That said, I'm glad I stuck with it a masterpiece doesn't rely on the critics to make it a masterpiece. BK's position seemed heavily oratorical and overpowered a character that was already more like a mirror reflecting events than a sentient being. The first year after moving to Mexico to stay at Enrique’s house, they woke up terrified at every day’s dawn to the howling. The boy and his mother believed it was saucer-eyed devils screaming in those trees, fighting over the territorial right to consume human flesh.
A bizarre & interesting piece of history (McCarthy era), but Kingsolver's fastidious research and political passion translated to a very VERBOSE novel, and at times I thought, "this must be what it felt like to listen to the Ken Starr report". As it was in the beginning, so it is every morning of the world. Listening, I enjoyed the flamboyant mother and the fiery Frida Kahlo, but once they were gone, I felt out on the emotional fringe Shepherd was so disconnected he seemed more autistic than naive. After Lacuna, I KNEW I had read a masterpiece, but am ashamed to say, FELT it was a tedious 19 hours-like someone who spent the day looking at beautiful classical paintings, but would have preferred MOMA. When I finish one of her books I feel a reverence.
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