It's rare to find a first
book by an author and get the sense that the best is
yet to come. Yet Sandra Rodriguez Barron shows
off her writing skills in The Heiress of Water
in such an impressive way that the reader can't
help but feel that while this may be her first book,
she certainly knows what she is doing.
Barron has a gift for narration and tells this
story in such a smooth way that it's not surprising
that the German language rights to this book have
recently been sold. The book is about Monica,
a woman whose life is pulled like an ocean current
toward a dark and deep unknown. Her connection
with nature and more specifically, the ocean,
provides her with a unique perspective on life.
At the beginning of the story, we meet her mother,
Alma, who has an unparalleled understanding of the
ocean and the powers of the sea. A native of
El Salvador, Alma has inherited a passion for cones
from her own family and has made it her life mission
to find the Conus furiosus, a cone snail species
with the power to heal.
The mother's relationship with a reputed
Communist in El Salvador during the time of the
Civil War mysteriously results in her disappearance.
Once she is presumed dead, Monica and her father, an
American citizen, depart to Connecticut where they
start their lives anew. There, as an adult
working as a physical therapist, Monica meets Will,
a Puerto Rican man whose wife has been in a horrible
car accident and who needs a miracle. Monica
and Will have a common goal--to help his wife, yet
they guiltily and mutually share strong feelings for
each other.
To a certain extent, this book is not what
"critics" might consider literary, in part because
it is about love and relationships and not about the
social ills of the world. However, it's too
easy to dismiss such books. Sure, on many
levels The Heiress is about
relationships--Monica and Will's, Will's and his
wife's, Monica and her boyfriend's, and so on.
But it is far from a cliche of boy and girl falling
in love. As Barron tells the story, we learn
about oceanic life, about El Salvador, about myths
and legends, and about the upper-class. The latter
is significant because while many Latino/a writers
today inevitably wind up writing from the
perspective of disenfranchised lower-class
populations, this book is about characters with
privilege. It doesn't present a perfectly
realistic view of all classes, but perhaps that is
not its purpose. One scene of a young, poor
Salvadoran girl who gives birth and eagerly wants to
give her newborn away without regret exemplifies a
distorted view that the narrator has of those
without money and power. While such
lower-class characters are not romanticized or
overly idealized, they are at times presented in a
way that may be unsettling to those who are used to
seeing the poor Latinos as the heroes. Still,
just the fact that Rayo, an imprint of HarperCollins
chose to publish a work that is about the "other"
Latino socioeconomic class is a credit both to their
open-mindedness and Barron's creativity.
I am unaware of Barron's plans for future novels,
but based on this work, I get the strong sense that
she will have a mainstream following. The
story is somewhat complex, yet the author weaves it
together in such a seamless, polished way, that I
know I won't be the only one waiting for her second
book.