The Invisible Mountain
By: Carolina De Robertis / Narrated By: Christine Avila
Length: 17 hrs and 41 mins
Gorgeous writing of bad men and strong, er, kinda sorta strong women
One reviewer said Christine Avila’s performance was awful—over-performance that infused pitifulness into the states of our three strong(ish) women. Well, that is a tad true; Avila does indeed emote quite a bit, but we’re talking passionate narration of a passion-filled set of stories, so I’ll give her a thumbs up on her end. The women are guilty of whining at times, but they’ve got PLENTY to whine about. We’re talking male-dominated societies, and we’re talking male characters who are brutal, petty, violent, sometimes incredibly, inCREDibly weak. We’re talking women who show their strength by carrying around inert men. Oh, only inert until they’re either raping one of the women, or clocking them in the head with a swift right hook.
No matter how wonderful the men are to start with, and they’re written in such a way that it’s no wonder our female leads seek to be saved from their situations by men, admirable men, men who adore them… well, they all turn into total turds at some point in the story. I rolled my eyes several times, saying to myself: And this is where the haymakers are thrown… Add to that, the only man who shows any loving kindness, any true decency, changes himself into a woman by story’s end. Yes, it’s baaaad news if you’re a male character that Carolina De Robertis is writing!
Indeed, the first two-thirds of The Invisible Mountain are downright exasperating. At first, the writing is just so danged fantastic that one can’t help but be caught up in the passion, the dreams gone awry; one honestly cares about what our characters are devolving into. But the longer it goes on, and make no mistake: This is one brilliantly written novel with metaphors and similes to die for, the more one just wants to move to a women-only island; at least an island that has women who aren’t dolling themselves up to be saved by a man (Okay, okay, mostly it’s the daughter Eva who does that, but still…). And it starts with our first brave woman, Pajarita, a miracle now-grown, who saves her children by using her skills as an herbalist extraordinaire. Why does she have to save them? Because wonderful husband, Ignazio, turns into a drunk who drinks and gambles away the family income before finally abandoning them. Oh, but first he beats the holy crap outta Pajarita (And Ignazio, by the way, comes from a family where his drunken father bashes in his mother’s skull before drowning himself in one of Venice’s canals… just sayin’…)
Daughter Eva is basically guilt-tripped by Ignazio to give up her schooling and work for a man who brutally violates and degrades her in every way possible. So there’s that. Then she morphs herself into someone a promising young doctor will save. He turns into a betraying jerk. And decks her. So there’s that.
All this is set against the political turmoil in Uruguay, Argentina, Brazil of the 20th century, and the best part FINALLY, is the last third, the story of Eva’s daughter, Pajarita’s granddaughter, Salome. Now there’s a strong and brave young woman! She’s a freedom fighter who gets caught and is brutalized in prison (Her prison stint is nothing like the loving stint done by the Mariposas of In the Time of the Butterflies). So, yeah, there’s that too. But reading the stirring prose of De Robertis, listening to the heartfelt narration of Avila went a looong way toward making the last third of the book a sublime experience. Her darkness and fears are a lot to take, but the love she’s surrounded by, the realizations she makes, all bring us to a most satisfying conclusion.
Yes, yes, yes: 17+ hours of men being creeps, but do stay for Salome’s story. I mean, I guess I can cut the stories some slack, given the societal standing of women during those time periods, but really? Salome was a breath of much-needed fresh air. All within some amazing writing!
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