“I can see the sun, but even if I cannot see the sun, I know that it exists. And to know that the sun is there - that is living.”
― Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov
FIELD NOTES #18 All there is is this moment here: clocks a crude invention counting down seconds we rush to pass by, ticking ticking, moving us from one moment to the next, eyes always fixed on a distant prize. Consider the sparrow. Wise words for a man about to DIE but when you're dealing in breaths moments matter less, when all you have is the seconds you get— living in the present is the only way to conquer death. 𑁍𑁍𑁍 Beneath this face is hollow white bone. Your eyes set in dark sockets, dancing like twin stars. It'll take time but the worms will do their worst, and time, unkind to stone, will wash away what's left of those ruins you call a home. 𑁍𑁍𑁍 Skyscrapers like giant teeth gnaw at the blue sky. Lost in their shadow, I suddenly feel small.
Who are we? Are we individuals shaped by our own sense of desire, or are we an amalgamation of our influences, ultimately shaped by the people who raise us? Pulling on this thread, Abuelo follows one boy's relationship with his grandfather and explores what it means to live our lives in light of the people who mold us, and how their shadows loom large over every aspect of who we are.
Exploring first loves, family trauma, religious doubt, grief, and the experience of the Puerto Rican diaspora, Díaz knits a clever portrait of the relationship between grandfather and grandchild, reminding us that those we love are a mirror in which we find ourselves, looking back.
Díaz's debut novel is a carefully crafted love letter to the people who impact us, and an in-depth reflection on the arduous task of being and becoming.