achy on tour

More from Austin

2011-02-22T16:50:00.000-06:00

The good folks at the Austin translators and interpreters association put together a video array that can be found here, at vimeo.

Austin pix

2011-01-12T13:37:00.002-06:00

Pix by Esther Diaz.

Austin still ahead -- thank you, Miami!

2011-01-05T18:10:00.000-06:00

Just finishing a longish stay in Miami with family and am headed to Austin, Texas, next for an event that promises to be amazing. The Austin Area Translators and Interpreters Association is sponsoring a public conversation Saturday, January 8, at 7 p.m. at the Mexican American Cultural Center on 600 River St. to discuss my new translation of Ena Lucia Portela's Cien botellas en una pared, published by the University of Texas Press as One Hundred Bottles.

The association keeps flooding my inbox with articles and notices so I know they're getting the word out.

And I confess, again, I have been a bit nervous. How to present a translation? My previous experiences have been with Junot Diaz and my Spanish version of his Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, but we'd done those together in New York and Chicago.With Ena Lucia in Havana with no chance of crossing the Straits of Florida, I'm pretty much on my own with this book.

Luckily, we got a bit of dress rehearsal for Austin in Miami. My most fave bookstore in the city, Books & Books in Miami Beach, had me present the translation last week. And to my delight and surprise, Eduardo Aparicio, the Cuban-American writer and photographer who'll present me in Austin, showed up with his dad in tow.

Wisely -- and before I'd even shown up -- the folks at Books & Books asked him to introduce me at this reading as well, so both of us got to rehearse a bit. His intro was way over the top -- but then Eduardo and I go way, way back. In fact, when I was just finding my way in Chicago about 30 years ago, I did some freelance interpreting and Eduardo was the golden boy (appropriately so!) at one of the agencies that used to give me work now and again.

What I ended up doing in Miami, and hope to repeat in Austin, is reading from both the English and the Spanish, but not exactly tit for tat. I'm using an overlapping style -- reading paragraph A in Spanish, then paragraphs A & B in English, then paragraphs B & C in Spanish and so on. The idea is that each time I switch languages, there's new material for whomever is monolingual.

It seemed to go over well here in the tropics. This morning, I woke up to a half page article in El Nuevo Herald, the Spanish-language partner paper of the The Miami Herald, that gave the reading a big thumbs. If you read Spanish, you can find the link here.

Ena Lucia Portela's "100 BOTTLES" in MIAMI BEACH Dec 29

2010-12-27T09:02:00.001-06:00

Last year, I had the pleasure of translating Ena Lucia Portela's Cien Botellas en Una Pared into English. It was finally published last month by the University of Texas Press as One Hundred Bottles.

The job came right after I'd worked on Junot Diaz' Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, creating a Spanish-language version out of a seemingly impossible to translate novel that incorporated not just good chunks of Spanglish but also linguistic cameos by Urdu, Japanese, German, and a smattering of other languages, plus multiple and multi-layered references to pop culture, music and Dominican and American history.

So when Portela's book landed on my desk, I was both exhilarated and apprehensive. Probably none of the current crop of young Cuban writers -- except the word wizard Orlando Luis Pardo -- plays with language as much as Portela. The book had been a big hit in Cuba and gotten critical raves in Europe so there was little question in my mind that my immediate circle and my literary peers would be looking at it particularly closely. To ratchet up the pressure, it's Portela's book-length English-language debut.

What I found in translating Portela was an experience wholly different in every way from translating Diaz. For starters, the material -- crazy doings in Havana in the 90s -- was familiar. And the language, so very Cuban, so very Havanesque, was utterly recognizable in letter and spirit. The translation flowed like water, to be frank.

I'll be reading from the book for the first time Wednesday, Dec. 29 at the Books & Books in Miami Beach at 927 Lincoln Road. The presentation starts at 7 p.m. If you're in town, please stop by and tell me what you think.

Multi Kulti & Book Tasting Rocked!

2010-12-26T22:42:00.001-06:00

The reading at Multi-Kulti earlier this month turned out to be a real blast. The subject was immigration and there was much more on the bill than just literature. Some young undocumented folks spoke about the DREAM Act (which, unfortunately, failed in the senate a week later and may be lost for a while) and about organizing in general, and poet Bill Hillman hosted another session of the Windy City Story Slam, which offered some shockingly good stories. My favorite reader, Karolis Gintaras Zukauskas, came in second but it was overall delightful.

I also had the good fortune to share the bill with John Schultz, who told a very emotional tale sans script, and the amazing Irvine Welsh, author of Trainspotting, who utterly thrilled the crowds.

For me, it was a brand new experience in two different ways. For starters, I read non-fiction, a piece that ran in Vogue magazine in 1998 about the Elian Gonzalez debacle and how it affected Cuban families. I decided to go with it, after having left it alone for so many years, because it touched on so many aspects of immigration and assimilation. To make it current I had to revisit a few things but I was honestly stunned by how little needed to be changed.

The second thing was accidental -- my printer refused to work and I simply didn't have time to run out and get new ink. So I ended up mailing the entire manuscript to myself and reading it on my cell. I was quite terrified -- and I did lose my place once, badly -- but the audience was forgiving. What I discovered, though, was that it was remarkably easy once I got the hang of it. And though it presents a challenge in that I'm looking down a lot, it also has advantages: the pages are in strict order and there's no paper to hide behind. I might do this again, on purpose.

The entire reading was recorded on Vocalo.org -- there are a few glitches here and there, but definitely not their fault. In fact, it's really a heck of an editing job.

Later in the week, I read a few pages from Ruins at Depaul's first ever faculty "Book Tasting." To my surprise, more than 150 people
showed up to hear a dozen profs and staffers read a few minutes from our books. There was dead serious stuff and very funny pieces and much in-between. After the reading itself, the authors were gathered for a reception to meet and greet and had our books paired with a select wine. Mine ended up being a tasty cabernet, full-bodied but not too sweet.

The "Book Tasting" idea had struck me as so bizarre, I'd really wondered about it but the event was a gigantic success. And it was great fun to hang out afterward and talk to the folks who'd come hear the readers, and to some of the other authors as well.

I have a big reading coming up this week in Miami, on Wed., Dec 29 at the Coral Gables Books & Books. It's a new experience for me, since I won't be reading from my own creative writing but from my translation of Ena Lucia Portela's One Hundred Bottles (University of Texas Press).

I'll have more details about the reading and the book tomorrow, and, later this week, about upcoming readings in Austin and Washington D.C.

CHICAGO: Two readings this week!

2010-12-01T18:44:00.002-06:00

Coming up: This Saturday, December 4, 8 p.m., reading with Irvine Welsh at the Windy City Story Slam Immigration Show, Multi Kulti 1000 N. Milwaukee Ave.

Then, next week, Wednesday, December 8, 6 p.m., at DePaul's University Center, 525 S. State St., what's being billed as A Book Tasting. The event features Haki Madhubuti, Regina Speller Sims, Patricia Monaghan, Larry Bennett, Joseph Ferrari, Rebecca Johns, Andrea Lyons and me. We'll read very briefly, sign, hang out and sip from whatever wine is being paired with our books.

I'm not kidding about that -- and I do fear that because Ruins takes place in Cuba, I'll be paired with something sickly sweet and fruity where something deeper, like a Malbec, might work better. Yeah, I know Malbecs are Argentine -- close enough, don't you think?

La Casa de Isaac!

2010-11-30T18:44:00.004-06:00

At the end of last month, I lectured at Lake Forest College, up in the northern coastal burbs. I don’t often wander out that way, but it’s always a treat to ride up Lake Shore Drive once it ceases to be an urban thoroughfare, especially in the fall. Leafy, golden Lake Forest – wildly moneyed Lake Forest – is also an architectural treat.

Nestled in nature, Lake Forest College is tiny (about 1300 students), Presbyterian-affiliated, pretty liberal, and very academically oriented. I read there about 15 years ago and remembered the students as sharp and interested.

No surprise, then, that the response was very similar this time around. The students were engaged, prepared, serious – it was a total joy to parry with them during our question & answer session.

Afterward, my host, Gizella Meneses took me out to dinner with a handful of faculty and students, as is standard practice. The surprise was in where she took us: La Casa de Isaac, a family-owned Mexican restaurant in nearby Highland Park.

Of course, there was nothing unusual in going to a Mexican restaurant. My hosts usually try to go for Cuban, but outside of Florida, New York and New Jersey, that’s usually a tall order. And I adore Mexican food, so I’m always game for the substitute (in fact, I often prefer it).

But La Casa de Isaac, as Gizella explained, is no ordinary Mexican joint. Besides its deliciousness (enhanced by the company of the Lake Forest women), it’s discreetly Jewish.

“I thought it was especially appropriate because of Days of Awe,” Gizella said, referring to my novel about crypto-Jews – hidden Jews -- in Cuba.

The big clue about its Jewish connection is in the name of the restaurant but a quick glance at the menu will show an utter absence of pork and shellfish. No, it’s not kosher, and there’s some mixing of meat and milk, but it’s, let’s say, kosher friendly.

Very Days of Awe!

Mil gracias, Gizella!

Autumn in the Midwest

2010-10-16T13:42:00.006-05:00

Just got back from Grand Valley State University in Allendale, Mich., which afforded me an excuse to drive around -- to loll, really -- southern Michigan and northern Indiana before coming home.

The gig itself was loads of fun. I'd actually forgotten it was an hour later in Michigan, which meant that hour cushion I'd given myself turned into a breathless race to be on time. So I arrived all pumped and ready to rock. I didn't read this time, but rather lectured: "Identity and Dislocation." You'd call it my stump speech if I was in politics, with a little variation here and there. The 80some students had read Ruins and had great questions. They were a super bunch!

On the way home, no longer hurrying, I got off the expressway at my hometown, Michigan City, and darted straight to the beach -- yeah, the beach. This coast in Indiana is my most favorite place on earth in the fall.

More Vocalo

2010-06-04T09:37:00.000-05:00

Tire changing, old school, in Back-of-the-Yards.

Vocalo.org: Stanley Cup

2010-06-02T10:51:00.000-05:00

For the words, check out Citylife on blogs.vocalo.org/blog/obejas.

NEW BLOG ON VOCALO.ORG

2010-06-01T10:16:00.000-05:00

Well, it's not about touring, but I'll be doing Citylife on Vocalo.org for a while, about the charms, balms and not so sunny times in the city. Please check it out!!!

