Jennifer Clement, Prayers for the Stolen (London & New
York: Hogarth, 2014).
(NOVEL)
Reviewed by Wilda Morris
“A missing woman is just another leaf that goes down the
gutter in a rainstorm,” according to a minor character in Prayers for the Stolen by Jennifer Clement. The narrator says,
“Nobody did anything as stupid as calling the police” when a woman or young
girl disappeared. “Calling the police was like inviting a scorpion into your
house.” There would be no justice for missing or dead females anyway unless
they were the favored wives or daughters of powerful drug lords or politicians.
Prayers for the Stolen
centers around four young girls (Ladydi, Paula, Maria and Estefani) living in a
mountain jungle in the Mexican state of Guerrero and their families. Their
community has been cut in two by a major highway. The local school is open when
the federal government finds a teacher willing to risk life on the mountain for
a few months. There are few ways of making a living and supporting a family, so
virtually all the men make their way across the border to the US. Some send
home money, at least for a while, but many end up abandoning their families in
Mexico and start new ones in the North. It is not surprising that the wives in
Guerrero are torn between bitterness toward their husbands and dreams that they
will return.
Add to these problems the shadow cast over the community by powerful
drug traffickers who traffic in beautiful young women as well as heroin. When a
daughter is born, the mothers announce to everyone, “Thank God, a boy has been
born.” It is not surprising that Ladydi’s
mother Rita, whose husband is in the US and no longer communicates with her, has
three addictions (not counting anger and vengeance): alcohol, theft, and
television—especially the History Channel. These are her only escapes from the
hard-scrabble life on the mountain and fear for her daughters’ safety.
The heroine of this story of coming-of-age in the midst of
social and economic chaos is Ladydi. Like quite a few other Mexican girls, she
was named for Princes Diana—patron saint of wives of unfaithful men.
For several years, Rits dresses Ladydi in boys clothing and
calls her “boy” as if that is her name. When Ladydi and her friends are too old
for that ruse, their mothers get their hair cropped, darken their faces with
charcoal and their teeth with markers—anything to make them look unattractive.
They also dig holes in the ground big enough for their daughters to hide in if
they see large black Cadillac Escalades coming up the mountain. “We were like
rabbits that hid when there was a hungry stray dog in the field,” Ladydi says.
Rita tells her daughter that when a woman or girl
disappears, she never returns and never writes a letter home. Very early in the
book however, Ladydi’s friend Paula, known to be the most beautiful girl in the
village, does come home a year after having been “stolen.” She is barefoot, has
the words “Cannibal’s Baby” tattooed around her wrist, and has self-inflicted
cigarette burns on her arm. She is in such a catatonic state that her mother
cuddles her like an infant, gives her milk in a baby bottle, and feeds her
Gerber baby food. As the book unfolds we learn some of what happed to Paula.
We also learn how Ladydi struggles to survive and thrive in
this toxic environment, how it twists her life despite her courage and
strength. We learn about Ladydi’s first love and small kindnesses that come
from unexpected places. There are just enough unanswered questions to give me
hope that there will be a sequel.
Sometimes when a book is published, someone will say, “Is
this fiction or non-fiction? Is it a true story?” That is a fair question, but fiction
is often truer than non-fiction. If you read the article on Guerrero in the
on-line version of Britannica
Encyclopedia, it will tell you about the history, geography and climate of
that Mexican state. The Britannica
does mention poverty, but it doesn’t mention emigration to the US although
according to Wikipedia Guerrero ranks
first among Mexican states in terms of immigration to the United States. A
recent article in the Los Angeles Times
says that Guerrero has the highest homicide rate in Mexico and the second
highest rate of kidnapping. Collusion between politicians and narco-traffickers
has been a part of the problem. I suggest that you will get a more accurate
picture of what life is like for many families in Guerrero from Prayers for the Stolen than form the
on-line Britannica Encyclopedia.
Clement grew up in Mexico and still lives there. She knows
Mexican culture well.
If you click on
Diane Rehm Interview with Jennifer Clement
and then on “listen,” you can hear Diane Rehm discuss with Clement the years of
research that went into this novel. Clement interviewed a number of women who
were in jail as a result of having been stolen and forced into involvement with
illegal activities. When she describes what it is like in the jail in Mexico
City, she knows what she is talking about. When she describes Guerrero, she
knows from personal experience how dangerous it is. She had to stop going there
because of the risks.
Clement is a fine writer of both prose and poetry. Her prose
style is sparse, both lyrical and tough. Her subject is horrific and suspenseful,
but she manages to include enough humor to make the book readable. She is an
expert at unexpected plot turns and unexpected metaphors. Sometimes her words
take my breath away, as when she describes people gathered at the one place on
the mountain where they could make and receive cell phones. Paula’s mother was
there with the rest, hoping against hope that Paula would be able to call. Even
Maria’s brother Mike, who had at least five cell phones, turned off his phones
and the iPod that was almost always in his ears. “That day all anyone could
hear was the silence of cell phones. That was it. It was the sound of Paula
stolen.”
This may be the most important novel published in 2014. I
highly recommend that you read it.
