The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz (2007), 339p. Winner, Pulitzer Prize for
Fiction, 2008.
I didn’t
realize it until I sat down to write this, but The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao has a fair bit in common with Middlesex: it’s a novel about family, history,
the impact of family history on individual identity, about immigration, and
about growing up on the fringes. Set in the Dominican Republic and Paterson,
New Jersey, Oscar Wao follows three
generations of the Cabrals, a formerly prominent family whose fortune changes
after Oscar’s grandfather raises the ire of infamous Dominican dictator Rafael
Leónidas Trujillo Molina.
As much
as any other, literature from antiquity has been interested in the theme of free
will vs. predestination—whether humans make their way in the world or are
simply pushed and tugged along according to the whims of the gods, God, fate,
chance, nature, institutions and discourses, or what-have-you. Obviously what
constitutes “predestination” has always been culturally relative: for Aeschylus
it was the pantheon, for Frank Norris social determinism. Oscar Wao is in its own way simultaneously rooted within and
riffing on this thematic. From the first page, the narrative invites readers to
consider its story in light of the concept of fukú—a curse. According to the
narrator, there is an entire mythology surrounding Trujillo, part of which is
the suggestion that he is the source of a powerful fukú, which can be
transferred to those who piss him off. The question constantly in the air is
then, are the troubles that befall Oscar and his family a consequence of the
choices they make, or are they running up against the inescapable tide of fukú?
From what
I had heard from other readers, I had really high expectations for this book. I
wanted it to be completely emotionally wrenching and tragic. But while I
ultimately liked it, its capacity for emotional devastation did not quite
satisfy my expectation. A contributing factor in this was my ambivalence over
how I felt or thought I was supposed to feel about Oscar. Oscar is a pathetic
figure, and watching him struggle with his weight, social awkwardness, girl
anxiety, etc, struck me at times as depressing rather than sad. A separate but
closely related factor was the book’s resolution, which the critic in me admits
makes a lot of sense structurally, thematically, and in terms of character
development, but the reader in me rejects with as seeming frivolous. Since it
is my commitment in this blog to avoid spoilers at all costs, I will say no
more, but if you’ve read and have an opinion on this matter, I would love to
hear your comments below.
Now, the
good stuff: Oscar Wao is what I would
describe as a very hip book. The voice is young, and the narration is casual
but still on-point in terms of technical sophistication. There is plenty of
Spanish interspersed throughout. If you speak/read Spanish, you will have a
field day; if you do not speak/read Spanish, I do not suggest that you attempt
to put the Spanish-language parts through Google Translate. I tried reading
both with and without the aid of Google and found that translating did not
contribute much that couldn’t already be gleaned from context. By the end I had
actually picked up a couple of Spanish words, though, all of which turned out
to be obscenities.
Another
part of the book that cannot go without comment is Diaz’s presentation of the
Dominican Republic, which comes alive as a character in itself. The historical
dimension of Oscar Wao is maybe my
favorite part about the book. The Trujillo storyline is full of intrigue and
brutality in addition to—and this is the important part—being principally true.
The fact that I had never before heard of a man thought to be responsible for
the deaths of at least 50,000 people reminded me forcibly what we Americans
often tend to forget—namely, how much of the world exists outside our borders.
Even apart from its substantial literary merit, this is reason enough for me to
say that everyone ought to read The Brief
Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao.