BROOKLYN THURSDAY MAY 20

2010-05-20T02:06:00.000-05:00

Ah, tomorrow is the traditional Cuban independence day -- the pre-revolutionary one dedicated to the separation from Spain. I don't say "victory" cuz Teddy Roosevelt and his Yellow Rice Brigade (yup, that's what they were called) kind screwed things up for us in that department at the last minute but ...

Anyway, I get to share the stage tomorrow with another Cuban, Cristina Garcia. And with a revolutionary, Amiri Baraka. And with best-selling Pulitzer nominee Bernice McFadden.

Intimated? Yeah, you bet I am.

I mean, merciful god, we're reading poetry.

I'm going to try and nod at Cuban independence day with my reading, and at love, of course, and, well ... all sorts of stuff. Come and see.

It's Thursday, May 20, at 7pm at the Brooklyn Public Library, the Grand Army Plaza location, and it's part of the Brooklyn Independents Poetry Reading Series.

And the dude above on the horse? Jose Marti, our big War of Independence hero, as depicted in a statue to his memory in Central Park.

EL FESTIVAL DE LA PALABRA

2010-05-03T23:50:00.001-05:00

This week, I travel to San Juan, Puerto Rico, for what looks to be an amazing literary event: El Festival de la Palabra. More than 65 Latin American writers are descending on San Juan to talk, debate, discuss, read, get to know each other, share, argue and listen ... I'm looking forward to seeing old friends like Leonardo Padura and Larry LaFontaine as well as meeting writers I've long admired, like Mayra Montero and Karla Suarez. I'll be doing three panels -- the program's long and kind of confusing, but also full of promise.

If you're in San Juan, stop by and say hi!

READING AT POW WOW!!!!

2010-04-29T18:26:00.000-05:00

Tuesday, June 29, Jeffrey Pub, 7041 S Jeffrey on the South Side of Chicago!

When it comes to places to read for, to and about girls, this is just about one of the rowdiest, smartest, and sexiest crowds. And it's during Pride Week!

Old Irving Park Book Club

2010-04-25T20:20:00.000-05:00

I was recently hosted by the lovely ladies at the Old Irving Park Book Club -- a great time was had by all!

Upcoming gigs!

2010-04-16T15:00:00.004-05:00

April 22: Prairie State College.

May 6-9: Festival de la Palabra in San Juan, Puerto Rico.

May 20-22: Brooklyn Book Festival.

I'll try to post details as we get nearer to each event!

New story

2010-02-06T20:04:00.003-06:00

"Kimberle" has been published only in Cuba (in Aguas & Otros Cuentos) but read at last year's Chicago Humanities Festival. I did a presentation with the amazing Mark Doty that was video taped and just went up on YouTube.

Travel by Books

2010-01-24T15:22:00.003-06:00

Wow -- what a curious and interesting way to look at reading. This blogger logged 92 countries worth of reading in 2009 -- and I'm there representing Cuba, natch.

Ft. Lauderdale in March!

2010-01-21T13:34:00.002-06:00

Huge fundraiser for the Broward County Library -- I'll be joining a terrific list of writers too!

Biblio Buffet

2010-01-18T23:52:00.003-06:00

Super sweet review!

There is a line at the beginning of Ernest Hemingway’s novel The Old Man and the Sea that goes “. . . after forty days without a fish the boy’s parents had told him that the old man was now definitely and finally salao, which is the worst form of unlucky . . .”

Most of the friends who sit in the humid Havana evenings playing dominos with him think Usnavy Martín Leyva is salao. He is poor. His wife is not exactly simpatico. His teenage daughter is, well, a teenage girl. His apartment is crumbling under the weight of years of neglect and some illegal, ill-advised construction by the people who live above him. Really, it’s just a matter of time until the building is in ruins. His life is teetering on the brink of ruin itself.

To read the rest, check out Biblio Buffet!

CCA

2010-01-16T16:21:00.002-06:00

Currently in Chicago but I'll be headed back to Oakland for the season just in time for a reading at the California College of the Arts of Friday, January 22. I love doing presentations in art schools -- students always have a surprising and provocative take on things!

More Mex City

2010-01-11T12:03:00.000-06:00

Terrific new review of Mexico City Noir!

Aguas & Otros Cuentos

2010-01-09T15:41:00.002-06:00

Last summer, I published a book, Aguas & Otros Cuentos, for the first time in Cuba. It was a huge deal that I'll write a bit more about later. But this is a recent review of the book, which appeared in one of Cuba's official blogs.

2nd Person Queer book club discussion in Philly

2010-01-06T10:28:00.004-06:00

If you're in Philadelphia, check out Giovanni's Room (one of my very fave gay bookstores in one of my very fave cities)and their super smart women's book club. Tomorrow, January 7, they'll discuss the Second Person Queer, which includes one of my new stories, "Breath."

More kudos!

2010-01-04T18:10:00.002-06:00

Ruins just keeps on!

The latest of the year-round ups to include Usnavy's story is the Chicago Center for Literature and Photography.

Mexico City Noir

2010-01-02T17:29:00.002-06:00

I translated this incredibly fun book, the newest in the Akashic noir series!

Mexico City Noir.

El Universal in Mexico on U.S. Latino Lit

2010-01-02T17:09:00.002-06:00

Always a surprise and a pleasure when Latin America takes note of U.S. Latino Lit! Click the headline for the full article.

More "This is What Happened in Our Other Life"

2010-01-01T21:10:00.003-06:00

A Midsummer Night's Press

BROOKLYN BOOK FAIR THIS WEEKEND!

2009-09-10T19:55:00.001-05:00

I'll be reading Sunday, Septemper 13, at the Brooklyn Book Festival, with Colson Whitehead, H.M. Naqvi, and Matthew Aaron Goodman, 1 p.m., at the Borough Hall Courtroom (209 Joralemon Street). Please join us!

NPR interview

2009-08-13T18:27:00.002-05:00

Author Tells Of A 90s Cuba

July 23, 2009

Whether at the beach, poolside, or on a city rooftop, summer is a great chance to grab a cool drink and relax with a good book. That's why throughout the hottest months Tell Me More has been recommending great reads. This week we speak to Cuban American author Achy Obejas. Obejas' latest book, Ruins, is an insightful look at Cuba in the mid-90's.

Copyright © 2009 National Public Radio®. For personal, noncommercial use only. See Terms of Use. For other uses, prior permission required.

MICHEL MARTIN, host:

We're going to continue our international briefing by opening the pages of a new novel about Cuba. It's part of our Summer Reading Series. All summer long we've been interviewing authors of new works set in summer. And then we asked them to pass on the love by recommending another author to our listeners. We started with Colson Whitehead who recommended Junot Diaz, who in turn recommended today's guest, Achy Obejas. Her latest novel is "Ruins." It's set in Havana in the summer of 1994. And she is joining us now from Chicago. Welcome, thank you so much for joining us.

Ms. ACHY OBEJAS (Author): Well, thank you. Appreciate being here.

MARTIN: What inspired the book, how - how did you start?

Ms. OBEJAS: I finished "Days of Awe" my last novel and then the world sort of collapsed. The book was released in August 2001 and then a month later, in the middle of tremendous criticism and reviews and everything, the whole publishing universe obviously was deeply affected by the events in New York. But for me it was important to sort of just get away from all that. And I went back to Cuba. And I had sort of packed in haste and I didn't take a lot of books with me. And when I was scouting around the house I stumbled across a copy of Hemingway's, "The Old Man and the Sea."

And it's a book that takes place entirely in Cuba. It's the only book of his that takes place entirely in Cuba. It took me back to a fishing village called Cojimar which is where he lived. But also it was the sight of the 1994 exodus in Cuba, were more than like 70,000 people left. And I started talking to people in Cojimar about that exodus. And obviously the people of Cojimar who were telling me the stories about what happened and how it been to have tens of hundreds of thousands of people leaving from this little village, were people who had chosen to stay. So, I wanted to write that story. I wanted to write the story about the people who stay.

MARTIN: Usnavy, the name of your protagonist, which is spelt U-S-NAVY.

Ms. OBEJAS: Right, correct.

MARTIN: U-S-NAVY.

Ms. OBEJAS: Correct.

MARTIN: Forgive me that I don't know this, but is this a common name. And why did you choose that name? Because as you pointed out this is set in 1994 at the time when many people are leaving. And the whole point of Usnavy is he doesn't to leave.

Ms. OBEJAS: Yes.

MARTIN: He is true believer. So, why did you call - is it just to make that connection to the constantly looking out at the sea and wondering?

Ms. OBEJAS: Absolutely. And the thing is he is 54 years old. So, he is a pre-revolutionary child, and all of the things that the U.S. embodied for people were things that his mother sort of projected on to him. And then wanted to give him a name to, you know, reflect that. Because what happened was young mothers looking out Guantanamo Bay would see this very powerful U.S. Navy ships. And they would name their kids after, you know, what they saw as kind of mighty and majestic. So, names become very symbolic in Cuban culture.

MARTIN: There's also a look at homophobia in Cuban society. Ronaldo, the young son of one of Usnavy's friends is gay and he ends up leaving and going to America. And we later find out in the book that he gets a sex change and he becomes Vena(ph), and then he returns as a woman. What gave you this idea?

Ms. OBEJAS: I've always been sort of fascinated by how, in Cuba, a lot of the discussion about homosexuality is extremely complicated because of the terrible history in Cuba during the '60s, that is in during the revolutionary times, when there were labor camps set up for homosexuals. They were calls UMAPs.

What it's done, it's created this society that's very aware of this terrible history that they never talk about officially. It's not in the history books. No one's ever stepped up and taken responsibility for the UMAPs. No one's ever dealt with it in any way to explain why it happened. And the issue of homosexuality is very present, but it's very present at a kind of a street level.

MARTIN: Let me just jump in briefly just to say if you're just joining us, this is TELL ME MORE from NPR News. We're speaking with author Achy Obejas about her latest book. It's called "Ruins," and it's set in 1994 in Havana.

You know, Achy, one of the things that I also - I was impressed by how you got inside the mind of this middle-aged man and all of his, kind of his longing and his desire to be a stand-up guy.

