So I was asked to sign a thing about #AmericanDirt & I thought it behooved me to, you know, actually read the book, so I am, and friends, I started saying, "Oh, no no no no" just a few pages in. I'm only 7% of the way through. Thoughts & prayers appreciated.
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At 15% mark on #AmericanDirt, some observations: I keep remembering my grad school professor, the wonderful Lynn Freed, who adjured us always to “trust the reader.” This novel doesn’t trust reader at all, because reader is assumed to be white person with no knowledge of Mexico.
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*Everything* is explained. Ch. 1: “quinceañera, her 15th birthday party.” Ch. 2: “The unsolved-crime rate in Mexico is well north of 90 percent.” Ch. 3: “halcones, lookouts for the cartel,” etc., etc.
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One criticism I’ve read, borne out by my reading, is the sometimes hamfisted way author throws in Spanish. I get it: it’s tricky to incorporate a character’s language into story told in different language. But it shouldn’t be used like seasoning you sprinkle on for “flavor.”
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And it sometimes feels that way here, like cultural ornamentation. Ex: “Adrián can juggle a balón de fútbol on his knees” (ch. 1). You mean a soccer ball?
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The sad thing is not only is it terrible linguistically, but it’s impossible to do. No one juggles the ball with knees. She meant with thighs while the knees are up.
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Yep. I've watched enough soccer both live & on TV that I should have caught this.
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