Waiting for Snow in Havana

Eire, Carlos. Waiting for the snow in Havana. New York: The Free Press, 2003.

So what? All of my training in creative writing has taught me to ask this question, so what? Carlos Eire does not adequately answer this question in his text Waiting for Snow in Havana.

Sure, he overcomes a great deal in his life. We all do in different ways. And his anger is still ripe—over ripe. He has not conquered that in any way. So where is the “changed character” in this text that makes it successful? I don’t see one. There are hints, here and there, that perhaps there is change—he evolves from a homeless Cuban boy in Miami to a graduate student. But how? He doesn’t offer any explanation for this metamorphosis. It is in fact mentioned in passing.

Eire spends considerable time in the text wallowing in his anger and self-pity. He has been robbed of his country, his father, and his inheritance. Fidel Castro is guilty in the first instance and his adopted brother Ernesto in the second two.

The story does offer an example of how one could weave important history into a personal narrative, at least on a surface level. Eire does not return to fill in his childhood gaps – why does Castro overthrow Batista? What are his ideals? What are the rebels who face the firing squad standing up for? What ideal do they defend, other than opposing Castro? Without a solid grasp of history, these details are lost to the reader. These details that clearly shaped the author’s sense of reality, at least in this text. It left me asking, so what?

And Ernesto. Eire’s resentment for his adopted brother still resides in the heart of a ten year old. It is bitter and adds nothing to the overall story line of the author’s survival and yet Eire returns again and again to the demonic Ernesto. By the time it is revealed that Ernesto was trying (it is implied unsuccessfully) to molest Eire, I am already beyond caring; so what? There is no resolution at the end of the text Eire has not resolved this issue.

Intellectually I am aware there is change and growth in the protagonist – as the book exists at all. But my knowing is off the page. Eire does not give his evolution, just his anger. How does one go from homeless in Miami to a dishwasher in Chicago to a professor at UVA? The book was likely cathartic for the author, but left me festering and asking so what.

The Last Thing He Wanted

Didion, Joan. The Last Thing He Wanted. New York: Vintage Books, 1997.

I am a fan of Joan Didion’s nonfiction work and was excited to find her fiction. But I was somewhat disappointed. I’m not a fan of genre work. I recently proofed a murder mystery for a friend, and The Last thing He Wanted reminded me of that process.

As always, craft-wise Didion is a consummate writer. Each component of the text was meticulously constructed. Each character was full and round, including the narrator. Each place vivid and real. But each was a unit that for me didn’t quite fit together as a whole. Not quite.

Perhaps it was the implied vagueness of the narrator, or the round-about approach to information that created this gap for me. More likely, I think, it was the “genre” it read like a super-market murder mystery. And I was disappointed. I did recommend the book to my friend the murder mystery writer. Didion builds to the climax well. Each moment, scene, event in the text building on the last to create the next; a neat package.

As a fan of Didion’s nonfiction I remain aware that she knows, life doesn’t fit together like that and we often have to stretch to figure out why a is connected to f. The beauty of Didion’s work is in finding that connection. In The Last Thing He Wanted this element was sadly missing and from Didion it is the only thing I expected, or wanted.