Ms. OBEJAS: I think for me, one thing is that, you know, I had a very tumultuous but very close relationship with my own father. There's a tremendous amount of yearning in his life, and a yearning for a return to Cuba, which he never really managed, and so that was, you know, very much informing this character, but I think the other person who was very much informing this character was Miguel Brullieta(ph), who the book is partially dedicated to.

Miguel was the father of an ex-girlfriend of mine, someone who participated in the revolution from the very beginning, as a teen, and died the summer of 2006, actually while I was Havana, and, you know, went to his death very much a believer. A person who would wave the flag if necessary, would take up guns, take up arms to defend Cuba from any American invasion. But who, on the other hand, was experiencing a tremendous crisis of conscience and ethics. And for me it was a tremendous lesson in sort of watching this extremely dignified man struggle with these things and feeling a certain impotence but also questioning his life in some very fundamental ways. I mean, the revolution was his life.

MARTIN: Forgive me if it's too personal, but I just wondered, where are you in this story? Often when someone has taken a journey, one's life has taken a journey from this place to that place, sometimes, you know, my body is here, but my heart is there. And you have the ability to travel between worlds. And I'm just wondering: Where are you in this story? Are you now at home in both places? Are you never at home? Where are you?

Ms. OBEJAS: Well, I think I'm both. I think sometimes I'm very much at home in both places, and sometimes I'm not quite at home in either place. In "Ruins," I'm not so much in this story. I left Cuba. I left Cuba at six. It wasn't my decision to leave. So to a certain extent, it gives me a pass.

Certainly in Cuba, oftentimes when I'm introduced to someone who lives abroad, it's always curious to me that people will say oh, this is Achy Obejas. She lives in the States. She was taken by her parents. And that will be the, actually the phrase that will be used, (speaking foreign language).

I'm never assigned responsibility for having left. So to me, it's really, it's a very interesting and curious point that's always made, but…

MARTIN: Do people find it strange that you come back so often?

Ms. OBEJAS: I think at this point, some people do find it strange. Because I think there are many Cuban-Americans who have gone back, certainly, and there are people who go back for a little while, and then life takes them in different directions, and you know, they get absorbed back into, for lack of a better word, their regular life or their real life in the States, and the romance sort of ends, or they find some disappointment, or they get hurt or whatever.

MARTIN: But I must tell you. That's a story we don't hear very often. The story we hear very often, at least kind of in the major-media narrative, is I'm not going back until Fidel is gone. Or I go back to visit my aunties and then to bring them some shoes. And that's it, and I'm not going back. I really don't think we hear very much about people who go back.

Ms. OBEJAS: Yeah, I think - well, I think it's because what happens is that people go back for a little while, and then they stop going back because, for example, the aunties die, and then you don't have to go back anymore. Or you know, you have, you know, a political, you know, falling apart with, you know, Cuba in a variety of different ways.

I mean, it can happen, you know, and I think for me, I've been remarkably constant in my relationship with Cuba, if you want to call it that, in part because I want to be a part of Cuba.

I know that I cannot reclaim a life that might have been. And I have no interest in that life that might have been. I'm very happy with the life that has been. But I'm interested in this country, and I'm interested in this culture and not as a tourist and not as an outsider, but as a person who comes from that place.

You know, the fact that I was born in Cuba is the most determining factor in my life. It absolutely affects everything in my life, and it's not something that I can change. So I very much embrace this idea of having a relationship with my home country.

It's caused a lot of problems. Believe me, my mom, to this day, is still angry at the idea that I go back. She's one of those people who mentioned, who would rather die than go back.

MARTIN: Wow, and finally, for our summer reading series, we are asking the authors we interview to please recommend our next author, hopefully a contemporary one, hopefully something pretty new. So, what do you think our listeners should read after they finish your book?

Ms. OBEJAS: Well, I mean, I'm going to give you two things, and you worry about what you want to do with it, okay?

The one that I'm reading right now, this moment, is a book called "Santa Evita," and it's by an Argentine writer named Tomas Eloy Martinez. He does live in the States, and it's a book that's a few years old, but I don't think it ever got enough attention.

It's a fascinating book about the cult around Eva Peron, and it's written as a novel, in a first-person way, as this character sort of investigating the cult of Evita Peron and all the insanity around Evita Person, especially the journeys of her body.

I don't know if you know this, but she was embalmed in this crazy way, and the body spent years being kidnapped and exhibited and hidden, and you couldn't make this stuff up.

(Soundbite of laughter)

MARTIN: Well, you could. You're a writer.

Ms. OBEJAS: Oh my God, it's just madness. It's just, really - and of course, the other one of is "Love and Obstacles" by Aleksander Hemon, another Chicago writer. But I find Sasha's(ph) work to be just stunning, what he does with language, how he constructs a story. All of that to me is just mind-boggling and fantastic, and I'm constantly tipping my hat to him.

MARTIN: Achy Obejas, her latest book is "Ruins," and she was kind enough to join us from Chicago. Achy Obejas, thank you so much for joining us.

Ms. OBEJAS: Absolutely. Thank you for having me.

MARTIN: And you can read an excerpt from "Ruins" and learn more about Achy Obejas' other literary favorites by logging on to our Web site. Go to npr.org and click on TELL ME MORE.

Copyright ©2009 National Public Radio®. All rights reserved. No quotes from the materials contained herein may be used in any media without attribution to National Public Radio. This transcript is provided for personal, noncommercial use only, pursuant to our Terms of Use. Any other use requires NPR's prior permission. Visit our permissions page for further information.

NPR transcripts are created on a rush deadline by a contractor for NPR, and accuracy and availability may vary. This text may not be in its final form and may be updated or revised in the future. Please be aware that the authoritative record of NPR's programming is the audio.

Seattle

2009-06-05T06:09:00.002-05:00

Beautiful cup of coffee at Elliot Bay Books!!!

LA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2009-06-03T23:12:00.004-05:00

We took the long, scenic route to L.A., thinking it'd be a beautiful, leisurely stroll south from the Bay Area. And, it was -- except that, er, it took us about 13 hours to get there. At some point, the crashing waves and seagulls and death defying cliffs were, well, impossible to see anyway. Night time robbed us of all beauty and left us in an inky, ghostly fog. And, oh, yeah -- the Whale Watcher Cafe? Kill me now. Don't, whatever you do, order the calamari steak. Yeah, my idea. Don't do it.

The whole point of the exercise was the fabulous L.A. Book Fair. My alarmingly handsome publisher, Johnny Temple, was there, as was the beautiful and passionate Johanna Ingalls, his literary partner, with a massive sampling of the Akashic catalogue. Stuff was just flying off that table!

I had a hot date at a panel moderated by the newly minted editor of Granta, John Freeman, on memory. Place was packed (300+), conversation flowed like smoothest of wines, people stood in line forever to sign books. Joan Silber -- the amazing writer, my former teacher -- and I snuck in a five minute catch up in the Green Room. Wow, we we're exhausted by the end of it all!

But we still managed to get in some fun: Hung out with Lynda Gorov, an old pal from the newspaper wars, and her charming daughter, Rae; saw my old roomie, Terry; we had breakfast with M's pal, Lauren; and a fabu evening with performance artist Tim Miller and his partner, the writer Alistair McCartney.

We trudged back on the 405 -- six hours. Soooo relieved!

Q & Chicago State

2009-05-31T18:22:00.004-05:00

Quraysh Ali Lansana and I met way, way back, a few lifetimes ago, in a dark little basement cabaret room where he and his buddies, The Funky Wordsmyths, had just turned the whole Chicago performance scene on its head. These days, he's over at the Gwendolyn Brooks Center at Chicago State University -- appropriately enough, since Miss Brooks was a mentor to him -- and holding court at the school's annual writers conference. This year, like every year, he put together a a stellar list and drew hundreds of folks to the fest. Luckily, I got invited to be a part of it too -- a reading, a workshop on a sweet warm day, and at least one big hug from the big guy and a bit of hanging out. Not enough, really but, when it comes Q, it never is in my book.

Thanks, Q!

Bryn Mawr & Swarthmore

2009-05-11T15:54:00.005-05:00

Surrounded by handsome men in Philly: Lazaro Lima and Luciano Martinez.

A delightfully marvelous time -- that's how it was at Bryn Mawr and Swarthmore. Absolutely everything went well, and the company -- two sweet and gorgeous professors, Lazaro Lima and Luciano Martinez -- made the stay great fun. Lazaro and I had only met last year, at a conference in Santa Cruz, but found ourselves talking and sharing as if we'd known each other all our lives.

We started with a translating workshop led by Lazaro's collegue, Karl Kirchwey, chock full of smart and eager students, all translating from different languages (old style French, contemporary Russian, olde English -- wow!). Then we had a reading and Q&A period followed by a reception. The questions were lively and provocative and kept me thinking late into the night.

The next day, Luciano picked me up for a quick breakfast and we went to Swarthmore, where his students grilled me about We Came All the Way From Cuba So You Could Dress Like This?

Philly was sunny and breezy, and Luciano and I yakked and yakked all the way to the airport. Simply put, it was too short a visit!

Kathie & Kolumbia

2009-05-05T13:11:00.003-05:00

When I got home from the first big leg of the tour, I was pretty much dead to the world. Felt like I'd been asked every question on earth, felt like I'd been poked and probed (and in a good way) like never before. So once home and nestled in bed, I wasn't thrilled when I remembered I'd promised my pal Kathie Bergquist that I'd visit her class at Colombia College the very next morning.

I dragged my not so little butt out of bed and headed downtown expecting the usual classroom experience: a roomful of kids of which maybe half had read the book, and questions that had little to do with literature, if any, and lots to do with Cuba tourism.

Well, wow: surprise. What I got was a gallery with not just Kathie's but various classes worth of students, all of whom seemed to have read Ruins thoroughly, questions about the book, about writing and the process of writing, and a public conversation with Kathie that didn't just wake me up but which rocked.

Oh, and there was a spread -- a sumptious spread -- and a book table and genuinely sweet folks hanging out afterward.

Go Kathie!

Providence

2009-04-29T14:51:00.003-05:00

We trekked up to Ada Books, an adorable matchbook sized store in Providence, in our rental, the three of us: Bobby, M and me. This was Bobby territory. He'd gone to school here. His sister was waiting. Friends were excited to see him after so long. And we were thrilled too. One super gift from the East Coast tour: Knowing Bobby.

