Though it's called Lucky Boy, this book weaves together two women's stories and doesn't spare much attention for the little boy in the center of it all. He acts as a prop and mostly enters scenes to be loved and have his hair smelled. We spend almost all our time with Kavya, an Indian-American woman in Berkeley who longs for a child, and Soli, a Mexican woman who (eventually) has a son named Ignacio. Ignacio (even more eventually) ends up in Kavya's care.
Here's the problem with Soli's narrative: Sekaran has no idea when to stop piling on the horror and woe. (Some spoilers follow.) We already know from the blurb that Soli will get pregnant and have a boy; but rest assured that we won't get there without a violent gang rape (featuring both a gun and a knife, of course, in a precursor of excesses to come). In Berkeley, Soli goes to work for a family as a housekeeper and nanny. The white American yoga mom is all the painful cliched things you'd expect, with a self-indulgent postpartum depression so crazy and entitled that she makes Soli watch a video of herself in childbirth. The ridiculousness accelerates from there. Soli falls asleep in the park and her charges run away. In a panic, she calls her cousin, who proceeds to get in a high-speed car chase with the police-- because if you flee, it makes the cops "lose interest." Or something. At this point, we know from the blurb that Kavya ends up fostering Soli's son, so we're just waiting for that to finally happen; the police oblige by arresting Soli and figuring out that she's not in the country legally. They throw her in the county jail.
Once Soli enters state (then federal) custody, I struggled to get through her sections. I've worked on many lawsuits involving civil rights violations in jails (for the plaintiffs, so you can't accuse me of being unsympathetic), and almost nothing about the overwrought depictions of incarceration hit close to the mark. First, the county jail refuses to give Soli any water, so that she's forced to "drink from her own breast" to avoid dehydration. Hmm. Do all the other non-lactating inmates just die, then? Then she's transferred to a immigration detention center, where sadistic guards give inmates inedible soup full of bugs and then dump it on their heads when they complain, and Soli's kept in solitary confinement for days without food. Hmm, again. She's not permitted to see her lawyer except during public "visiting hours" (not how that works), forced to miss hearings while in custody, and then raped regularly by a guard. (We know it's rape because Sekaran says: "Let's be clear: This was no romance." Thanks for clarifying!) So far, the guard-on-inmate rape is the closest we've come to real life. I actually laughed during the courtroom scene when a judge announces that it's "not her place to consider" why Soli-- who everyone knows is in federal custody-- didn't appear for the hearing. Of course it's her place to consider that. Courts often have to deal with situations like this when transport orders get messed up and in-custody parties don't appear when they're supposed to. Obviously her attorney informed the judge about his client's status and requested a transport order (right...? or do not even the lawyers in this book know the law?), so it'd be absurd to deny a party parental rights on the grounds that the federal facility didn't make her available. But okay, throw it on the pile of plot contrivances. Soli's rapey guard buddy takes her to the kitchen for sex and she steals a knife, which she hides in her ponytail. She must have thick hair. And this evil off-the-grid federal detention center must forget to frisk its inmates or check their cells at night. After a few scenes of tortured buildup (in between which we cut to long episodes of Kavya being a devoted, loving mom, for some reason), Soli stabs the guard in the thigh and escapes out the kitchen window. We never hear about the guard again and I assume he's bled out and died. She gets away with this stabbing because, as an immigrant, she "doesn't officially exist." Which makes perfect sense because, as everyone knows, the United States makes no attempt to track people it deports-- and don't let anyone who's been arrested for illegal reentry tell you otherwise.
Anyway, some deeply misguided Good Samaritan type sees Soli in her prison uniform, covered in blood, and decides to help her get a job. She makes her way back to Berkeley, where she promptly breaks into her former employers' house, steals their stroller, stalks Kavya, and then kidnaps Ignacio from his bed at 4am. She takes the time to note that Kavya and Rishi are "not even American" because of their ethnicity before bundling Ignacio off on a Greyhound bus back to Mexico. He doesn't appear to enjoy his kidnapping, but his feelings are irrelevant. And that's the end.
The only moments of authenticity come in Kavya's story. Sometimes even that overreaches-- for example, she doesn't get pregnant within just three months of trying and immediately melts down-- but it has a believable heart. And her overbearing-but-loving mother with the thick accent convinced me entirely. It's a shame that the high (melo)drama of Soli's story eclipses the book's hints of truth and subtlety. In the end, Kavya's husband Rishi has a very trippy little visit to Mexico and sees water coming from a cactus and learns that "something can come out of nothing," or whatever. He goes home and he and Kavya realize that they "had gone too far. They had taken a women's child." The book is tired of the Reddys' realism and grief, so we get a bright little wrap-up about how they're still living a fine life without a child.
The message is overwhelmingly pro-biological-mother, which I have mixed feelings about. Sekaran keeps acting like Soli's only crimes are illegal immigration and intense maternal love, but that's not true. Among other things, she stabbed a man and left him to die. And no one ever seems to think for a moment about what Ignacio might want or benefit from, even though it's clear (for example) that he caught pneumonia in Soli's care and only gets proper medical treatment with the Reddys. I have a hard time believing the book's core lesson-- repeated by everyone, including the wise Miguel and, ultimately, Kavya herself-- that they did something wrong by taking this little boy in and loving him when he was troubled and traumatized. I also have a hard time believing that kidnapping your own child, re-traumatizing him to the point that he no longer speaks, and fleeing the country to live as an impoverished fugitive really counts as a "happy ending." I'm baffled by the reviews that say this.
People also say that the book is funny, so I'd be remiss if I didn't note that Sekaran adds many bizarre jokey asides, like when Soli learns the word "mortgage": "Mort. Gage. It was a word that got in its own way. It was a word that held within itself a sense of its own limits, an echo of death." There are several little sci-fi/fantasy jokes (e.g. quoting Lord of the Rings to refer to Ignacio as "the One"), too, which seem to stem from genuine interest or fandom. I didn't dislike them, but they clashed with the tone of the story, which Soli describes as "an opera of small hells" (okay, I see the opera part, but is being raped countless times, murdering someone, and kidnapping a child "small"?).
Until the end, I thought of this as an ideal book-club book: pretty and hardworking, difficult to imagine people disliking it, and it addresses current issues in a way that's bound to win sympathy and interest. I still felt mostly indifferent to it, and I think the seams show on some of its efforts to be Moving and Timely-- but admittedly, as a reader I prefer something messy and ambiguous and standoffish, something that makes me wonder what I think rather than gently affirming the opinions (it assumes) I already have. And this ending so thoroughly abandons nuance to pacify its audience on the way out the door that I couldn't hold onto my non-dislike. Imagine "Sleepless in Seattle," start it off with 40 minutes of Bill Pullman crying and/or gushing about how passionately he loves Meg Ryan, then cut to that scene of him smiling and nodding as she leaves him for someone she heard on the radio, and you've almost got the idea of Kavya's unexpected and untenable forfeiture of her beloved foster son.