Monday, June 29, 1998
Family torn by tragedy, revolution
BOOK REVIEW: Cuban sisters tell story of estranged family with
contrasting voices
By Megan Dickerson
Daily Bruin Staff
Cuban ornithologist Ignacio Agueero is a naturalist of a
forgotten breed, a once-renowned scientist who shoots rare birds to
preserve them. Part learned philosopher and part taxidermist, he
also clandestinely kills his young wife one humid morning in the
Zapata swamp, mired in the mud and grass. More than 40 years after
Ignacio’s suicide, his daughters, long-estranged from one another,
must deal with this man of ornithological myth and rumor and,
ultimately, with each other.
Ingenue writer Cristina Garcia crafts a tale of Cuban sisterhood
beyond national boundaries in "The Agueero Sisters." She takes the
newly popularized approach of telling the story in several voices,
weaving together a disparate pair of sisters through common life
lacerations.
A family ripped apart by revolution, catastrophe, mysticism and
other "typical" family disturbances comes alive through the
spirited, revolutionary tongue of Reina Agueero; the precise,
halting phrasing of her defected sister Constancia; and the
first-person near-confessant tone of their long-dead father.
The novel’s strengths lie in its colorful symbolism, emphasized
by the flora and fauna of Cuba. "The Agueero Sisters" resonates a
tone of rich ethnicity and place; its imagery sometimes seems
haphazard but reinforces the state of decay imposed by the Cuban
revolution.
A siguapa stygian owl, the unofficial Cuban pilcher of souls,
steals through the window as Ignacio’s mother gives birth on Cuban
Independence Day in 1904. The earless owl, also said to deprive
infants of their hearing, grabs Ignacio’s discarded placenta in its
beak and flies low over a concurrent parade, "scattering the crowd
and raining birthing blood."
This is not the end of the bird imagery. Throughout the novel,
other walks of natural life appear at opportune or inopportune
moments. Tree ducks save Ignacio’s father’s life, a deceased family
of bats shows up in a vat of cold cream Constancia sells in America
and violets surface when death is imminent.
By balancing the rampant native imagery that might cause one to
cubbyhole the novel as an ethnic romp with universal ideals, Garcia
has created a book of cross-cultural resonance, a story more about
sisterhood, daughterhood and what it means to be part of a family
rather than what it means to be Latin American.
She contrasts the polar opposites Reina and Constancia to the
point at which their similarities superimpose their differences – a
difficult coup since she has, from the get-go, set them up to be so
different.
Reina is 6-feet tall, dark-haired and irresistible to both Cuban
and American men; Constancia is petite, light-skinned and anal
retentive. Reina is the idealistic spirit of the revolution, a
fearless electrician who spurns money; Constancia is a transplanted
Miami capitalist, vending blue-bottled beauty products branded with
the face of their dead mother.
Garcia’s deft literary piloting across these gaps, embargoed
boundaries and layers of familial mistrust manage to escape
fabricating a forced fairy tale ending or waxing political on the
state of events in modern-day Cuba. She succeeds in contrasting not
only sisterhood, but what it means to be American, Cuban and,
perhaps, a synthesis of the two.
While critics tout "The Agueero Sisters" as the type of novel
that will renew American fiction, in many ways it seems to be
playing business as usual. The changing voice seems more than
reminiscent of Barbara Kingsolver’s "Pigs in Heaven," a 1993 novel
told in the tongues of an ethnic father and daughter. Yet "The
Agueero Sisters" fails to attain the folklorish tone of other
novels in the ethnic genre.
Nevertheless, Garcia brings to the page cultural resonance and
heartbreak, passion in the face of deterring reality. Whether one
begins to deeply care for the characters is another matter.