We practically ejected from the car in front of the store, as we'd been pushing it time-wise. And Bobby went in like a rock star, shaking hands, getting hugs. His sister -- I knew right away, her Cubanness preceeded her! -- was all proud smiles.

And we began. I went first, did my ten minutes, then gave the floor over to Bobby. But he hadn't gotten his rhythm yet when his brother-in-law, who'd been sitting second row center, got up and signaled to Bobby's sister. They quietly stepped outside as Bobby continued.

Then we heard the thump.

From there on, it was chaos: Bobby's brother-in-law had fainted, his weight had crashed against the store's door. Ambulances, firetrucks, paramedics.

Bobby's sister asked if we could drive him to the hospital. We said yes and went to get Bobby, dealing with everyone inside. He had a local friend, someone who knew where he was going on, who'd already volunteered. Bobby was pale, his hands fluttering.

We walked back to the car with him to get his bag.

"Oh, I almost forgot," he said, rummaging in his luggage. "I'm a romantic, a sentimentalist."

He pulled out a bottle of bubbly. It was from New Mexico, his home state, one of M's fave places.

"For your anniversary," he said.

We were celebrating our first one that weekend.

We couldn't believe the sweetness of the gesture. We couldn't believe he'd remember in the midst of such frenzy.

We hugged him and sent him on his way, glad to have him in our lives, and set off, back to New York.

Bobby's brother-in-law, as it turns out, is just fine. It was a scary moment but, honest, nothing. (Thank god!)

And we had our romantic dinner, a little music with the Afro-Cuban All-Stars later, and an extra day in New York thanks to storms that canceled flights to California.

So we saw "Monsters v. Aliens."

And we drank Bobby's brew.

CO-BLOGGER ALERT!: Bobby Arellano writes New Jersey!!!

2009-04-06T13:15:00.004-05:00

A cold rain in Jersey couldn't keep 25 people from coming to Raconteur Books in Metuchen for our stop on the Akashic "Cubanization" tour. Achy was un poquito enferma, but I read from my novel Havana Lunar and answered questions while Raconteur co-owner Alex Dawson poured the wine and played Beny Moré on the house stereo.

I have been talking with Achy, who as readers of this blog know has touched down in half the eastern states over the past eight weeks, about why some good independent bookstores seem to be thriving despite the shrinking economy. Dawson has a theory about their staying power. Identifying Raconteur as a "thrift" enterprise that sells used as well as new books, he says that people who a few months ago might have just walked by the funky display in his front window are now being drawn in by the prospect of saving 25% or more off big-chain book prices. This new business, together with a devoted local clientele who credit the owners with prompting a cultural revival in this medium-sized suburb (more than one patron told me, "Alex is doing great things in this town"), makes Raconteur confident about the prospect of continuing to sell books while growing new programs -- a journal called the Raconteur Reader, a music/circus/literary festival at a 200-seat theater three blocks from the shop, and an annual beard-growing contest in honor of George Bernard Shaw.

Thanks, Raconteur! Achy, Akashic, and I all hope to be invited back!

http://www.raconteurbooks.com/

What Edmundo Said

2009-04-05T18:16:00.003-05:00

OUT OF HAVANA

For fifty years the revolution has been in power in Cuba.

I returned to the island in 1960 to embrace the dream of a radical new life. At about the same time, Achy Obejas abandoned Cuba with her family and Robert Arellano’s parents left as well. Thirty years later, Achy and Robert returned to a social nightmare. Between the three of us we have experienced the dream and the nightmare of history.

The island of Cuba is both a reality and a myth. Reality is what we are given, what we are born into and myth is what we create as writers. We transform the chaos of experience into narratives, stories that help us see and feel, interpret the world around us, to go on.

Ruins by Achy Obejas and Havana Lunar by Robert Arellano are two novels that give a human face to the agony of the Cuban revolution during the years that followed the collapse of the Soviet Union. The startled communist government called it “período especial de paz” -- “a special peacetime period” -- a monstrous and bloodless euphemism for a period these two writers here with us tonight have attempted to define through characters in a landscape of scarcity, of agony, of survival.

Two epiphanies of scarcity are enough to reveal the cruel humor of survival. The first one is from Ruins. “The week before, Rosita had been selling those very sandwiches on the street –she’d even offered him one. But no sooner had Usnavy pulled up the bread and seen the flat layer of pith covered in seasoning, than he recognized its true provenance: These were pieces of a blanket normally used for mopping floors which Rosita had beaten and marinated in spices and a little beef broth. The texture of the wool had been transformed into what they all imagined steak was like, something tender and chewy. The success of her enterprise had come as much from her ingenuity as from the tricks memory plays.”

And this one is from Havana Lunar: “Carlota told me there was a rumor going around Marianao of bread –fluffy white flour rolls, not tough pan integral, and fresh, made the day before. We would keep it a surprise in case the lead turned out false…

“Pablo was ecstatic: bread for his birthday. But it was like a bad movie on El Cine de las Ocho when Tirso rushed in seconds before we could sink our teeth into those beautiful sandwiches. '!No! !Echaron vidrios en la harina!' I slapped Pablo’s hand before the sandwich could get to his lips. Pablo saw real fear in my eyes and began to cry.

“ 'Please, Pablito. There might be glass in the bread. There are bad people out there.’

“Tirso said, “The government did it to sabotage the black market.’

“Biting his lower lip, Pablo proposed, ‘We can try it, and if we feel something in our mouths we can spit it out.’ ”

Both these fragments I have read might seem unnecessarily cruel, but they reveal, in some ways, a return to sanity. After the revolutionary dream of plenty, of abundance and social justice, the attempts to impose socialist realism in literature, Achy and Robert have returned to one of the roots of Spanish literature –the picaresque novel. The struggle for survival in Spanish realism of el siglo de oro. Humor, in Cuba, is an instrument of survival. When situations become very intense and unsustainable only a joke can break the spell.

Both these novels are expressions of our predicament. Ruins is a literary jewel, a novel that turns history into literature, the language at certain moments turns the pedestrian into poetry. Usnavy is a character that incarnates the last fifty years of the Cuban revolution: From the illusion of a better world to the tragedy of failed idealism. Havana Lunar has Julia, an adolescent turned into a jinetera, a prostitute, a murdered pimp and a doctor that talks with Che Guevara. You can’t stop turning the pages towards the ultimate surprise. It is a marginal world, where marginal action reveals the crisis of the revolution. As you follow the characters you discover the urban and rural landscape of the island.

These are Cuban novels written in English. The Spanish language also struggles to enrich the prose of these narratives. Arellano sees the needs to often say it in Spanish to make the situations more real, like “Echaron vidrios en la harina.” Obejas is more selective, she chooses only certain words that have no equivalent in English, that have a weight and a meaning that cannot be translated. She uses sapo to name the onlookers at a domino game, and you can hear the word sapo (frog) flop and rest like a damp passive back seat driver. Or derrumbe to help you feel how the collapse of a building turns into a ruin. The Spanish English Velázquez dictionary cannot give us a single word for the verb: “Derrumbar: to precipitate, to throw down headlong. To precipitate one’s self headlong. To sink down, crumble away, tumble down; said of a building.” And for the noun it has: “Derrumbe: A tumbling down, collapse. A landslide.”

One of the more revealing secretions of these novels is in the language, the clash of English and Spanish and their psychological and cultural implications. Achy through rigorous poetry and Robert through the crunching of prose. Ruins and ruinas; lunar and blemish, birthmark. Lunar is untranslatable. Lunar: “mole, a natural spot or discoloration of the body, note or stain of infamy.” La luna, the moon is black compared to the sun. Lunática, lunatic. “Ese lunar que tienes cielito lindo junto a la boca, no se lo des a nadie, cielito lindo que a mí me toca.”

If there is something that characterizes, in my experience, the Cuban revolution, the word is intensity. Intensity that, as far as I am concerned, is more important than being right or wrong. These books reveal that intensity and whatever political judgment you must certainly make, it must come from the characters and events these novels bring before your eyes.

There is a poem by a Catholic poet, Cintio Vitier, ten years older than I am, who decided never to leave the island and gave us this image of the tragic beauty of living these years in Cuba. It’s called Estamos, that is, "We Are."

Estás

haciendo

cosas:

música,

chirimbolos de repuesto,

libros,

hospitales,

pan,

días llenos de propósitos,

flotas,

Vida con tan pocos materiales.

A veces

se diría

que no puedes llegar hasta mañana,

y de pronto

uno se pregunta y sí,

hay cine,

apagones,

lámparas que resucitan,

calle mojada por la maravilla,

ojo del alba, Juan

y cielo de regreso.

Hay cielo hacia delante.

Todo va saliendo más o menos

bien o mal. O peor,

pero se llena el hueco,

se salta,

sigues,

estás

haciendo

un esfuerzo conmovedor en tu pobreza,

pueblo mío,

y hasta horribles carnavales, y hasta

feas vidrieras, y hasta

luna.

Repiten los programas,

no hay perfumes

(adoro esa repetición, ese perfume)

no hay, no hay pero resulta que

hay.

Estás, quiero decir,

estamos.

EDMUNDO DESNOES, Nueva York y 2009

[You are doing things: music, spare parts for the broken down, books, hospitals, bread, days with a purpose, fleets, life with such pathetic materials.

Sometimes you think you’ll never make it, see tomorrow, and suddenly you ask yourself and yes, there are movies, black-outs, lamps that resuscitate, street marvelously wet, the eyes of down and sky on the way back.

There is sky ahead.

Everything is coming along, more or less, right or wrong, or worse, but the hole gets filled, we jump, you go on, you are making such a heart breaking effort in your poverty, people of mine, even horrible carnivals, and even ugly window displays, and even the moon.

They keep repeating the same programs, there are no perfumes (I adore that repetition, that perfume), there isn’t, there isn’t any but it so happens that there is.

You are, I mean, we are here.]

Edmundo & Felicia

2009-04-04T15:50:00.005-05:00

Bobby, me, Edmundo & Felicia

M and I snuck a kiss when no one was looking.

In New York, we stayed with Edmundo Desnoes and Felicia Rosshandler, a powerhouse intellectual couple with a sweet and enduring story. Edmundo, of course, is the writer of both the book and the script of Memories of Underdevelopment, which was recently named the most important Latin American film of the 20th century by a prestigious critics group. Felicia is the author of a book I love and frequently teach, Passing Through Havana, a novel about being a young European Jew in Cuba during World War II.

