One button (out of five) review for this book:
I’m giving this book one button to recommend it—not very
gracious, but I didn’t like the book. And even that button is
given half-heartedly. I liked the idea of the book
when I read a blurb—young Mexican daughter, loves to cook,
finds out that she can’t marry because she will have to remain
at home to care for her mother in mother’s older years.
And it was clever to include 12 recipes (12 months) of Mexican
cooking. (Although eating some soup that tears have fallen into
somehow doesn’t entice me.)
There. That’s about it for what I liked. But I’ll grant it the button
because it was a best-selling award winning book so must be I’m
the one who’s wrong.
I found the book as a recommendation for junior high readers, and
had never read it, so . . . and . . . the redeeming quality for being on
this list was —what?
It’s a coming of age tale taken to every extreme Ms Esquivel could
think of, and when those extremes paled, she’d toss in some gross
bodily function–or all the guests at a dinner party vomiting.
Written to shock and tantalize—and thrown together at the end
almost, I might say, hurriedly, with convenient resolutions to
problems. Oh! she’s *not* pregnant? Oh! he died?
All of a sudden whole generations flash by our eyes. Oh–that’s
the meaning of the book . . .?
Could we have had an occasional phrase tossed in in Spanish
to give it some real Mexican flavor?
Sorry–it was a disappointing and annoying read.