Basso Profundo: New Mexico fiction

In a marvelous, winning metaphor, Margaret Shaw, the protagonist of Julie Mars’s “Rust,” wants to learn to weld. Ms. Shaw, a New York artist with more talent than accomplishment, has tired of tending bar, and removed herself to New Mexico. She finds herself at Rico Garcia’s auto shop, and asked if he would teach her. What follows this seemingly random meeting is anything but random, as Ms. Mars takes us through its wake, full of searching, full of hope and fear, and eventually redemption.

Margaret was effectively orphaned as a little girl when her parents traveled to India and wound up in prison. Ever since, she has kept herself wrapped tightly against the world, fearing further loss. She seeks Rico’s instruction, and finds a bit more. Not too much more, but the two become friends amid some fairly strong attraction. Rico’s own history has its rocky patches, not quite on the scale of Margaret’s, but they push him toward the gringa with a fair amount of force.

It isn’t very often that I’m moved to tears at the end of a book, but this one definitely did it for me. Ms. Mars has crafted a fine and satisfying conclusion – actually I wish it had a little more, but understand its construction and intent, and accept it. Well, “accept” is far too passive a term for my feeling about this book and its conclusion. It’s a compulsive page-turner with sympathetic characters and tense, carefully-balanced plot; I embrace it and the plainspoken truths about how rust accumulates on its characters’ hearts and emotions. A superior piece of storytelling, this novel will pull you along with its tone, its perfect pace, and its emotional truth. As satisfying as its payoff is, you will assuredly enjoy the journey just as much. Look for it in February 2012, and pounce!

In “The Dissemblers” Liza Campbell offers a close portrait of young aspiring artist without a rudder and apparently without a compass. Ivy Wilkes, the first-person protagonist, wonders continuously about the meaning of her life, the direction it apparently isn’t taking, what mark she might leave on the world. Her friendship with Maya and the two Valdez cousins gets in the way of these potential achievements, especially when, after precious little soul-searching, she agrees to go along with an illegal money-making scheme Maya proposes.

The scheme makes use of Ivy’s artistic talent, and makes her regret her loss of innocence and her pure ambition. In fact, Ms. Campbell portrays in Ivy a shallow, vain, self-absorbed, and naïve young woman who by her own admission vacillates between arrogance and desperate inadequacy. She wants to be loved and admired, but has received very little training in how to give love or admiration to anyone else. In every particular part of her life, she makes a major mistake, fouling up each opportunity to play it straight. In every particular, she dissembles and takes the selfish way, just like all her “friends.”

“The Dissemblers” may not have attractive characters, but the writing certainly measures up. Characters’ motivations always ring true, and Ms. Campbell handles the New Mexico landscape and moods beautifully – her descriptions evoke New Mexico’s unique brand of emptiness very accurately. There could be no more appropriate setting for the dogged emptiness of Ivy’s soul. I say dogged emptiness, but the conclusion of the story includes Ivy’s first, tentative steps to resuming her passion for painting. But our author tempers even this quiet uptick in Ivy’s life: she realizes how easily she can lie to the authorities about the conspiracy.

Liza Campbell has produced an interesting study in flawed character and shady ambition. She paces the story perfectly as we follow Ivy’s anguished descent and subsequent rise. Again, the stark depictions of New Mexico’s broad-brush vacancy agree in tone and texture with the emptiness of the characters. Of all the things I admired about this novel, I rank this parallel as the topmost.