They are both smart, elegant, a little unpredictable, and great fun. They are also, each of them, just ridiculously beautiful. That they’re also charming and open is an extra added bonus.

I don’t remember whom I met first – I sought out Felicia because I wanted to use Passing for my Jewish Latin American lit class at the University of Chicago (it proved a great hit, especially with girls). And I sought out Edmundo because I’d gotten obsessed with getting a blurb from him for my novel, Days of Awe (which he gave, and which I’m very proud of).

Their love story, however, is what thrills me. They were sweethearts as teens – Felicia still refers to him now and again as her novio cubano. And you can tell that it was one of those great illuminating young romances, the kind that imprint the way you give and receive love.

And, like most young romances, it ended and they went their own ways, to other lives with other people. Felicia moved to New York, married and had kids. She worked for Life magazine, wrote, took up photography.

Edmundo stayed in Cuba, committed to the revolution, wrote many things, married, divorced, then began to have doubts. In 1980, at the Venice Biennale, he defected (back when it was still called defecting). He continued writing, editing books, critiquing, teaching.

Then, about 18 years ago, they made their way back to each other.

And I’m enraptured by the idea of a Great Love to bookend Life.

They are both masters of the art of conversation, and so each visit is filled with much sharing and questioning and provoking of the best kind. Edmundo always makes me think, Felicia always make me feel.

This time I also got to wear one of her absurdly fashionable little jackets – this one a fairly simple down – so my fashion quotient jumped up about 20 percent. And this time M and I prepared breakfast for them one morning and they indulged us (Edmundo: “The eggs are wonderful, the potatoes are not bad”). And we hung out with the very worldly Olivia, Felicia’s seven year-old granddaughter, who hacked into M’s Facebook page and uploaded pix and left “I love you” messages on walls far and wide.

Edmundo was also our “moderator” at a reading and public conversation Bobby Arellano and I had at the 92nd Street Y, one of New York’s most prestigious literary venues. Still, when I put out the sked with the news, I was surprised by how many emails I got congratulating me on the gig. I was also a bit taken back when I looked at the evening’s agenda and discovered that Edmundo, Bobby and I were at the 92nd Street Y at the very same time as Barbara Walters, who would be autographing her memoirs. I was outwardly pretty cool about it, but inside I was dying: Would anybody come?

To my surprise, we had about thirty people: they came with great energy, interest and armed with many good questions for us. Edmundo gave a magnificent intro, Bobby read with pure abandon, and I had to summon my last reserves of charisma just to keep up. These guys were amazing!

Afterwards, Edmundo suggested celebratory cake and M packed her handful of pals and we went off into the bright New York night to satisfy our tummies and spirits!

Bluestocking Pix by Jason Smith

2009-04-02T17:12:00.002-05:00

We were lucky enough in NYC to have Jason Smith, an old friend from Chicago, come to the reading and take pictures. He's one of the finest photogs I know, and these are just a little sampling. For a look at his portfolio, pls go to jasonsmith.com.

CO-BLOGGER ALERT!: M writes NYC, part 1

2009-03-31T23:15:00.004-05:00

We stayed, for the first portion of our time in New York, with Edmundo Desnoes and Felicia Rosshandler, good friends of Achy's, each very accomplished in their own right (and whom Achy will talk more about in NYC: Deux). They greeted us in their amazingly gorgeous Upper West Side apartment with a most indulgent after-travel snack: champagne, cheese, ladyfingers, and chocolate truffles. As if that weren't enough to make me insanely envious of their lives, when asked what they were up to these days, Felicia said, rather dreamily: "Oh, we're both writing, we read, we eat, we drink...occasionally we have house guests...". I nearly died. What must we do to be them when we grow up? To have exquisite taste, lovely things, a content sense of routine, a gorgeous view?? Whatever it is, I hope a little bit rubbed off in the three nights we were with them.

I'd never been to Bluestockings before, but as soon as we walked into the tiny New York bookstore, I was sorry I hadn't made it in sooner. The store is small-ish, and the walls are stocked with more or less my ideal home library. It identifies itself as a radical activist space, though it used to be a women's bookstore, and thus has a similar groove to Women & Children First (Achy's Chicago bookstore homebase and my beloved former employer) -- I felt pretty at home. We didn't get there in time to grill the staff about whether or not it's another flourishing indie, but they seemed to be doing pretty alright -- well stocked, a thriving 'zine rack, lots of the kinds of neat sidelines you expect from a funky little shop, etc. There was a sizable crowd of listeners there for the reading, including beloved friends of both Achy and I, Bobby's friends and family, as well as the good folks from Akashic Books. The crowd - including the staff - was super engaged, and asked a lot of interesting questions during the Q&A period.

After the reading, we hung out with Johnny and Ibrahim from Akashic, as well as Achy's cousin Maggie, at a pretty little French restaurant near the bookstore. We had an awfully good time eating, drinking, and telling absurd stories. This restaurant had a cocktail called the "Old Cubano," which, after Bobby & Achy's readings, seemed obvious and appropriate, and so I ordered it (twice). It's made from rum, mint, lime, and champagne (like a mojito, I suppose, with champagne instead of sugar and soda), served muddled and strained into a champagne flute instead of over ice. And thus we ended our first day in NYC as indulgently as it had begun.

BALTO!!!

2009-03-30T06:48:00.002-05:00

After a day hanging out in DC with Teresa and Rollie in their home, M and I packed the rental (it’s a Ford Focus with Wisconsin plates – M thinks it’s red, I think it’s kinda mauve) and headed to Baltimore for the second reading with Robert Arellano and the first on this leg of the tour not at a bookstore.

Bobby – a classic barbudo whose kind eyes undercut the severity of his guerilla look -- is an Akashic stablemate but also an Akashic stalwart. Havana Lunar, from which he’s been reading on this tour, is his third outing with them. The first two, Don Dimaio of La Plata and Fast Eddie, King of the Bees, were masterfully crazy political satires about corruption in New Jersey – so Havana Lunar, a crime novel set during the same period and, in some cases, even the same places as Ruins, is a new direction for him.

Bobby, who was conceived in Cuba but born in the U.S., says he started working on this novel more than 10 years ago, when he first went to the island, but it took this long to pull all the pieces together. He went back every year for ten years (we heard stories on the road that led us to believe Bobby’s had a very interesting life: three months in a cabin in Baja California, touring as a guitarist with radically avant garde bands … ), each time adding more and more to the collection of anecdotes and observations.

During our travels I was most amazed by the fact that Bobby reads something different from the novel every single night. Considering that it was in Baltimore when I felt my selection was finally right, I found this akin to reading on a highwire. Seriously, my tour copy of Ruins is so severely marked up -- whole stretches are scratched out, others crowded w/ notes – no one else could possibly read from it at this point, or even understand what I’m doing.

We were also flabbergasted to hear that Bobby’s wife is nine months pregnant and taking care of their 3 year old boy back in New Mexico, with a C section scheduled for Monday immediately after our journeys. I mean, talk about living dangerously!

At the Enoch Pratt Free Library, we were set up in the Poe Room at a long formal table. We each read and took questions until the library closed down around us. Then we tried desperately to take our picture next to the giant windows with the banners with our names but the high intensity lights kept washing Bobby and me out. Damn!

In Baltimore, we also hung out with M’s friend Aaron, a city native who kept bemoaning the fact that we weren’t staying so he could show us around.

“What would you show us?” I asked.

“Let me think … “ he pondered. But he never did he get back to us on this. (Baltimorians, please let us know what we should see next time we’re in your city!)

CO-BLOGGER ALERT!: M writes DC!!!

2009-03-29T20:58:00.003-05:00

Photos by Rollie Hudson.

Traffic approaching D.C. from the south is HORRIFIC. We left Durham with plenty of time to spare, hoping to have a leisurely dinner with Achy’s good friends (and our D.C. hosts) Teresa and Rollie before the reading at Busboys and Poets. 80 miles outside of the metro area, we were at a dead stop. We figured it was an accident, but when we were still inching 40 minutes later, we called Teresa, told her we’d meet them at the reading, and went renegade on the GPS. It took the lady in the GPS machine a good 15 miles to come to terms with the fact of our rerouting, and we made it to Busboys and Poets a good 15 minutes into Robert Arellano’s reading. (Oops...) Bobby was joining our rental car extravaganza tour beginning with D.C., and he was as gracious and kind right through Providence as he was that first tardy night in D.C.

Busboys and Poets is a cool venue. The area where Achy + Bobby read is partitioned off from the rest of the place -- which is a cross between a cafe, a restaurant, and a bar. The food and cocktails were both pretty delicious. I got to meet LOTS of Achy’s people at this reading -- all very sweet and welcoming -- but spent precious little time with them. Next time we go to D.C., we need much more time for hanging out, visiting, and, you know, tourist-y stuff. Next time we go to D.C., we’re flying in.

Durham: TIA OLGA!!!!

2009-03-26T21:41:00.007-05:00

One of the really great things about this tour has been seeing folks I hardly ever get to visit. And with M along, it’s also been a great sharing experience … I’ve been meeting her friends along the way, and she’s been meeting mine.

Durham turned out to be a real milestone in that department.

The reading was in the afternoon, at a Barnes & Noble at a spacious mall. In spite of the warm, sunny weather and the ridiculous 3 p.m. start time (honest, on a Saturday?), there were a good 15 people who came for the reading then hung out for a really long and invigorating Q&A.

Among them was our host, Rosa Perlemuter, a fine Sor Juana scholar and writer herself, who had us stay in her beautiful and cozy home for the night then treated us to an exquisite breakfast the next morning.

But first – oh yes – M and I travelled to Rockingham, North Carolina, immediately after the reading to visit my 94 year-old Tía Olga.

Growing up, Tía Olga was the saucy, liberal aunt – and the one relative you appealed to if you were in deep, deep trouble. (Of course, if you were in trouble with her, you were beyond screwed.)

When we arrived at her sweet little bungalow, she welcomed us with open arms. Showing M pix of her late husband, the urbane Alberto, she said, “Dated him for three years, and no cuchi cuchi.” M’s eyes almost popped out of her head. Except that my aunt was now pointing to her wedding pix. “See? No bra.”

Oh, it went on. We had dinner at the Peking Wok, where apparently the whole world knows her, and she explained to M how homosexuals are still people to her.

