Customer Reviews

The Invisible Mountain

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1 star:		(1)

 

 

This novel traces a family history through the strong women who shaped it. The story winds through Italy, Uruguay, Argentina, and the United States in an epic tale of three generations.

Pajarita begins the novel, an unwanted baby whose mother died in childbirth. Her tale has its roots in magic, as she is lost as an infant and then found again in a tree high above her village. Her story becomes a sacred family legend, repeated to children and grandchildren throughout the years. Pajarita's marriage is rocky at times, but succeeds in producing three sons and a daughter.

Eva, daughter of Pajarita, is forced out of childhood early, sent to work at the age of ten. She is shattered, pulls herself back together, and escapes her life only to be shattered anew. Her marriage is more for convenience than anything else, but blesses her with a son and a daughter, whom she loves with all of her being. Unlike her mother, who communes with plants and soothes the ills of those around her, Eva takes solace in words and poetry bursts forth from her, enlightening and scandalizing those around her.

Salome, daughter of Eva, finds herself electrified by the rebellion overtaking Uruguay and secretly joins the resistance. It is a choice which eventually carries a terrible price.

I really liked these women and their individual strength and dedication to their families. I was disappointed that there were no equally strong and noble male characters in this book, though; it seemed that men were constantly villains, from the abusive or alcoholic husbands and fathers to the oppressive and sexually abusive bosses, to the intolerant or ignorant elders, to the chronically disappearing brothers. Surely there must have been some worthy men in the lives of these women.

Overall, this novel was moving and heartwrenching, with some interesting history included to help the reader understand the motivations of the characters and how the local and national events influenced their choices. It was fascinating to see a family start with a single couple and gradually branch out over the generations. I was disappointed when it ended, and I'd look forward to reading more from this author in the future.

Carolina de Robertis begins her novelist career with a book about three independent women. She writes The Invisible Mountain in three sections. The first section describes the childhood and early married life of Pajarita. The second story describes the childhood and early adulthood of Eva, Pajarita's daughter. And the third story describes the childhood and early adulthood of Salome, Eva's daughter. The political climate in Uruguay and Argentina shape the paths of these three women.

De Robertis did a wonderful job developing each woman within the woman's specific section. She artfully told Uruguay's history about the rise of the Tupamaros, the horrors brought by the military rule, and the democratization of Uruguay. The description of Eva's imprisonment during the military regime continues to haunt me. I also enjoyed catching a brief glimpse of Argentina under Peron's rule and the early years of the Cuban Castro regime.

I wish that de Robertis would have continued to detail some of the thoughts of the previously developed main character(s) in each new section of the book. At the end of Pajarita's section, I wanted to continue reading the book to learn more about Pajarita as well as the second section's main character, Eva. The second section, however, described Eva but subjugated Pajarita's character to an afterthought. Likewise, Eva and Pajarita's stories were both an afterthought in Salome's section. The magical portion of the book added some color to the plots, but my interest in the book did not pique until de Robertis began focusing more on the story and less on magical innuendos. Finally, de Robertis explored many themes, which include childhood rape, transgender love, and adoption; however, she only used a few pages to discuss each of these complex issues that should have been more fully developed.

Carolina De Robertis' debut novel is one of lush description and beautiful language. As a South American author, it's not surprising she chose to honor the tradition of magical realism, but she treads that path very lightly (such as a baby found in a tree or a brief mention of a guardian puma), so readers who are frustrated by the ambiguity of magical realism will not have any quarrel with this story.

While the author creates strong, memorable female characters and fully developed settings in representations of Montevideo and Buenos Aires, there are a few problems. The development of a character's anti-Peronist sentiments and their basis is glossed over in a scant few pages, and those sentiments are critical to a major plot point which felt insufficiently motivated. That character has experienced nothing but abuse and abandonment at the hands of men, and with this one act she cruelly and thoughtlessly alienates the one man who was good to her. In the book's third section, the author does much better when showing where a character's political beliefs took form, even at a very young age. However, it still felt unbelievable when two thirteen-year-olds are on the phone, exchanging lines such as "the government has broken off diplomatic relations with Cuba." Certainly history has shown that kids are fascinated with leaders from John F. Kennedy to Osama bin Laden, but it always seems to be the cult of personality that beguiles and not the complicated politics.

There is still much to commend. A subplot involving a transgender character is handled with loving understanding. Details of life in a horrible prison are convincing and disturbing. Although the passage of time sometimes seems overly, if unavoidably, summarized, changes in Montevideo over the course of the twentieth century are depicted so clearly that the city is sometimes more character than setting. Unlike much of literary fiction, De Robertis has offered a tale that is ultimately healing and somewhat triumphant in spite of the characters' years of trouble. This story is strongly recommended for individuals or book groups interested in the lives of generations of women in exotic locales or the fascinating history of Uruguay.

