Editor's Note: This review was originally published in Tulsa Book Review.
The collection of short stories titled My Father Called Us Monkeys is a touching and moving read. Amid the backdrop of the massive societal shifts in America punctuated by the Vietnam War, the Civil Rights Movement, and space exploration, a young Mexican-American boy observes the world with wonder, insight, and hopefulness.
In a small Illinois town only hours from Cedar Rapids, Marco fills his days with riding his three-speed Huffy, often with younger sister Aleta in tow. Their father, Pedro, works in the railroad, and Mama works at the toy factory. Older sister Margot is the first one in the family to graduate from college. Tia, abuela, and Mom’s friends envelop the children with warmth and understanding, even as their Papa deridingly refers to them as animals.
Duarte’s gift of lyrical writing affords the writer to say hard, tragic things in a beautiful way. I was drawn to the book because I wanted to learn more about the implications of self-hatred in the title. The stories feel immediate and intimate because they are told from young Marco’s first-person perspective and accompanied by hand-drawn pencil sketches. It becomes hard to forget that this is not a memoir, only “inspired by real life,” the author notes. Filtered through Marco’s childish understanding, we understand the complex layers of adulting and the long-lasting scars of everyday indignities.
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| Author Mario Duarte |
The collection of short stories titled My Father Called Us Monkeys is a touching and moving read. Amid the backdrop of the massive societal shifts in America punctuated by the Vietnam War, the Civil Rights Movement, and space exploration, a young Mexican-American boy observes the world with wonder, insight, and hopefulness.
In a small Illinois town only hours from Cedar Rapids, Marco fills his days with riding his three-speed Huffy, often with younger sister Aleta in tow. Their father, Pedro, works in the railroad, and Mama works at the toy factory. Older sister Margot is the first one in the family to graduate from college. Tia, abuela, and Mom’s friends envelop the children with warmth and understanding, even as their Papa deridingly refers to them as animals.
Duarte’s gift of lyrical writing affords the writer to say hard, tragic things in a beautiful way. I was drawn to the book because I wanted to learn more about the implications of self-hatred in the title. The stories feel immediate and intimate because they are told from young Marco’s first-person perspective and accompanied by hand-drawn pencil sketches. It becomes hard to forget that this is not a memoir, only “inspired by real life,” the author notes. Filtered through Marco’s childish understanding, we understand the complex layers of adulting and the long-lasting scars of everyday indignities.
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