The best part? At evening’s end, after she’d asked us to stay longer cuz she was having such a good time, she tried to pay for her copy of Ruins, which we refused, then tried to give us gas money. M finally took it, then left it in the bathroom.

“I’m glad to have met you,” she said, gazing up at a much, much taller M. “You’re someone I would like to have as a friend.”

Growing up, all of cousins were always grateful to have Tía Olga as our friend.

CO-BLOGGER ALERT!: M writes Asheville

2009-03-23T01:21:00.004-05:00

On the road to Asheville.

At Malaprop's.

M, Achy, Stella Jo, Seth, Lauren

North Carolina is one of the pleasantest places to road trip. My plan was to arrive and taskmaster this tour -- no more car troubles, no more running late, no more greasy burgers. So far, there have been no more car troubles.

If we had three days to spend, there are about a thousand places along the highways of North Carolina that I’d stop: thrift stores galore, the “As Seen on TV!” outlet, scenic outlooks, etc. As it was, our bodies rejected the alarm clock and got a late-ish start to Asheville. We also got sidetracked en route by my need for Dairy Queen soft serve.

We stayed in Asheville with Lauren and Seth, friends from Minneapolis who I hadn’t seen in a couple of years. Since we last saw one another, they’d moved south, gotten hitched, and procreated. Stella Jo is about the cutest, serious-est, most expressive 3-month-old I’ve ever seen (eyebrows to die for!). She sleeps 10-12 hours a night, meaning that her parents had to rouse her so we could go to breakfast on Saturday (imagine! Lauren is sure they’ll be punished later). Lauren also, coincidentally, works part-time at Malaprops, yet another THRIVING independent bookstore, where Achy read Friday evening. They were lovely hosts, and we had a great time with them.

Malaprops is really cozy, with a tiny cafe corner for coffee and nice warm colors and lights. It’s a surprisingly large store, and they’re apparently also doing just fine, in spite of all the rumors about this “recession” I heard about. There was a really nice turnout for the reading -- over two dozen literary fans on a Friday night as spring is breaking! We were much impressed. Achy read a few poems, cracked a couple of jokes about phallus-related microphone anxiety, and a selection from Ruins. People had a surprising number of political questions about Cuba (or, I guess, surprising to me), and were really pumped on the book.

I have long-standing fantasies about moving to Asheville (a fantasy, it turns out, shared by a lot of people like me who have spent little to no time there but hear it is the stuff of legends). We had a sweet, but too brief visit. Lauren and Seth strongly encouraged us to move to Asheville, and we left feeling pretty receptive to the possibility.

Tiffany-Like Lamps in Cincy

2009-03-23T00:48:00.005-05:00

I’m obviously living in a parallel universe, where independent bookstores are doing gangbuster business. When I arrived in Cincinnati, I couldn’t believe my eyes: Joseph-Beth Booksellers was busy and bustling on a bright sunny warm spring day. Inside, the warehouse like store was a wonderland of books. And I was flabbergasted: The Ruins display also included Tiffany-like lamps! I was greeted by a small but enthusiastic audience, including two young women who’d driven up from Lexington and had brought their worn and much annotated copies of Days of Awe to be signed. Afterwards, Michael, my host, and I hung out and talked about Obama and the economy – and the fact that, yeah, in spite of everything, Joseph-Beth is doing amazingly well.

Kinda gives you hope, you know?

ST LOUIS!!!!!!

2009-03-22T09:19:00.003-05:00

The last time I read at Left Bank Books in St. Louis – for Days of Awe or Memory Mambo, I don’t remember, but certainly years ago – the bookstore’s future seemed precarious and I actually had an escort back to my car. This time – wow! – the neighborhood surrounding Left Bank has been transformed into the hip part of town: restaurants, antique shops, boutiques. And Left Bank itself is renewed: flushed with light, expanded, its shelves full and colorful, the staff young and professional. I could hardly believe it was the same store – and I couldn’t keep from grinning.

“We’re actually expanding,” said Kate, one of the booksellers. “We’re working with a developer and opening a store downtown.”

Was Left Bank Books the only indie store in the world to be doing so well? Just a few days before, I’d heard the news about the closing of Stacey’s in San Francisco, which had been widely recognized as the country’s largest independent. And every indie I know has had trouble in the last few years, whether it’s because of competition from the internet, chains or just feeling the ripples of the economic downturn.

A cheerful room of folks came to the reading at Left Bank, including local teachers and students, a few folks I knew from Chicago, a friend’s mom, and the parents of one of M’s best buds, Michael and Mary Beth, who were also my hosts for the night.

They were most gracious, and after the reading, we went back to their house for an informal get together with some of their friends. The best part came, however, after everyone left, when Michael and Mary Beth told me about their lives, especially how they’d founded a radical Catholic collective. That night, I slept beautifully under a framed poster of the Grateful Dead.

That's Michael and Mary Beth in the pic above, and this is their house in St. Louis, where I stayed.

Library Journal

2009-03-18T10:46:00.001-05:00

Obejas, Achy.
Ruins.
Akashic. Mar. 2009. c.300p.
ISBN 978-1-933354-69-9. pap. $14.95.

This superb novel by Cuban-born writer and poet Obejas (Memory Mambo) follows the story of Usnavy, who, despite a bleak childhood in a small provincial city near Guantánamo Bay, Cuba, achieves his rightful place in the world as a standard bearer for Castro and Che after the 1959 revolution. However, this all changes in 1994, when the Cuban government permits any and all to leave Cuba by any and all means. Usnavy's best friend leaves without a word, and suddenly the dollar becomes the currency for all goods necessary to his wife and daughter—and to himself. In the midst of this turmoil, Usnavy's only constant is his pride in the oversized stained-glass lamp he inherited from his mother, and for the first time he becomes curious about its origins. He seeks out knowledge from the aptly named Virgilio, a restorer of old glass lamps, and is led through the Dantean mazes of Havana and a secret family history. Although initially confusing, Obejas's writing style effectively mimics the plot, as the author navigates a maze of histories and ethnicities. Recommended for larger public and all academic library collections.

—Mary Margaret Benson, Linfield Coll. Lib., McMinnville, OR

Booklist

2009-03-17T19:05:00.001-05:00

Ruins.

Obejas, Achy (Author)

Mar 2009. 300 p. Akashic, paperback,20$15.95.

A fatherless child named in honor of the big U.S. Navy ships in Guantánamo Bay, Usnavy, weary and

destitute at 54 in 1994, still believes fervently in Cuba s Communist mission even though his neighbors are

fleeing to the U.S. under the cover of darkness on any thing that will float. Usnavy works, navigates state

bureaucracy, plays dominos in the square with his ribald buddies, and basks in the radiance of his only

treasure, an opulent, Tiffany-like stained-glass lamp. A rare object of beauty, an embodiment of light and

transcendence, it links humble and honest Usnavy to a hidden facet of Cuban history, and to the freer world of creativity and its shadow side of greed and desperation, deception and secret justice. Following the substantial Days of Awe (2001), prizewinning, ever-innovative Cuban American writer Obejas evinces a new, focused lyricism as she penetrates to the very heart of the Cuban paradox in a story as pared down and intense as its narrator's life . Inlaid with images of transformation, this Havana story in the Hemingway mode illuminates the tragedies and resiliency of a twilight land caught in the spell of a failed dream and portrays with exquisite sensitivity a man reaching toward the light.
-Donna Seaman

The Wild Pug, Chicago

2009-03-16T14:05:00.004-05:00

We’d really only planned one gig in Chicago – the WCF reading – for a while and then Drew Ferguson wrote me an email out of the blue, asking if I’d take part in his series up at the The Wild Pug in Uptown. I thought he meant, you know, later. But he meant right away.

Drew, by the way, was absurdly modest in all his communications. Like, for example, didn’t mention that he’s the author of The Screwed Up Life of Charlie the Second. The Chicago Reader has a review of it in which Robert McDonald says: "...the resulting blend of humor and heartache makes for the most true-to-life queer coming-of-age story since John Fox's 1994 Boys on the Rock..."

So last Thursday I drove up to my old neighborhood – I really love that neck of the woods – for the reading. The area’s been changing since before I moved up there (in the mid80s, then again in the mid90s, after a brief excursion up to Rogers Park) but there are things that remain exactly the same, like the Green Mill and the fried rice joint on Argyle with all the dead ducks in the window.

And there are things that are in constant flux. When I stood in front of the The Wild Pug – now spacious and inviting, with a separate bar and reading room in the back – I was sure I’d known it in its previous incarnations but I simply couldn’t remember any of them.

Also on the bill at this gig was Brian Bouldrey, an old grad school chum. Brian wrote The Genius of Desire, Monster: Gay Adventures in American Machismo, is editor of a slew of Best American Gay Fiction and author of so many other titles it’d take a page to list them all. He’s also hysterical, on and off stage so – while I was thrilled to see and hear him (and gossip: he’s got a new job in Alaska!) – I was a tad worried: He’s a really, really good reader – and my stuff, by contrast to his (though his can be dark too), is pretty sober.

Plus, reading at a bar is a whole different experience than in bookstores. And the reading room at The Wild Pug is the epitome in a lot of ways. For starters, there’s, you know, liquor. Hard core. Me, personally, I had a Glenlivet.

And it’s dark, or at least hazy. For me this meant some readjustment. I’ve gotten pretty familiar with the Ruins text but it’s not memorized, so I still need the page as a reference. But in the dark, it was a bit more of a challenge.

And it’s noisy – I mean, really noisy. I don’t have the strongest voice so I had to really put the lungs to work. But the static created by bar noise – voices, glasses, laughter – has a certain charm. It can knock me off balance – I lost my place a couple of times and quickly recouped – but the tension, I think, adds to the overall ambience.

Don’t get me wrong, I love bookstores, with their flood of light and all-ages comfort, but there’s something inviting and seductive about reading at bars that I find enchanting. And Thursday at The Wild Pug, I think I had one of the best readings so far on this tour.

The Car Gods Are Angry

2009-03-15T22:07:00.002-05:00

After Madison came the vast American pampas of Iowa, where presidential dreams rise and fall. It’s amazing to me, cruising past these Midwest acres which are so the picture of apple-cheeked Americana, that the current commander-in-chief found the wave here.

