Fifteen Books (That Have Marked Me)

There are moments in the lives of readers, like myself, when a book alters the way we see the world.  Something about the story and the way it is told touches us, drawing us into the author’s universe.  As a result, when we emerge from the experience we have been transformed and, almost always, for the better.  A work that realigns our hearts prepares us to embrace experiences that lay beyond the limited scope of our daily lives. Our understanding of issues becomes broader, and as a result we become wiser.

            

A large number of books have affected me in such a manner. They’ve even shaped the course of my life, nudging me along the path of becoming a writer.

            

I shall limit my list to fifteen books that have changed the way I look at writing and the world. (And I easily could mention dozens.) I have ranked this list in order of the impact they’ve had on me.

    

Cien años de soledad.  I was in my mid-twenties when I read the novel that earned Gabriel García Márquez the reputation of being one of the world’s most extraordinary writers.  This work—which has touched countless other readers as well—tells a story that’s uncannily familiar to me.  Many Latin Americans have told me that the Colombian author wrote the story of their families; and whenever I visit Macondo I feel the same way.  More importantly, reading this novel for the first time made me want to devote my life to the study of literature.

Don Quijote de la Mancha.  When the muses smiled upon the Spaniard, the modern novel was born.  I spent several years lost in this wondrous maze of Miguel de Cervantes’s creation—the effort culminating in my doctoral dissertation.  Every second was time well spent.

Pablo Neruda: Selected Poems.  This bilingual anthology contains the most striking poetry I’ve ever read.  Neruda’s work is so breathtaking, so human, so universal, and so true that it seems to have been written only yesterday.

In the Time of the Butterflies.  This book provided the spark that gave me the courage to write novels of my own.  Julia Alvarez’s work made it clear to me that history and fiction are powerful allies.

The Mambo Kings Play Songs of Love.  Why readers don’t flock in legions toward this book is something I find difficult to understand.  The story of the Castillo brothers moves me beyond my ability to explain these sentiments adequately.  All I can say is that I identify with Nestor’s son, who should have inherited a glorious legacy, but instead is destined to live with the thought of what might have been.

Crónica de una muerte anunciada.  I love the structure of this work—that is, the order in which events are narrated.  In this tale about a murder, the killers and their motive is learned early on.  Yet readers remain engaged until the end because we want to witness Santiago Nasar’s death.  Because of the narrative’s extraordinary effectiveness, I used it as the blueprint for Meet Me Under the Ceiba.

The Lord of the Rings.  J. R. R. Tolkien’s epic tale, which I first read in my early twenties, is vivid, compelling, and consistent. Also, in spite of being a fantasy, the story is startlingly real.  Professor Tolkien’s faith in his fictional world has been justly rewarded: his readers are loyal to the point of fanaticism—and that includes me.

Dreaming in Cuban.  A hypnotic and seductive novel.  Cristina Garcia’s narrative voice instantly captured my heart in this story of four women from the same family and the way in which the Cuban Revolution tore them asunder.

¡Yo!  Julia Alvarez’s third novel—the sequel to How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents—is ingenious when it comes to the way it traps the narrator of the original.  The tables are now turned on the storyteller, rendering her powerless.  Since this is what happened to Bernardo Martinez, the central character of, Bernardo and the Virgin, ¡Yo! provided the perfect model for my first novel.

The Power and the Glory.  Human frailties, the role of faith in our lives, and the power of redemption are the driving forces of Graham Greene’s masterful tale of a priest with many shortcomings fleeing for his life during Mexico’s Cristero Wars.  This novel, as well as Miguel de Unamuno’s San Manuel Bueno, mártir were two important models from my third novel, The Saint of Santa Fe.

El lenguaje de la pasión.  When it comes to writing essays, Mario Vargas Llosa is my hero.  I may not always agree with his point of views, but his forceful, well-informed, poetic, and passionate style mesmerizes—and often angers—his readers.  This collection is the Peruvian’s author tour de force.

Island of the Blue Dolphins.  Scott O’Dell’s most highly regarded novel provides writers with a lesson on how to take a minor historical incident and creatively fill the unknown gaps.  The Californian’s terse writing style fits the story of an accidentally abandoned Indian girl who grows into adulthood through the use of her wits and her adherence to tradition. Island of the Blue Dolphins provides part of the foundation for my next novel, The Season of Stories.

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.  This book, which catapulted Hunter S. Thompson to legendary status, is a fun, startling, high-octane narrative of sheer lunacy.  After reading this novel I had to fight the urge—for weeks—to imitate Thompson’s unique style of writing.

In Cold Blood.  Every word of this account of the murder of a Holcomb, Kansas family is supposedly true.  And Truman Capote succeeds in keeping the narrative forceful and poetic throughout.

Salem’s Lot.  Stephen King on a somewhat serious list of literary works?  During my mid-teens I had given up on reading novels.  This gripping tale of a town taken over by vampires felt real and thus it terrified me.  For several nights in a row I’d wake up in a cold sweat, ready to drive a stake through any vampire’s heart.  Thankfully, the exhilaration of reading King’s masterful novel brought me back to the pleasure of reading.