Reviews for Moon Chiapas

The average rating for Moon Chiapas based on 2 reviews is 4.5 stars.

Review # 1 was written on 2015-02-01 00:00:00 Trevor Davis This is one of those expatriot memoirs where an American or Brit pulls up stakes to live la bella vita--or the simpler life--in some warm clime. Think Frances Mayes' Under the Tuscan Sun or Peter Mayle's A Year in Provence, usually told oh so lyrically, eruditely, with lots of literary allusions and mentions of mouth-watering cuisine. I've been reading through a recommendation list of such travel writing--this was the last--and I suppose my reaction to this one might be put down to having become rather jaded and cranky reading one after another. The blurbs of reviews inside claim Cohan is a better, more gifted writer than you usually see in these travelogues, and call his prose "vivid," "elegant," "poetic" and the inevitable, "lyrical." It boasts the present tense that is the insignia of the literati, rather choppy prose given lots of sentence fragments and short, declarative sentences, and sports such lines as: "Dew drops quiver on the spiky tips of barrel cacti in the glimmering dawn." I'm afraid reading I often felt suffocated by perfume. The style was possibly my biggest problem with this book--far, far too flowery for my tastes. There also was something about Cohan's sensibility that grated on me. There often is an implied insult to expatriot tales if you're from the country fled from, but in that respect this was the worst among the dozen or so I have read. I took umbrage at the description of New York City, and particularly the Columbia University area, which I know well. He claimed his daughter lived in an apartment on 110th Street infested with "rats and roaches." (Rats? Mice and roaches I'd believe--was she living in a crack house?) And the neighborhood was filled with "Bums and muggers, rappers and dopeheads." A lot more dire than I'd describe it, and given the exaggeration about a place I know well, I suspected Cohan felt he had to trash America in order to paint Mexico in this much more idyllic light. It's a subtle distinction perhaps, but I remember Mayes, for instance, as showing Italy's appeal without sounding like she felt a need to feel superior to America and its "consumerism" and yet at the same time with Cohan there's a patronizing streak towards Mexico evident to me at times. Yet I continued reading beyond the 100-page mark, because I found interesting reading a description of Mexico. It's a country Americans should know and understand better than we do, and Cohan did weave in bits of in the history and culture of the land he's residing in, even if I never felt he quite left the lifestyle and mindset of a tourist. And if I sometimes felt he romanticized life in a third world country, at least he wasn't completely unaware of his privileged status. But if I had to describe in one word the way Cohan came across to me, it would be: smug.

Review # 2 was written on 2020-06-04 00:00:00 Thomas May I was alternately impressed by and annoyed with this book. Here's why I was impressed: -Author is obviously a talented writer in terms of his florid descriptions of the sights, sounds, smells, and tastes of small-town Mexico. I liked how they described the perfect bougianville (sp?) color and all the amazing descriptions of the food--see chapter on "mango mousse" -The references to learning a language and living in particular tenses... the parallel between the improvement of the author's Spanish and how deeply he penetrated the culture -References to Latin American literature and it's favorite themes... circular time, dreaming through people, places, time, cultures, two places dreaming eachother. It was obvious that the author was well-read and let the work and ideas of Mexican authors be filtered through his American perspective into the work -I liked seeing the relationships the author built with Mexicans... although some were in a laborer/contractor/maid variety (grrr) he was very honest and observant about their personalities and he also made some other upper-middle-class friends who were interesting. At least he *tried* to expand his circle beyond other gringos. Here's why I was annoyed: -Kinda pretentious... "We're artist types and we can afford to make our art in Mexico, relatively unfettered by money or anything else" I also kinda felt like I was being talked to by a foodie or someone else who has a better appreciation for everything than I do, in their opinion. -(Side note, and also why I don't understand the pretentious art thing... the author offhandedly mentions that his wife was "harvesting her hair for her art." ....wha?? What the hell kind of art do you make with crap you pull off your hairbrush?? It was just mentioned so non-chalantly like I should know what he's talking about.) -The 2nd half of the book is really about rennovating a house and I have absolutely no interest in that. If you like TLC Trading Spaces crap I guess you might like reading about it. I think I'm just in a totally different place in my life (not a homeowner, not practically retired, with cashflow issues) and I just don't relate to what they're going through. -Finally and possibly most importantly, he talks about his little personal Mexican paradise and how the gringos are invading and ruining it... Well, duh, dude, you started the trend! What did you expect? The second book he has written apparently laments how gringos have ruined his precious San Miguel, so he goes off travelling the rest of Mexico to try to find something more "authentic." Insert reference to here. I'm not sure why I'm so bitter while writing this review. I picked this book up at my posada while staying in Guadalajara, MX (and yes, I've been to San Miguel, the subject of the book). I just looked at the book jacket and smirked... like this is some romanticized retirement fantasy... but I decided to read it anyway--while in Mexico--to get a better perspective on the place I was staying. I still feel very ambivalent about the book, but I think the author does, too. Anyway, I think I would recommend it to people who were more at the author's level in terms of stage of life/elitism. I think if someone really wanted to know about Mexico, they should read Mexican literature, but I think just seeing what's being put out there was worth it. I think this would have been better as an essay in a travel magazine and not as a book. Just a few vignettes were worthwhile, but reading the whole book became a forced exercise.