Of course, I’d barely slept the night before worrying about the car wobbling and had, in fact, had the tires “weighted” and “balanced” (whatever the hell that means) at the Madison Firestone, and while we the car was no longer doing a violent shimmy shimmy, it was still on Parkinson’s watch in that crucial 45 to 60 mph zone.

Truth is, I love cars, love driving, love being on a highway, and love when the Midwest opens up with its infinite horizon. And for the full effect, you really do have to leave the cities and venture out to where the interstate becomes a grey ribbon sided by green and gold acres like a giant patchwork.

Sigh.

And, er, that bastard GPS decided that it was Iowa-friendly and actually guided me beautifully, with ETA and maps and where to fill up, all the way to M’s parents’ house.

There, I managed to get about an hour’s worth of sleep before the reading. It was a wet and foggy night and M’s mom and dad drove me to Prairie Lights in Iowa City, about 30 minutes away, where we met up with M’s sister Carrie and her friend Allison. There were about 20 people, a good chunk of them students earnestly taking notes. At least one of them was a Cuban-American – I deciphered this from his questions and later realized I knew his dad (perpetuating the notion that all Cubans know each other).

One of the real pleasures of reading at Prairie Lights this time was the introduction I got from Roberto Ampuero, whom I’d met last summer in Spain during the Semana Negra de Gijon (which was actually ten days … ). Roberto is a critically acclaimed and best-selling Chilean novelist and, as it turns out, professor at the University of Iowa. He’s the author of the Cayetano Brulé detective series and Nuestros años Verde Olivo (about his years in exile in Cuba) and the metafictional mystery Los amantes de Estocolmo.

In other words, he’s a very, very big deal. And hearing him talk about how much he loved Ruins, and how powerfully it evoked Havana – “La Habana,” as he said with a grin -- was both moving and an honor for me.

After the reading, M’s family and Allison and I retired literally next door for a celebratory round of white Russians and a couple of beers. And then we went home, where I crashed so hard it felt like I’d hurled down a long black elevator shaft in a 12 story building.

The next morning, resting in Cedar Rapidian splendor, I vaguely heard the phone, like an echo in a very vast valley. I finally climbed downstairs – M’s parents were long gone to work – and found a delicious bag of chocolate chip cookies and a small black piece of what turned out to be my car.

I really couldn’t face the awful reality of it so I sipped some coffee, checked my email, puttered, and finally surrendered to the voicemail and the evidence on the back of my PT Cruiser: M’s dad, perhaps sleepy from what was for him a late night (I did consider the possibility of displaced anger … ), had banged into my car. It was a rather small area but he did manage to hurt three different parts: the tail light, the bumper and the back fender.

On the way home, the GPS worked great (I also had M’s mom’s GPS as backup), the wobbliness was fairly contained, nothing fell off the car, and, now, the challenge is before me for this week: to rush repair or rent for the rest of the tour?

I’m mulling, I’m mulling.

In praise of Jeanne Huie

2009-03-14T17:56:00.002-05:00

Madison on Monday, I’m headed north, but, first, I need a new tire. Well, fine. It takes a little longer than I expect and I actually find myself on the interstate pushing it for time. And traffic is hideous, there’s construction and we’re moving about 30 miles an hour, max.

And then I notice something: I am actually nearing Milwaukee, not Madison.

“Everybody makes that mistake,” says my friend Desi, “even people who live in Madison, like us.”

It seems that I90/94 split so seamlessly, I rolled east instead of west without the vaguest idea.

Desi – a pal from Cuba – and I had planned dinner but the tire matter had nixed that. Now I faced the fact that I would be late for the reading in Madison.

I’ll confess something right here and now: All of my prior readings in Madison had been at independent bookstores and at the university, so that there has always been a culture of warmth and familiarity around them. In my experience, indies are more personal – maybe because, publishing mostly with indies myself, we all feel like we’re on the same team, swimming against the currents. And while I’m happy to be a part of the Barnes & Noble Discover Program, so far all my B&N experiences had had a kind of clean, executive veneer to them. Not unfriendly, not in any way unpleasant, but just not quite the same.

So I when I called the Madison B&N to say it wasn’t looking good, I wasn’t expecting more than a quick “Thank you for letting us know.” Imagine my surprise when the bookseller on the phone insisted I talk to the manager. And imagine my shock when Jeanne Huie, in her warm motherly voice (spiced with just a tinge of Kentucky drawl), tells me to be careful, that she’ll hold down the fort and change the reading time by half an hour.

“It’ll be fine, dear, don’t worry,” she said.

I know, this doesn’t sound like much – but even before laying eyes on her, Jeanne Huie practically exuded love.

I immediately called Desi again. “Oh, that’s Madison,” she said. “It’s the most relaxed place in the world.”

I had managed to get back on track to Madison (after various wrong moves – the construction didn’t help – there was one place where you couldn’t get back on going north if you got off the interstate, which took me on a little tour of rural Wisconsin) but then, just as I exited the construction zone, I began to notice a distinct wobbling to my car.

I don’t mean a little tremble because of high speeds. I mean, a spirited, robust, martini shaking teeth rattling wobble that felt as if the new tire was going to spin right off the axel and hurl me to kingdom come. It took me a bit to figure out that it only happened when I hit the 45-60 mph rage. Anything less, no prob. Anything more, fine – except that there were too many state troopers on the highway to risk repeating my Mishawaka experience.

I call Jeanne Huie back. “Listen, this is looking ugly. I don’t think I’m going to make it before, I dunno, eight …” I’m thinking: If at all.

“Well, you just come on in … I’ll still be here. I just feel so bad, with you making such an effort. If there’s anybody here still, we’ll do the reading, and if not, you can sign some stock. Plus, I’ve got some treats for you to eat.”

Treats?

I was now beginning to wonder about Jeanne Huie.

And then I realized something else: Coming in from Milwaukee versus Chicago meant all those carefully calibrated directions from Mapquest sent to me by Akashic were, er, worthless. And, no, of course I didn’t have a map.

But then I also realized I had my groovy new phone with a GPS. So I did my best to input the info while driving as fast as I could and wobbling like a penguin on amphetamines but, alas, no -- complete systems breakdown. The GPS kept instructing me to go to “an open area” to get a stronger signal. And Desi’s phone wasn’t answering either.

I thought: I am so fucked.

I was literally sweating. My mouth was dry.

Desperate, I called Jeanne Huie again and pretty much told her we had to cancel.

“You just come on in, honey,” she said. “I want to make sure you’re okay, all right?”

As I got into Madison, I called CHACHA – one of those text services that will answer any questions (seriously, they’ll give you a response to What is love?) and begged for driving directions to the B&N from the interstate. The car was shaking so badly, the CHACHA people wrote back twice to ask what I meant because my ever more anxious texts were gibberish.

Thanks to CHACHA, I finally wobbled my way into a parking space at the biggest B&N I’ve ever seen in my life. It looked like the Astrodome. I didn’t even bother to grab my book with the marked out prepared text because, at one solid hour late, there could not possibly be a soul at this reading. I rushed inside, where the vastness was overwhelming, but one of Jeanne Huie’s people immediately grabbed me (gently) by the arm and lead me to the back reading area while another paged Jeanne Huie. They were like a tactical team in the trenches, everybody taking care of their task exactly as needed.

I was breathless, my heart beating through my chest and my adrenaline pumping like the most amazing LSD.

And then I really think I am hallucinating because Jeanne Huie – a sweet faced grandma – extends her hand to me, practically hugs me, and reveals 15 very relaxed Madison souls still waiting for me to read.

“I’m so sorry but a few of them had to leave,” she said, apologizing while I considered how inappropriate it would be for me to throw myself at her and hug her. She offered me water, marshmallow treats and cookies.

So I grabbed one of the books in stock and I read. And then, for more than an hour, I took questions and generally chatted, hung out and shared with the folks who’d waited – a diverse group of Madisonites, many of them with first hand knowledge of Cuba, others with a keen interest.

“I could have gone on for another hour,” Jeanne Huie said while I signed books, including hers. The store was closing.

Desi leaned over. “This woman was amazing,” she said. “Every time you called, she’d give a progress report over the PA. And she kept us all entertained, telling us all about you – what you’d done, your other books, the Discover program.”

“I have to tell you, Jeanne, this is just about the nicest Barnes & Noble experience I’ve ever had,” I said.

She grinned. As I gathered my things, Jeanne told me all about her journey to Madison, how she’d come up to be close to family.

“You mean you’re not from here?” I asked, a little surprised.

“Oh no,” she said, “I used to run a little independent bookstore in Kentucky. Oh, I forgot these.”

She handed me a little gift box of tea and a handwritten note thanking me for coming to Madison to share my work.

I never read in Jeanne’s store in Kentucky but, suddenly, it all made sense to me.

Updated Tour Sked

2009-03-09T10:40:00.002-05:00

Mon., March 9, 7pm
Barnes & Noble West
7433 Mineral Point Rd.
Madison, WI

Tues., March 10, 7pm
Prairie Lights Books
15 S. Dubuque St.
Iowa City, IA

Thurs., March 12, 8pm
The Wild Pug
4810 N. Broadway
Chicago, IL

Wed., March 18, 7pm
Left Bank Books
399 N. Euclid Ave.
St. Louis, MO

Thurs., March 19, 7pm
Joseph-Beth Booksellers
2692 Madison Rd.
Cincinnati, OH

Fri., March 20, 7pm
Malaprop's
55 Haywood St.
Asheville, NC

Sat., March 21, 3pm
Barnes & Noble
5400 New Hope Commons
Durham, NC

Sun., March 22, 6:30-8pm
Busboys and Poets @ 5th & K
1025 5th St. NW
Washington, DC
*With Robert Arellano, author of Havana Lunar. Cosponsored by the Center for Democracy in the Americas.

Mon., March 23, 6:30-8pm
Enoch Pratt Free Library (Central Branch, Poe Room)
400 Cathedral St.
Baltimore, MD
*With Robert Arellano, author of Havana Lunar.

Tues., March 24, 7pm
Bluestockings
172 Allen St.
New York, NY
*With Robert Arellano, author of Havana Lunar.

Wed., March 25, 7:30pm
92nd St. Y
1395 Lexington Ave.
New York, NY
*With Robert Arellano, author of Havana Lunar.

Thurs., March 26, 8pm
Raconteur Books
431 Main St.
Metuchen, NJ
*With Robert Arellano, author of Havana Lunar.

