I have been an on-again, off-again fan of Barbara Kingsolver. The Poisonwood Bible showed me a new way to write multiple points of view. However, this book may have turned me off again, like the smell of rancid milk when you are craving cornflakes.
Nana, I know you will ask for a summary of this book. It is next to impossible. In one sentence: a boy grows up learning to cook, and this task brings him into unattainable and unbelievable situations.
Harrison Shepherd tries to remember his exploits through his own writing. His time with Frida Kahlo as her cook in Mexico, the strange legends of the lacuna near his home, the assassination of Trotsky when Shepherd was his secretary, the history of the Incas and the Spaniards and the indiginous tribes...
Stop. I adore history, but this is simply too much. Pack in the communism trials during the Great War, and I can no longer find the beauty in the beginning, the aqua depths of the lacuna with bones, gold, and teeth.
Recommended if flying New York to Australia with multiple layovers.
2.75 out of 5.0 Mexican Prairie Fires.