Customer Reviews

Stones for Ibarra

5 star:		(19)
4 star:		(4)
3 star:		(3)
2 star:		(3)
1 star:		(0)

 

 

I found Stones for Ibarra to be excellent. Previous reviews have picked it apart in ways I consider missing the forest for the trees or perhaps the mine for the ore, to stretch a metaphor. I loved Doerr's poetic prose, her lack of need to explain everything to death, her desire to not be wed to stuctures imposed by others. It was simply a sweet though somewhat dark, and compelling memoir of a woman who was just on the edge of understanding, and Doerr puts us as the reader right there with her, "feeling the place" not understanding it totally. I do understand the concerns voiced about stereotyping Mexicans, but don't agree with the reveiwer from Miami. People everywhere kill, die, whore, and suffer in their lives. But there are also priests and nuns, storekeepers and miners who sacrifice for the good of others. The reveiwer sees what he/she wants. What I saw was in spirit consistent with my experience of Mexico- that there is a certain acceptance of fate, a certain reluctance to fight the tides of life which can lead to occasional disaster, or as Sara Everton says "an accident." I think few closing lines can match "Bring stones." (Maybe Norman Maclean's "I am haunted by waters") I found myself reliving the accidents of my life, and asking myself over and over to bring stones.

The comments by some of the reviewers are instructive more about themselves than about the work they review. The reviewer from Miami states that the narrative is exactly what one would one expect from such a character recounting her experiences to,let us say, her daughter. That is exactly the point of the book. The main character is not a sociologist. She simply received impressions, as most of us do, when we travel to Mexico or Greece or Italy, without either wholesale condemnation of people who live differently from middle-class Americans, nor extensive exoneration of their behavior by recourse to sociological explication of the effects of the history of exploitation and oppression. Let us understand plainly: the narrator is not the author, but a narrative voice (a character in the story) whose observations must correspond to the limitations of her concerns and her remembrances. The narrator plainly does not have any deep understanding of Mexico (she is no Octavio Paz), but that is much of the point of the story. Much of the value of the book is precisely the revelation of the disconnect between the Americans and the Mexicans - the inability to comprehend each other. If the narrator were truly to understand the Mexicans, or they her, the whole point of the book would have been lost. The reader from Seattle, on the other hand, has taken too many literature courses: she insists on a central character and a motif - preferably some kind of symbolic motif. The narrator in the story is not apt to construct her reminiscences in such a way as to revolve them about some central motif. She herself is the central character - everything is seen through her eyes and takes significance in terms of her own fate - culminating in the death of her husband and her departure from Mexico. Mexico remains unchanged. She has not the capacity, the inclination, or the will to change Mexico, or to change herself. To insist that she be different is to demand a different book. Finally, the Miami reader says that John Steinbeck was only joking: perhaps she may recall the tale of the young Mexican woman with many children who could afford only beans for her children: the American servicemen in California took pity on her and provided meat for her children. They all took deathly sick at the change in diet, and when they recovered, she found herself pregnant again. There is humor in his work, as well as in Stones for Ibarra, but it is the kind of humor that leads to redemption: the very counterpoint of mockery and denigration. Revelation of the disconnect between cultures can lead to thoughtfulness, which is the precursor of sympathetic understanding. Let us not confuse the characters with the authors, and let us pray that Steinbeck and Doerr find the readers they deserve.

I came online to order this book for the book club I'm in in Grand Coulee, Washington (Quite a Motley Crew living along the Columbia River). I read Stones for Ibarra a year ago. It simply was one of those books that I couldn't put down. I have reflected on content in this book several times since that read. Thank goodness Harriet Doerr weaves her tale in a reasonable number of pages without submitting to the temptation to overtell or persuade. I wasn't bored and distracted like usual with many contemporary novels. This book is written beautifully. What I didn't understand intrigues me more about this book than what I did think I understood. This book merits discussion with the gals and guys of all races and creeds that read.

