Another Man's Crime Book

There are three books to be found within this book, three major storylines to follow. One is mostly well done, one is middling, but has issues, one is rather ridiculous, occasionally mildly offensive, and out of place.

The first, which I found mostly well done, is Perez-Reverte's homage to the high adventure stories of the 19th century, specificially his modern update of The Count of Monte Cristo. The Count is remade into a Mexican woman of the 21st century, who is tied to the Mexican drug cartels through her drug running pilot boyfriend. She is set on the run for a crime she did not commit, and runs off to Spain, and we watch the relative naif follow the torturous path of Dantes, a path that is perhaps even more painful than his. It is a clever idea to cast the Count as a woman- it adds to the tale many obstacles and possibilities of obstacles that Edmund Dantes never had to face, and it complicates the progression of our main character to the triumphant protaganist that we all know is coming from the layout of the plot. I found the adventure story aspect of the novel all excellently done- there are several high speed boat chases that have the pages turning at a velocity to match the engines of the boats, there are unexpected shoot outs, there are moments with only one way out, gambles that hold the fate the characters in the palm of their hand to heart pounding effect. Perez-Reverte has always been able to swashbuckle his way into my affections, and this piece was no exception. However. And this is a rather annoying however- I do wish that he hadn't felt the need to constantly shove in our faces the fact that this was a version of The Count of Monte Cristo. He had characters refer to each other as their counterparts in the book. Really? You couldn't trust us to figure that one out, Arturo? Come on, man. I promise you, we're smart enough for that. The book becomes a major motif, and a jumping off point for the characters to make fun of each other for how much they are into it and how delusional that is. It was just a little too self-involved for me. It reads more like fan-fiction sometimes. It's lovely to see how giddy he is about Dumas' tale, and its life changing powers, but I wish he would just let us see it for ourselves rather than constantly insisting upon the truth of it and insisting that his characters enact his own fascination with it. It feels artificial, and sometimes a bit insulting. We get it. I promise.

The second story contained within the book (and I should probably say that there are spoilers from here on out) is the story of the transformation of a woman. Teresa begins the book a girl totally dependent upon the whims of others- especially her "narco," boyfriend, Guero. She sits at home and waits for him, takes care of him, puts him first in every way. She doesn't know much about his business, and she doesn't ask. When she is forced to go on the run after Guero is killed by his bosses for committing several indiscretions, she has to slowly learn how to become independent. Perez-Reverte is truly fascinated by the thought of a truly independent woman, you can tell. I've said time and again that he has a dark lady obsession- this book is entirely about that, in fact (though at least we get to see the world from her perspective, and see why she is mysterious), but I think this is really what the obsession is. He worships the very idea of it, though he doesn't seem to quite believe that it can be true, or that women can completely seperate from what he clearly believes are their natural womanly urges, which turned out to be a problem. While she was learning to rely on herself, use her natural gifts (she's gifted with a head for numbers, for instance) and her intelligence and rely on and trust no one, Perez-Reverte feels the need to frame it in terms of gender. By the end of the novel, she has assumed the role of her narco boyfriend in her relationship with everyone she knows, and coldly addresses her business partner (who is in love with her) as a "nagging wife," who believes "her husband works too much and neglects her." He also has problems writing believably inside the head of a woman, sometimes laughably so. He frequently has Teresa feel things, "in her womb," when he wants to emphasize that it is a real feeling. No, for reals. 'Cause apparently that's what all we women are, one big vibrating womb. However, that all said, I did like the attempt at rendering a woman who truly does not need anyone, and even when betrayed by people she trusts, does not descend into a weeping mess, but handles the situation. She gets herself out of the last, tense corners of the novel without one single man left to help her in any way. I really, really appreciated that. So, if the development was uneven and somewhat unbelievable, I at least was with him on his goal, and the last 100 pages of her development.

The third thing going on here, that was absolutely ridiculous, is Perez-Reverte's various personal opinions and feelings being put on display. I found it rather embarrassing, pedantic, and offensive, by turns. First of all, let's just note that there's a lot of weird attitudes towards ethnicity in this book. Yes, part of it is that he's writing about a world where people aren't exactly PC, but some of it comes from the omniscient narrator point of view (part of the story is told by a journalist trying to write a book about Teresa, part is told from her point of view). There's a really weird, somewhat twisted relationship with Mexico in the book. Perez-Reverte seems to be arguing for the fact that Spaniards shouldn't find their culture "superior" to Mexico in any way because Spain has just as many problems (which I didn't even know was a comparison that happened but okay). And yet, at the same time, he seems to be weirdly fetishizing, in a conflicted 19th century colonialist way, the Mexican ethnicity. At many points during the book characters tell Teresa that she looks best with her hair pulled back tightly and parted down the middle, "in the style of a Mexican peasant." Everyone who sees her is five times more attracted to her when she presents herself in as "Mayan" or "Indian" a way as possible (those are the descriptors used). And yet, she ends up being dressed up makeover style in a modern, more discreet European way. Everyone, including Teresa, looks down on the "garish" way that Mexican drug cartel people dress and live... and yet. The other Mexican character who is held up as an example refuses to let go of his "garish" ways, and listens to his "corridos" (songs about drug cartels) loudly and often. They are quoted frequently throughout the novel, seemingly as examples of poetry. It's this weird mixture of idealization and looking down his nose that I can't quite figure out. It just popped up uncomfortably often and I didn't quite get why that was there.

Anyway, this has likely gone on for long enough, but the point is- its a lovely adventure novel, and a good "coming of age," tale in its way, but not without a good deal of complication. This is my least favorite of his books, though it is still not bad or anything. Just not representative of what he is capable of. Perez-Reverte tends to do better with historical settings, or characters who look back towards the past. This looks back... but still in a modern setting. And his way of looking at the world, well, it's just sometimes a little jarringly old fashioned for the modern world.