask a boy whose face's been permanently scarred by a hog attack. We're in the DR now -- and we go from the DR to Jersey and back every now and then; this is Diaz's MO. Other writers are famous for that -- ie, Jhumpa Lahiri, and trust me, a comparison is warranted and it will be given. We get the sense of exactly what is going to happen from the beginning: Young Yunior and his brother Rafa are going to see Ysrael. Diaz doesn't have to give us a lot but we know what's going on. We know from Yunior what his relationship with Rafa is: they hate each other in the company of others but get along fine on their own. Rafa loves his ladies and some of them are stupid creatures -- one of them thinks she can't get pregnant if she has a Coke first. Yunior is either too young or too inept, but it's probably his youth. But they both have a fascination with Ysrael, which is something that draws them together. The long and the short of it -- they corner Ysrael, unmask him after a long, friendly three way conversation about getting his face fixed in the States. It's a violent move that finally unmasks Ysrael. It shocked me as I was reading it.
With this story we get essence of the DR without our heads being slammed into adjectives. This I appreciated. I also loved his leaving out the quotations. Yunior is an unreliable narrator, and somehow leaving out the punctuation allowed an effective synthesis of action and narrative. (Also, stylistically: he uses Spanish and leaves the burden of understanding to context clues. I prefer this. Not just because I understood what he was saying without his having to translate but because I prefer this in general. I find that a glossary is a sign of insecurity when it comes to writing about the unknown. There are other ways that writers try to insert the meaning of non-English words; these devices just don't work. Stop. Some of these tricks include prose outside the quotation marks. Some of time the characters give dissertations about words or concepts. None of that was ever a problem but this was just for the record.)
Fiesta, 1980 was one of my true favorites in this collection. I loved this Yunior. Throughout the story, and this party, Yunior's inability to keep his food while the car is moving is -- I hazard -- sort of symbolic as to how he can't keep it in about his father's affair with some Puerto Rican woman. They're visiting his mother's younger sister in her new Bronx apartment. We have his parents set up nicely. His father is, for the want of a better word, a real dick. He's got a bad temper, takes it out on his children, and sleeps around. Because Yunior has motion-sickness he's not allowed to eat at these parties. His mother is in the know about her husband's relationship, and there are some very evocative moments where her sister snubs Yunior's father at the party. (She knows, too.) It's a subject that nobody will talk about: my favorite quote comes from the one time Yunior brings up the subject, and Rafa says: "Hey, Yunior, guess what happened yesterday? I met Papa's sucia!"
I have to say this: I loved how they went on the Turnpike. Of course they have to go on the Turnpike! I know. No significance whatsoever. But. Exit 11! Oftentimes I find that writers write through New Jersey: as in, the state is en route to somewhere more important. Those who write about New Jersey make it sound like an unrecognizable wasteland. So for making it a place that I understood I have to give him credit. I know those New Brunswick clubs with the college chicks. I know the filthiness of the Raritan. I know his Edison! I know his Quisqueyas in Washington Heights!
I'm not going to talk about any of the other stories specifically, because I urge you to read them: all of them are exemplary, though I will recommend Drown and Negocios as standouts.
What make these stories different from others that I've read -- is their purity. Often, there are terrifying climax points, where something violent and consequential happens. Sometimes the subtle and the understated aren't enough. Movies shouldn't be the only place to go experience sheer, beautiful chaos.
His prose is relatively spare and I know that there are those that prefer lushness. But there's lots of room for the imagination here. Though it might be difficult to understand as someone from New Jersey knows the Northeast corridor intimately none of this rang false. He speaks with a real sensitivity about the places that they're in. Edison -- the GWB -- The Bronx all take on the roles of characters, silent witnesses to the narrators' internal -- and external explosions.
There's lots of exploration of sexual repression in these short stories. The pursuit of pussy is constantly brought up, but Diaz always has an appreciation for the pre and post-coital intimacies of sex that's tender and disarming. Sure, if I had a dime for every instance of the words "culo" and "tetas" and "chinga" I'd probably be able to buy myself lunch which, in Princeton, is no mean feat. Still, love with these narrators is a way to address problems within themselves -- they admit that their view is flawed but it defines them nevertheless. In love, sex, mask-smashing and isolation they tell us to take them as they are.
With such fine writing it's impossible not to do just that.
Always good to inaugurate on a high note, right?
I saw this book for the first time at the Strand, three years ago. (Winter of 2006, if I remember correctly, which I can't say for sure because I wasn't keeping records then.) It was selling for seven dollars, which was three more dollars than I had at the time, but that didn't stop me from smashing my knees up against the stacks trying to finish it while my friends pursued the science fiction section. I hate borrowing money from people, but I thought about it; truly, I did. I'm happy I didn't in the end, because I bought it for full price two months ago. Diaz deserves every penny of the ridiculous trade paperback price. (It came to $29 for both books.)