I am always impressed by a well-written book, but even moreso when that book is the author's first published work, as is the case with "The Invisible Mountain." Those who read "Middlesex" by Jeffery Eugenides will find familiar territory in "The Invisible Mountain." Both novels span several generations of a family. Both are about people who emigrate from Europe to the Americas--in "Middlesex," it is North America, and in "The Invisible Mountain," it is South America (Uruguay). Both novels have strong, memorable characters. In particular, it is the women of "The Invisible Mountain" who dominate the story--Pajarita (she of mysterious beginnings); her daughter, Eva, the poet, and Eva's daughter, Salome', whose young life takes a twist that no one could have imagined.

It took me a good while to read this book. Not ever because it was boring or that I didn't want to continue reading for any reason. It seems a much longer book than its 366 pages. The only word I can think of to describe why it seemed so long is "dense." It was not, at least for me, a breezy read. It took time to read, consider, savor and understand. There are some weighty issues involved and some weighty writing as well. It is not often I feel the need to go back and re-read a sentence or paragraph that I just finished but, with this book, I did that often. I didn't feel that the author used vocabulary that was much more advanced than your average novel, but it was the way she put the words and thoughts together that made it seem more complex.

All that said, the story is deep and rich, the characters complex and often conflicted, and the writing superb. It isn't always a happy story, but neither is it weepy. Don't let anything I've said scare you away from reading this book. Take the plunge. Just don't expect to finish by dinner.

The Invisible Mountain begins magically with newborn Pachita of Uruguay disappearing after birth and reappearing in a tree months later. Eventually marrying "the Incredible Disappearing Husband," Pachita supports her family with her herbal remedies. Her narrative is the first of three, briefer and less emotionally engaging than others. It soon melts into the story of her poetess daughter Eva, who is compelled to give up her education to work in a shoe store, who guards the secret of her employer's abuse, blaming herself, and surviving by "diving into words." We feel her struggle with her, sharing her inner life.

This three-generational novel then plummets into stark realism with a focus on Eva's daughter. Salome becomes a committed Tupamaro revolutionary, enduring torture and deprivation as a political prisoner, and retreating into the numbness of a shadowy existence. We also experience the profound bonds between the courageous women of this family, whose devotion to each other continues despite separation and silence.

The Invisible Mountain is a brilliant novel, comparable to Marquez' Hundreds Years of Solitude, and alive in parts with the same magical realism. Occasionally, DeRobertis captivates the reader with lyrical passages and descriptions - "poetry leaked onto her waitress tablet," "the dark shrivel of tomorrow," "hands that moved like hummingbird's wings." Yet more frequently (and especially in regard to Salome), she relies upon stark, straightforward language, understatement which slowly but deeply draws us into the web of her world.

The context of this world is a family coping with life in the politically and economically unstable Uruguay and Argentina throughout the early and middle twentieth century - from democracy to dictatorship, revolution, then democracy. Throughout, the metaphor of the invisible mountain of Montevideo becomes a recurring theme, resonating with the emotional lives of these courageous women.

As I entered this world, I was particularly enamored with Eva's story - Eva, who is "stowing her soft inner parts in caves of leather", but unwilling to silence her Muse, Eva who yearns for the elusive Andres, who is transported into still another life in Argentina, where she is inspired by another Eva, Eva Peron, and awakened to love. In her life too we encounter the surprising and fascinating Zola.

Yes, most of the men are violators of women, and the socio-political history, although a significant influence upon the narrative, is not explained as thoroughly as it could be. But these are minor flaws. Readers who wish to burrow deep within a novel, and who are willing to experience the harsh realities that these women face will be rewarded with a story which lingers in memory long after the last page is turned. The path is through pain, but as deRobertis' gently and tenderly guides us onward, along the way we discover the haunting beauty of these women's fortitude, their quiet dignity, and their capacity to move through horror yet retain their humanity, as they touch our hearts.

In this astonishing and assured debut novel about a lineage of Uruguayan women in Montevideo, covering much of the twentieth century, de Robertis immerses the reader in electrifying and luminous prose. My skin tingled and my eyes watered; the passages melted in my mouth and dissolved on my tongue, making me buoyant, almost weightless. Pardon my gushing, but this is the most lyrical, musky, magical prose I have ever encountered in a freshman novel, and it has easily become one of my desert island books.

