Lulu did something for me that not even my sister Angela would do. When Angela saw me cry, my sister said, You’re drowning in a glass of water.
I tell you, Angela is cold. But cold! Pfft! She has no feelings for me.
Not Lulu. She understood that I had to cry until I undrowned from the inside.
This is the voice of Cara Romero, fifty-six years old, a Dominican immigrant living in New York, out of a job since the factory closed during the recession of 2008. It is a strong, distinctive, authentic, compelling voice that makes this novel a delightful read.
At the age of twenty, Cara left her violent husband in the Dominican Republic and moved with her baby to New York with little else than an address and phone number written on a small piece of paper. She has made her home here for almost forty years,
It’s the immigrant network that makes this possible, and Cara has both benefitedand is an integral part of this network. When her son Fernando moved out and dropped all contact with her, she fell into a deep depression.
You know the rag that we use to mop the floors? Stained, with a hole and loose threads? That was me.
Lulu, her neighbour, saved her. And in turn, Cara supports Lulu years later when Lulu’s own well-to-do son turns out to be bankrupt and in need of a home. She also looks after the ninety-year-old La Vieja Caridad, cooking and cleaning for her, walking her dog, enabling her to live in her own apartment until her peaceful death. It is this network of unsung work, largely by women, that is beautifully spotlighted in the novel, which is dedicated:
Para las madres, tias, vecinas y comadres who know how to resolver and take care of nuestra comunidad.
[For the mothers, aunts, neighbors and friends who know how to solve problems and take care of our community.]
It is a touching homage to the immigrant matrix, but the novel is far from saccharine. Cara is no simple saint. Her husband’s violence was prompted by her infidelity. She has quite a few prejudices that are common among immigrant communities. Smugness:
When I tried the blazer, you should’ve seen her face: arrugada. But it’s Ok — jealousy, I’m accustomed to it.
Nosiness:
How many children do you have? Como? What are you waiting for? You don’t want to have children? Listen to me: don’t wait until you get too old.
Homophobia:
I didn’t want [Fernando, her son] to end up being … you know. Different. [..] These men are not free. […]
Hernan brought his primo Elvis to the party. He was visiting from the Dominican Republic, and he was different.
You know, different, like soft.
Sisterhood ranks lower than family, so when her brother beats up his wife, she supports him nevertheless.
Lulu told me it was a big mistake to accept Rafa in my apartment. She said, This is why men don’t change. When the women try to teach a man a lesson, here come the mothers and the sisters to save them.
The novel is framed as a series of conversations between Cara and a job counselor who is assigned to her case. The voice is entirely Cara’s, and her chatter reflects the counselor’s reactions, as in the quote above where Cara inquisitively asks about the counselor’s children, or lack thereof.
Cara moves seamlessly between English and Espanol. Some of the more unusual phrases are explained:
You never heard that word? You said you’re dominicana. You don’t understand Spanish? Oh, just a little. Desahogar: to undrown.
Much of the casual Spanish is not explained, but can be deduced from the context
a shirt wet with sudor
[the baby] came out blanquito with good hair
the botella de olivas broke and made a mess on the floor
Besides the Espanol, there is distinctive phrasing
She mopped the floor with Patricia’s name because, according to Lulu, Patricia never contributes to the rent.
I don’t make opinions, but why does she want to live so far away?
It is very pleasing to read, but would, I imagine, be even more fun as an audiobook, read by someone with a Dominican accent.
What a great title this book has! And after reading your review, I think I would love to read this novel too.