Diaz won the Pulitzer for his (incredible) virtuosic novel: The Brief Adventures of Oscar Wao. Between these two works I don't think there are enough positive superlatives to hurl at him. Drown, his 1996 short-story collection, is much more compact. I don't want to say that it's more or less intense than his novel, but short stories are, as a rule. As a collection they're linked by palpable restlessness and a desire to understand themselves: to these narrators, I have to say good luck because understanding diaspora politics is impossible. Understanding New Jersey is another thing altogether.
So this is why I feel that I found the Holy Grail within these short stories. I don't mean to refer to the flawlessness of the writing -- which has everything to do with it -- but the characterization and strength of his voice. I can't say how many times in that Strand where I was thinking, "shit, I know that place," or that I've a good friend of mine give yet another friend almost exactly the same advice on women -- see the story How to date a Browngirl, Blackgirl, Whitegirl or Halfie.
I hate the word hooked but this thing had me from word go.
To explain: The first story Ysrael's about these two kids who unmask a boy whose face's been permanently scarred by a hog attack. We're in the DR now -- and we go from the DR to Jersey and back every now and then; this is Diaz's MO. Other writers are famous for that -- ie, Jhumpa Lahiri, and trust me, a comparison is warranted and it will be given. We get the sense of exactly what is going to happen from the beginning: Young Yunior and his brother Rafa are going to see Ysrael. Diaz doesn't have to give us a lot but we know what's going on. We know from Yunior what his relationship with Rafa is: they hate each other in the company of others but get along fine on their own. Rafa loves his ladies and some of them are stupid creatures -- one of them thinks she can't get pregnant if she has a Coke first. Yunior is either too young or too inept, but it's probably his youth. But they both have a fascination with Ysrael, which is something that draws them together. The long and the short of it -- they corner Ysrael, unmask him after a long, friendly three way conversation about getting his face fixed in the States. It's a violent move that finally unmasks Ysrael. It shocked me as I was reading it.
With this story we get essence of the DR without our heads being slammed into adjectives. This I appreciated. I also loved his leaving out the quotations. Yunior is an unreliable narrator, and somehow leaving out the punctuation allowed an effective synthesis of action and narrative. (Also, stylistically: he uses Spanish and leaves the burden of understanding to context clues. I prefer this. Not just because I understood what he was saying without his having to translate but because I prefer this in general. I find that a glossary is a sign of insecurity when it comes to writing about the unknown. There are other ways that writers try to insert the meaning of non-English words; these devices just don't work. Stop. Some of these tricks include prose outside the quotation marks. Some of time the characters give dissertations about words or concepts. None of that was ever a problem but this was just for the record.)
Fiesta, 1980 was one of my true favorites in this collection. I loved this Yunior. Throughout the story, and this party, Yunior's inability to keep his food while the car is moving is -- I hazard -- sort of symbolic as to how he can't keep it in about his father's affair with some Puerto Rican woman. They're visiting his mother's younger sister in her new Bronx apartment. We have his parents set up nicely. His father is, for the want of a better word, a real dick. He's got a bad temper, takes it out on his children, and sleeps around. Because Yunior has motion-sickness he's not allowed to eat at these parties. His mother is in the know about her husband's relationship, and there are some very evocative moments where her sister snubs Yunior's father at the party. (She knows, too.) It's a subject that nobody will talk about: my favorite quote comes from the one time Yunior brings up the subject, and Rafa says: "Hey, Yunior, guess what happened yesterday? I met Papa's sucia!"
I have to say this: I loved how they went on the Turnpike. Of course they have to go on the Turnpike! I know. No significance whatsoever. But. Exit 11! Oftentimes I find that writers write through New Jersey: as in, the state is en route to somewhere more important. Those who write about New Jersey make it sound like an unrecognizable wasteland. So for making it a place that I understood I have to give him credit. I know those New Brunswick clubs with the college chicks. I know the filthiness of the Raritan. I know his Edison! I know his Quisqueyas in Washington Heights!
I'm not going to talk about any of the other stories specifically, because I urge you to read them: all of them are exemplary, though I will recommend Drown and Negocios as standouts.
What make these stories different from others that I've read -- is their purity. Often, there are terrifying climax points, where something violent and consequential happens. Sometimes the subtle and the understated aren't enough. Movies shouldn't be the only place to go experience sheer, beautiful chaos.
His prose is relatively spare and I know that there are those that prefer lushness. But there's lots of room for the imagination here. Though it might be difficult to understand as someone from New Jersey knows the Northeast corridor intimately none of this rang false. He speaks with a real sensitivity about the places that they're in. Edison -- the GWB -- The Bronx all take on the roles of characters, silent witnesses to the narrators' internal -- and external explosions.
There's lots of exploration of sexual repression in these short stories. The pursuit of pussy is constantly brought up, but Diaz always has an appreciation for the pre and post-coital intimacies of sex that's tender and disarming. Sure, if I had a dime for every instance of the words "culo" and "tetas" and "chinga" I'd probably be able to buy myself lunch which, in Princeton, is no mean feat. Still, love with these narrators is a way to address problems within themselves -- they admit that their view is flawed but it defines them nevertheless. In love, sex, mask-smashing and isolation they tell us to take them as they are.
With such fine writing it's impossible not to do just that.
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