I have been reading Julia Alvarez for as long as I can remember, probably since middle school. Recently my oldest daughter read ¡Yo! for the first time and told me she enjoyed it. Alvarez has always made me laugh, either with her authobiographical novels that put her on the literary map or with the nonfiction Once Upon a Quinceañera that is guaranteed to leave the reader in stitches. Her books are a cause for me to celebrate because until recently I knew I would be reading a selection that would end up in my year’s top ten list. Lately, the authors I grew up reading have entered into the later stages of their lives, and I have noticed that while they are still storytellers, their writing isn’t the same level of brilliance as it was at the pinnacle of their writing lives. With Alvarez’ last book, she merely restated the story of the García girls thirty years later; I was unimpressed. A few years later, Alvarez has come up with a unique story, about what to do with stories that did not make it into book form. Who would tell these stories, when, and where. Not Alvarez’ usual story, I decided to see if she was still writing at the level that I have come to savor.
Alma Cruz, who for all practical purposes is Yolanda García (red flag), is retiring from her forty year position as an English professor at a Vermont college. From outward appearances, it seems that Alvarez is regurgitating the same story yet again until she isn’t. Cruz decides to move back to the Dominican Republic much to the chagrin of her sisters who do everything in concert. It is dangerous, crime, robberies, etc. Cruz has inherited a parcel of land from parents’ estate and decides to use it as a cemetery for the stories she has written over the years that she could not creatively turn into book form. Her sisters are appalled, Americanas to the core, but Cruz takes the plunge and actually returns to her homeland, constructing a casita on the cemetery’s grounds in order to live out the rest of her days in seclusion from the writing rat race. Along the way, she creates a sisterhood who each have a story to tell, so Alma decides that in order to gain entry to the cemetery, one must tell a story into the intercom. If her psychologist sisters knew how she lived, they would have her committed.
While it is obvious that Alma Cruz is Yolanda García who is Julia Alvarez in yet another character, the cemetery views this story from a new angle. In order to appease the sisters, Cruz hires a caretaker, a vecina named Filomena who is haunted by a lifetime of her own unfinished stories. A country girl turned maid, Filomena tends to the grave markers with loving care and encourages Cruz to make the cemetery into a bird sanctuary as well. While cleaning a snow globe, the marker guarding the story of Manuel Cruz, Alma’s father, and a sculpture of a woman’s head stitched together with words, the stories begin to speak to her. Filomena at this point in her life is both illiterate and pious and would never tell these untold stories to the masses. She becomes the guardian of the story of Bienvenida Inocencia Trujillo, the ex-wife of the dictator, and learns her side of the story. This story intertwines with that of Manuel Cruz, and in their afterlife as both real people and characters, the protagonists become friends. If only Alvarez had actually written a story about Bienvenida Trujillo rather than the same one many times over about her family. This would have been captivating to read. Employing magical realism that only a Latinx writer can, something missing from her earlier books, Alvarez brings these untold stories to life.
I laud Julia Alvarez for reinventing herself at this stage of her career. Yes, she touches on her own life and the dementia plaguing nearly fifty percent of the Dominicano population - all the marriages between primos; however, rather than telling a story about herself in vignette form that made her a household name, Alvarez introduces new characters and their stories. Filomena’s story is a typical one but has largely been left untold. She and her sister were taken from the countryside to be maids in an upper class home in the capital. The son Tesoro makes Perla- the sister- his mistress and marries her so that the child is not a bastard. The couple move to Nueva York and become citizens but Pepito stays and is raised by Filomena, and the two develop a bond as strong as that of mother and son. In the end Pepito rejoins his parents and now younger brother in New York and eventually he becomes an accomplished writer in his own right. Alvarez has all the stories come to a nexus, discussing life as a professor in that Pepito has taken up the torch for the new generation of Latinx writers as he has been teaching the work of Alma Cruz in his classes for years. Now his aunt is Cruz’ employee. In some circles it is said that things were divinely ordained.
While the writing in Cemetery of Untold Stories is not as crisp as her earlier works, it presents the same story while also introducing new characters and stories to Alvarez’ body of work. In her nonfiction, Alvarez has noted that writers need to act as padrinos and madrinas to younger generations of writers. In this story, Alma Cruz ends up mentoring Pepito late in her life. In real life, Alavrez has attempted to pass the torch to younger generations of Domincan writers, most notably Angie Cruz, who she has lauded as young reader with an older soul. If writers can mentor each other in this regard, stories will get told although from an entirely different voice. Alvarez also touches here that writers while their brains are sharpest write the most and do end up in decline toward the end their lives. She realizes that she still has stories to tell and will attempt to maximize those she still has in her with the rest of her writing life. Hopefully, whatever stories she still have to tell are as refreshing and original as this one.
4 stars