The characters are so vivid that they surge from the pages and stand before you. They are fiercely alive, vulnerable, sometimes shocking and appalling, entirely human. Near the beginning of the book a myth is revealed about the first day of every century in Uruguay, and recounts what happened in 1800, when succulent, ripe berries appeared at a church altar in the starving town of Tacuarembo'. Next comes the folklore of 1700, about the songs that haunted the air, from one sunrise to the next, disembodied but potent, songs in the vanishing Tupi'-Guarani' language.

The narrative segues seamlessly to 1900, to a tree and a miracle, and our first prominent female character, Pajarita. There is a touch, just a touch of magical realism in this section, which hums with the atmosphere of the time and place. However, this novel isn't couched in the supernatural; rather, de Robertis writes with a penetrating realism that consummately grips you.

From Pajarita, the herbalist, to her daughter, Eva, the poet, and finally to her daughter, Salome', the revolutionary, the reader is transported to an intense and intimate journey of independent women trying to survive in the upheavals of political and familial turmoil. Each woman is distinct, all three of them magnetize the reader. Moreover, most of the secondary characters are fertile and vivid and command the narrative when they are present.

If there is a weakness, it is a minor one. The characters, prose and story are flawless, the dialogue is authentic, and the essence of the story is supremely evocative. It is how they are hinged together overall that sometimes falters. It may be because each woman, subsequent to their individual story, takes a back seat to their next female descendant. Once I was steeped in one woman's life, it was difficult to accept them as background. The author does bring each woman back in to the spotlight now and then, but they are mostly subsumed into the new generation as the focus switches.

Some readers may feel Salome's story drags a bit, as the second half of this woman's story contains as much internal dialogue as actual movement. But, for me, the beautiful texture of the sentences describing her plight was always revelatory.

She also weaves in a controversial subject matter, one that all readers may not be prepared to accept, or at least to accept in this story. There is no way to address it without giving spoilers, so I will refrain from dropping any more information except to say that it is daring and brave. After reading the acknowledgments at the end, I suspect that it may have a basis in the author's personal life. And the following quote is thematic for every event in her story (including the one I referred to).

"But if it was true that everything that disappeared was somewhere, then even those still breathed and glittered, somewhere, in the hidden corners of the world."

Monte. Vide. Eu. I see a mountain. The irony of a flat city with no slopes being named after something that wasn't there--the invisible mountain along the very visible Atlantic Ocean. This novel brims with poetic observations and piercing encounters. The language is polished and iridescent.

"This could be such a wet and heavy world. It could flood a normal night with ruthless rain; could sweep a man away along its currents, and spit him up again on long-lost shores; could seep into your secret soil, even when you wish you wish you wish you could stay dry."

This is a story about mothers and daughters; hope and love; survival in horrifying circumstances; connection and fulfillment. This hypnotizing novel is unforgettable, the enchanting prose indelible, the characters singular. An epic, towering tale.

Invisible Mountain is a gem of a novel, grounded in actual history, with a dollop of magical realism, a splash of Dickensian coincidence, with some forbidden romance and political intrigue added to the mix.

The novel opens at the turn of the 20th century in a remote Uruguayan village, when a baby is spirited away and then reappears, a year later, unharmed in the branches of a tree. The young one is named Pajarita - translated to little bird - and the narrative, divided into three sections, sequentially focuses on her, her daughter Eva, and her granddaughter Salome.

All three are strong, impassioned women, who are capable of making bold choices in order to remain authentic and true to themselves. As the century opens up with more options for women, the choices become increasingly bolder. One of the beauties of Invisible Mountain is that the prose accurately mirrors the country of Uruguay - from a time when gentle magic lit it from within to the near-present, when the country struggled under the harsh light of despotic politics.

Each woman is named fortuitously and fulfills the destiny of her name. Each in turn, embraces passion, poetry, and politics and becomes a vessel into which De Robertis pours decades of Uruguayan and Argentinian culture and family dynamics. The magical lyricism (think: Isabel Allende or Gabriel Garcia Marquez) is replaced with the intense and painful down-to-earth images of a country that has veered from its destiny and imprisoned those with the courage to speak out.

De Robertis writes: "This Uruguay: less innocent, smaller somehow, dwarfed by the looming world, more wounded, bleeding people out through its wounds, mourning the lost blood of the exiled and the dead and also those who simply shrugged and flew away, but also stronger for its wounds, mature, tenacious, wiser about what it can withstand, with a heart that beats and people who pulse through its pathways." She could be speaking of her characters who also mature with their hearts joyfully beating despite their wounds.

In many ways, this is a love song to Uruguay: "El Rio de la Plata's curving motion a woman weeping against a balcony rail, the red aroma of beef roasting at las brasas at the corner bar...Montevideo's sleepy beauties and its daily return into her skin." In equally powerful ways, it's a celebration of women, particularly mother-daughter relationships and how they evolve and endure.