This is so much more than a love story, more than a memoir, more than an armchair tour of Mexico. The depth of the characters and the beauty of the narrative make this one of the best books I've every read (and I've read a bunch!) As you read the book, you know that fate is inevitable, yet you enjoy every step of the way. Living among native Mexicans, the American couple try to fit in, yet stand out. However over time they claim their own unique place in the town's community. Every minor character contributes to the novel, creating a setting that is unforgetable. The plot seems secondary to the characters and setting, yet it takes you in and sticks with you. A must read

Richard and Sara Everton move from a sophisticated life in San Francisco to an old adobe house in super-rural Mexico where, on some harebrained idea, they think they can make a go of it by re-opening a copper mine abandoned by Richard's grandfather. It's an idyllic dream, and there are many good moments. But from the very opening of the book, we're told Richard will die, Sara will deny their problems till the end, and they will leave Ibarra without having achieved their dreams. The range and depth of characters in the little town, the juxtaposition of one culture against another, the assimilation of the atheistic Americans into the intensely Catholic community, the gorgeous descriptions of the landscapes, and the many side stories of the myriad characters all contribute to this book's perennial popularity. One gets the sense that the author's love and affection for her characters is real.
It's a beautifully written book, and it's certainly incredible that Harriet Doerr wrote it, her first book (at least the first to be published), when she herself was already an old woman

I first read this book many years ago, but have read and reread it many times since. This story is one of those rare masterpieces that only grows in beauty with each reading. To this day I never fail to tear up just thinking about the story's heartbreaking end. I feel dreadfully sorry for those of you who could not enjoy this extremely rich and exquisite work of fiction. In my mind, this is one of the greatest American novels of the late twentieth century.

How could a person NOT love this book? By the novel's end we can almost feel, smell, and taste the isolated town of Ibarra. Intelligent and beautifully written, Doerr's tale is at times hysterical, enigmatic, poignant, heartbreaking, and beautiful. To read this story is a captivating experience, and when Sara Everton takes the final look at her empty home, one cannot help but join in her tearful plea: "Bring, stones!"

"Stones For Ibarra" is really a collection of vignettes strung together loosely by two main characters, Richard and Sara Everton. They serve as "foils" in providing the author with a modern American perspective to the novel's true main character: rural Mexican life. The writing here is truly splendid (one reviewer aptly describes it as "moving and evocative") and Doerr is richly deserving of The National Book Award.

By revealing the major plot turn early in the book, Doerr declares that the narrative will take a second seat to the novel's setting and collective consciousness. It is at once an affirmation of the timeless, fatalistic nature of small town Mexico and a reflection of the futilism of American idealism. As a collection of sketches, the novel lacks fully rendered characterizations of the protagonists, the Evertons. There is very little dialogue between the two Americans and their stiff restraint in talking and thinking limits the novel. That failing aside, it's a remarkable debut for a writer (at 66 years old!)

This is one of the most beautiful novels I've ever read. Ms. Doerr's writing is lyrical, sometimes even poignant and comical in the same sentence (which is absolute magic.) Amazing writing that touched and inspired me.

This novel follows the experiences of Richard and Sara Everton, just over and under forty, when they move from the United States to a remote town in Mexico. There they revive the house and the mine once operated by Richard's grandfather. They intend to live there for the rest of their lives, but Richard is diagnosed with a blood disorder and given a forecast of five to six more years.

In that time, Richard and Sara build their home, the mine and their lives among the local people. After an arresting opening, beautifully describing their move to Ibarra, the book reads like a fugue, moving from one scene to another, back and forth in time, in a dreamlike state. Sara possesses an active imagination and is fond of making things up, often imaging the details in life that she fails to see.

The first few chapters are stunning, the writing drawing the reader fully into the Everton's world. Subsequent chapters were occasionally dense, losing the lightness and magic found in the opening.

Doerr successfully avoids getting bogged down in the day-to-day details of life in Ibarra, focusing instead on the most significant characters and stories she heard during her stay there. A good read overall, this is a particularly good example for people interested in travel or cultural memoirs.