This is a novel about the torment of grief and the elusive nature of retribution. It starts in a dark place, goes to a much darker one, and takes a turn for the seriously weird before it reaches the end.
The novel kicks off with the word ‘Leukemia’. A sentence that only needs to be a single word because there’s enough horror and tragedy in that idea. We meet Anita, who’s suffering with the disease, and we meet her parents Mario and Melisa who are suffering because their child is suffering, who are suffering because they live in the USA where medical treatment costs money and insurance doesn’t cut it. These first few chapters show how lucky people in the UK are to have the National Health Service. There’s a treatment available for Anita, but it cost money and insurance won’t cut it.
From this point forth, Mario is dragged into the darkness, doing deeds one normally wouldn’t think themselves capable of until the needs of a loved one supersede that. But of course, it’s not enough.
Without giving anything away, Mario gets dragged deeper into this world of crime, until he’s offered the last job like this he’ll ever need to take, joining his meth-addict buddy Brian alongside Juanca who has links to some dangerous men.
From the second they start on the journey there are questions about who can be trusted, and this tension only grows through each brutal encounter. There’s an absolutely horrific scene with bolt cutters, horrors with crocodiles, strange creatures in tunnels, and there’s Gloria. The world Mario gets an insight into is awful, and yet, for him, strangely alluring. The only question is whether he can escape the darkness with not just his life, but his state of mind intact with the money to start over.
It’s a brutal and unforgiving novel. There’s a high level of violence some may find off-putting. I felt it suited the piece. The writing is crisp and neat, with the characters well developed. The social commentary felt apt as it was that situation which had contributed to making Mario who he was.
I’ve seen criticism of the amount of Spanish used in the dialogue. I don’t speak Spanish, but it didn’t stop me from following the story at all. It’s rarely the narrative, but the dialogue, and it does a couple of things. It establishes what it’s like for an outsider – such as Brian. We understand how out of his depth he is in these conversations because we don’t understand either. With key parts, the conversation is either repeated in translation, or alluded to in such a way that it’s clear. I think most of the complaints are people’s prejudices slipping through.
It’s a novel that escalates. We’re left in the dark about a few things, which become illuminated later, while some of the stuff in the world of Don Vásquez remains out of the scope of Mario’s understanding, and we have to accept it for what it is. And when we reach the end, it concludes in the only way it can, simultaneously surprising and yet unsurprising too.
It’s dark, it’s brutal, and yet it’s a novel with a heart. If you can’t feel for Mario, and empathise with him, there’s no hope for you. I enjoyed riding alongside him, but when you take a ride with Gabino Iglesias, the devil takes you home.