If there is a flaw in this novel, it is in the depiction of the male characters. The author was, at one time, a rape crisis counselor; perhaps it's no surprise, then, that the vast majority of men are depicted as abusive, inebriated, unfaithful, and downright violent. There is one notable exception, but that character's story is told inorganically; from both an economic and psychological perspective, the character's decision - and the results stemming from that decision - would be highly unlikely in the real world.

But as I closed the pages, I was left with the feeling that this multi-generational saga is assuredly destined to stand among the finest debut works, with a tone that is often elegiac and a theme that is truly of the ages.

I am blown away by her storytelling ability and I can't wait for her next book! She brings her characters to life, full of passion and emotion, and her use of language - metaphors - description are among the best writers I have read. Her writing is sensuous and flows like a babbling brook - sometimes soft and quiet, sometimes loud and demanding. I identified strongly with Eva - while my life was not as brutal as hers, her self recrimination, bouts of paralysis and giving up some of herself to satisfy someone else speak to universal women's themes and make me want to shake her! The biggest thing though is that it has touched a deep place in me and I am writing again!! Some journaling and some poems have fallen in - this feels good - it has been a long time - a powerful effect from a powerful book. And I loved how the ending connected full circle to the beginning. Treat yourself to this book - you won't be disappointed.

The book starts off with a miracle. In the first day of the twentieth century a baby girl, who disappeared from a village after her mother died giving birth to her, was found on top of a tree, that little girl is named Pajarita (Little Bird) and thus the story begins.

The narrative spans 90 years or so, following the lives of Pajarita, her daughter Eva and granddaughter (Eva's daughter) Salomé and follows the women through a personal story which also mirrors the chaotic history of Uruguay through their own personal struggles.

The book is divided into three sections, each devoted to one of the women. The first section we learn about Pajarita, how she met her husband, an Italian immigrant, and follows him from her small village to Montevideo and builds a life for them.

The second section tells us about Pajarita's daughter, Eva, a poet at heart who was forced to drop out of school at the tender age of 10 and work at a shoe store for a family friend. Eva is abused by the friend and takes matters into her own hands by running away to Buenos Aires where she marries and has children before being chased out of Argentina and returning to Montevideo.

The third section belongs to Salomé, Eva's daughter, who is encouraged to fulfill the education her mother never got. However Salomé becomes involved in the political turmoil of the time and pays a heavy price for her ideals.

The story is not a simple good vs. evil, the characters are flushed out, each has his or hers good side and bad side - shades of gray. The heroines of the story are not depicted as "holier than thou" victims of a cruel life but as normal humans with their own weaknesses, strengths and different sides which take shape throughout their lives.

The narrative is complex and beautifully written, very lyrical, deliberate and effective, the storytelling is masterful and the characters are well drawn out - even the minor character each has their own rich history.

One of the most important characters in the book is not a human, but a country. The author did a masterful job researching Uruguay, its culture and history. Besides enjoying the story I also felt I learned a lot about this South American country and have gotten a good introduction to its history.

A debut novel set in Uruguay, the wealth of stories, rich language and delightful humor make this novel irresistible. While the focus is on women the men's stories are essential. We see each man's inability to cope with woundedness play itself out in repression of the women and children in his world. Holding life's injuries with dignified silence and resourcefulness allows each character the possibility of self-discovery, change of heart, and the start of new life through forgiveness. To me this is quintessentially a story of the power of forgiveness. No life is inconsequential; no relationship ever beyond redemption.

In "the year of homecoming," Pajarita discovers forgiveness the stormy night her runaway brother Artigas shows up on her door step with his daughter Xhana. That same night Pajarita decides to untie all the knots she's held inside, and to unfold to the many miracles in her life. Letting go of resentment, Pajarita breaks out of her self-imposed prison and allows forgiveness to wash over her like the river and the rain falling outside. She and other family members who have been wounded in so many ways find forgiveness not only possible, but the only rational way to face the future.

A delightful component of Invisible Mountain is tango. Like South America itself, tango is birthed in the rich soil of multi-ethnicity. At the very least tango serves as both cultural glue and a device for presenting Eva's story. The reader is plunged into a dance of downright sweet stories interspersed with passion, edginess, danger, cruelty, heart breaking sadness and surprising delights.

This book is set in the milieu of South American military dictatorships. The greater familiarity I had with Argentina's experience of military dictatorship under Juan and Eva Peron helped frame this story in a very realistic and poignant way.

Ms. De Robertis' debut novel enriches the world of literature and leaves us happily anticipating her next literary work.