The Lacuna by Barbara Kingsolver

Release date/ Length: 2009 / 528 pages

Synopsis (from the back cover): Born in the United States, but reared in Mexico, Harrison Shepherd finds precarious shelter but not sense of home on his thrilling odyssey. Life is whatever he learns from housekeepers and, one fateful day, by mixing plaster for famed muralist Diego Rivera. When he goes to work for Rivera, his wife, exotic artist Kahlo, and exiled leader Lev Trotsky, Shepherd inadvertently casts his lot with art and revolution.

First line: In the beginning were the howlers.

Review:  I enjoyed this work of historical fiction for a number of reasons.  I have read all of Kingsolver’s fiction and enjoyed most of it immensely.  Prodigal Summer is still my favorite (by far), with The Poisonwood Bible in second, but I really enjoyed her earlier fiction, too.  The only major work I have not been able to finish by Kingsolver was Animal, Mineral, Vegetable.  I tried listening to it on CD — read by the author — and found her voice (oral and written) too condescending and arrogant.  This surprised me greatly since, as a vegetarian for over 20 years who tries to eat local, organic produce as much as possible, I thought I would be the perfect audience.

However, I think I realized why I couldn’t “stomach” Animal, Mineral, Vegetable while reading The Lacuna: humor!   I just loved the sense of humor in Kingsolver’s latest and realized that was sorely missing in her work of nonfiction.

The Lacuna is a work of historical fiction about a man who is born in Virginia to a father who works for the government –and who is largely absent — and a passionate Mexican mother who is a vivid character more interested in her own personal journey than in being a mother.  Shepherd’s parents separate early in his childhood, and he moves to Mexico with his mother.  This is where the story begins — and his subsequent life journey involves befriending Frida Kahlo, Diego Rivera, and Trotsky in Mexico — then moving to the U.S. to become a popular and well-loved novelist who eventually becomes a victim of the “Red Scare” and the Committee for Un-American Activity.

My favorite way of learning history is through fiction — and while I was already fairly well-versed in the historical events covered in this novel — I appreciated the reminder that our country has survived what seemed like insurmountable ignorance and fear.  At times I worry about our country’s moral fortitude — especially during times of fear (our reaction to terrorist attacks, for example) – and detest how quickly we seem willing to sacrifice our founding principles.  We seem not to notice how quickly we resemble our enemies when we presume someone guilty or allow ourselves to torture our enemies – either physically or psychologically — without a trial.

So,  reminders of our country’s past sins is usually reassuring to me. 

I did feel a certain distance in and from Kingsolver’s prose — but this seemed to fit the reserved nature of the protagonist.  And, as mentioned earlier, this is certainly Kingsolver’s most amusing and humorous work.  I was honestly surprised to find such a well-honed, dry wit in her writing — I rarely associate humor with her writing, but that opinion has changed.

Now for a few examples of her lovely prose…

“The train runs north from the city. At the little struggling desert towns, children run alongside, reaching toward the windows. Then come the rocky flatlands where the towns give up altogether. Spiked maguey plants reach out of the ground like hands. A great clawed creature trapped underground. At evening, the light drained and the land went from brown to umber, then dried blood, then ink. In the morning the pigments reversed, the same colors rising out of a broad, flat land that looks like a natural.”

“The jacaranda in the courtyard has put on its bloom. This purple can’t be ignored, it’s like a tree singing.”

“In the afternoon when the sun lights the stucco buildings across the street, it’s possible to count a dozen different colors of paint, all fading together on the highest parts of the wall: yellow, ochre, brick, blood, cobalt, turquoise. The national color of Mexico. And the scent of Mexico is a similar blend: jasmine, dog piss, cilantro, lime. Mexico admits you through an arched stone orifice into the tree-filled courtyard of its heart, where a dog pisses against a wall and a waiter hustles through a curtain of jasmine to bring a bowl of tortilla soup, steaming with cilantro and lime.”

So, do I recommend this?  Yes!  Is it my favorite?  No — Prodigal Summer will safely remain atop of my list.  But it was certainly worth reading…

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