Fri., March 27, 7:30pm
Ada Books
717 Westminster St.
Providence, RI
*With Robert Arellano, author of Havana Lunar.

Thurs., April 16
Bryn Mawr College
Philadelphia, PA

Sat. & Sun., April 25 & 26
Los Angeles Book Fair

Thurs., April 30
Center for New Words
Boston, MA

Fri., May 1, 8pm
Loose Leaf Tea Loft
4229 N. Lincoln Ave
Chicago, IL
* Poetry only -- with Mary Hawley, David Hernandez, Lisa Alvarado and others.

Mon., May 4, 7:30pm
Elliott Bay Book Co.
101 S. Main St.
Seattle, WA
*Akashic All-Stars Event: Featuring Achy Obejas, author of Ruins, Robert Arellano, author of Havana Lunar, and Maggie Estep, author of Alice Fantastic.

Tues., May 5, 7:30pm
Powell's
1005 W. Burnside
Portland, OR
*Akashic All-Stars Event: Featuring Achy Obejas, author of Ruins, Robert Arellano, author of Havana Lunar, and Maggie Estep, author of Alice Fantastic.

Thurs., May 7, 7pm
City Lights
261 Columbus Ave.
San Francisco, CA
*Akashic All-Stars Event: Featuring Achy Obejas, author of Ruins, Robert Arellano, author of Havana Lunar, and Maggie Estep, author of Alice Fantastic.

Fri., May 8, 7pm
Book Soup
8818 Sunset Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA
*Akashic All-Stars Event: Featuring Achy Obejas, author of Ruins, Robert Arellano, author of Havana Lunar, and Maggie Estep, author of Alice Fantastic.

Sat., May 9, 7:30pm
Make-Out Room
3225 22nd St.
San Francisco, CA
*Part of the "Writers with Drinks" reading series.

Wed., May 13, 6pm
DePaul University
Lincoln Park Campus
Chicago, IL
* With Cristina Garcia and Edmundo Desnoes.

LaFayette: 'Nuff Said

2009-03-09T00:30:00.002-05:00

The Post WCF celebration

2009-03-09T00:27:00.003-05:00

L to R: Patrick Reichard, Sarah Frank, Bajo Ojikutu, Mary Hawley, Mike Puican, Ceci Vaisman, moi, Elise Johnson

Chicago Headquarters: WCF!!!

2009-03-07T10:31:00.003-06:00

There’s nothing more thrilling, or nerve wracking, than looking out at an audience and seeing worlds colliding. And that’s what always happens to me in Chicago.

Thursday night at Women & Children, it was a raucous cosmic rabble out there: former students, current students, a former roommate, the boy whose birth I witnessed, other writers, my girlfriend’s friends, my ex girlfriend’s friends (but no ex gfs!), former Trib pals, folks who formerly worked at the Trib whom I’d never met until that moment, that woman who comes to every reading I do at WCF, the folks from my writers group, a former landlord, the girl I met on a layover in Jamaica en route to Cuba who was dating a friend of mine (and whom I liked so much right away, I wanted to warn about his, er, wandering eye, but didn’t), bunches of dykes, at least a couple of Orthodox Jews, a hip little cadre of Art Institute girls, really cute Cubans (some new ones!), poetry community big wigs like Mike Puican (a/k/a, the world’s most handsome man), et al …

I’ve been coming to WCF since it first opened in Lincoln Park in 1979 (it’s since moved twice, having taken root in Andersonville, prob one of the country’s queer friendliest and most diverse neighborhoods), first as a reader and then as a writer. It’s a big, bright place, one of the last feminist bookstores still standing. Long before I ever had a book published, owners Linda Bubon and Ann Christophersen would frequently book me, usually for poetry. When I was writing Days of Awe, the WCF staff practically doubled as a research team. There’s a whole different crew these days but they’re just as amazing.

Anyway, it’s always a little special to read here because it feels like home base. But this time it was really moving to hear Linda’s heartfelt introduction to Ruins. What got me wasn’t just how effusive she was, but how different it feels when somebody has read every word you’ve ever published and really knows your work. There’s familiarity, sure, but there’s also a bond that comes from having survived so much together (besides our literary adventures, Ann, Linda and I also served way back when on Mayor Harold Washington’s Committee on Gay and Lesbian Issues, which revealed whole other sides of our personalities and temperaments!).

It was sweet and wonderful to see so many folks turn out (there were people standing all over). I don’t have the strongest voice in the world so I tried to be conscious of projecting. I noticed a number of people were following along on my reading – no doubt noticing that I actually edit quite a bit in the process, trying to make the excerpt as self contained and smooth as possible. When it was over, I was so flush and nervous, I actually needed to sit down.

I hung out for a good long while, greeting friends, signing books, meeting lots of new people. Afterwards, a group of us went to the Korean place down the street to celebrate. The worlds continued to collide.

“How do you know each other?” Ceci Vaisman, a terrific radio artist and former NPR producer, asked me about the poet Mary Hawley, who’d joined us.

“We used to be in a poetry group, ‘Girls Night Out’, which used to do readings all over the city,” I explained. “It included Patricia Smith, Susie Berger, and Cin Salach. Back then, the only one of us who had a book out was Debbie Pintonelli. Patricia worked at the Sun-Times, but as a copy girl.”

“How do you two know each other?” Mary asked in turn.

“We used to share a boyfriend!” Ceci said with a laugh.

“I was about to say that Mary’s one of my oldest friends,” I said, “and then I realized, wait a minute, Ceci’s one of my oldest friends … “

I looked across the table at Patrick Reichard, one of my very best buds, who was laughing and shaking his head. We used to room together and this kind of thing happened with alarming frequency. He’d already met Ceci at last year’s seder. Then he leaned forward and made a point of introducing himself to Mary and Mike.

NEXT: Lafayette, Madison and Iowa City.

Adventures in Mishawaka

2009-03-06T08:09:00.005-06:00

Oh, man, so I'm driving to Mishawaka, which butts up against South Bend, Ind., home of Notre Dame University – this is familiar territory – not just Indiana but northern Indiana. This is so close to Michigan City, where I grew up on the coast of Lake Michigan, that my high school team, the Raiders, used to play against the Mishawaka Cavemen. Not that we were rivals or anything but driving to Mishawaka wasn’t a big deal. Parents didn’t even worry.

The scenery from Chicago to Michigan City is, of course, familiar: the busy and crowded Skyway (always in construction), then industrial and cloudy Gary, transformer lights and steel towers rising from the side of the road, and then, suddenly, green, a yellowish I-survived-the winter-green but green nonetheless, and clusters of naked trees up and down both sides of the highway.

I’m just rounding out from Michigan City, turning a slight south away from the lake shore, when, in a stuttery flash of light, my phone flips one hour forward. What? I’d given myself so much time, I’d so wanted to get there early and hang out at the Barnes & Noble café, I’m actually packing my lap top.

But no, no, no: the phone is telling the truth: Chicago, Michigan City, the whole curved panorama of Lake Michigan is on Central Standard Time but Mishawaka is, inexplicably, on Eastern Standard Time. Mishawaka is on New York time, as if it had just turned its snotty little municipal back on the entire Midwest.

Best case scenario, I’d be 10-15 minutes late. I called the store, of course, and talked to a very nice man named Dave, who assured me it was fine. “Be careful, don’t do anything crazy,” he said. I assured him I wouldn’t, even as my foot sank on the accelerator. The buzz of the air speeding around my PT Cruiser (the poor Midwestern girl’s version of a low-rider) intensified and the car actually wobbled.

I was on my way for almost 20 minutes and then, just as I was getting cocky, just as I was passing with impunity, a mess of twirling lights appeared in my rear view mirror.

“Do you know how fast you were going” asked the breathless state trooper.

“I dunno, 70, 80?”

“Seventy, 80? Lady, the speed limit is 70 – I clocked you at 105!”

He wanted to know why I was in a hurry; he wanted to know what was wrong. I didn’t even try. I just told him the truth. He wandered back to his unmarked squad car – a big, thick American model with a grill that looked like a muzzled dog – and performed his investigative tricks.

I was good after that, going 70, doing breathing exercises. And Dave and I got to talk a whole lot more. As it turned out, my MapQuest directions to the store didn’t take into account a smattering of construction. And so Dave, who couldn’t remember street names but was fabulous with landmarks (“Is there a Martin gas station on the corner? Yes? Great!”), was transformed into a live GPS. Thanks to him, I finally crashed through the Mishawaka Barnes & Noble, my legs a little wobbly, my heart racing, 20 minutes late.

Waiting for me was an audience of three (which grew to five during the reading), two of whom I knew as former students, both from the University of Chicago: Lindsay, who’d been in my very first class on Jewish Latin American literature (and later went on to do her thesis on Days of Awe and even stayed at the house I shared with my then girlfriend in Havana) and Terry, who lives in Chicago and likes to drive, thus his Indiana cameo. It was, needless to say, a very intimate reading!

Unfortunately, this will not be the last of my Mishawaka adventure. A speeding ticket lingers on driving records and impacts stuff like insurance rates. So, in order to get that thing expunged, I’ll be taking a driver’s ed class in Mishawaka later this spring.

Sigh …

NEXT: Chicago, Lafayette Saturday, Madison Monday, Iowa City Tuesday, Chicago again on Thursday.

The fabulous Ricardo Brown, us, me.

2009-03-05T08:03:00.002-06:00

Interview with Donna Seaman on WBEZ (Chicago's NPR affiliate)

2009-03-04T23:20:00.002-06:00

A link is to the right ... thanks!

MIYAMI

2009-03-03T17:07:00.001-06:00

Miami is a kind of calvary for Cuban and Cuban diasporic writers. We love it, we hate it, we feel its weight, and we utterly fear it. I woke up last Tuesday at my mom’s house in Kendall to a disconcerting call from one of the managers at Books & Books. “You know, we really like it when somebody introduces local authors,” she said. “Not one of us but, say, a person from the community, a personality.”

I was pre-caffeine but I thought maybe there was a misunderstanding. “But I’m not local,” I said, thinking, first and foremost, that it was going to be tricky to find someone so last minute.

“You’re Cuban!” said the Books & Books person, “Of course you’re local.”

One advantage to the Facebook events program – where I’d posted a notice about the reading -- is that you have both a quick read on who’s coming or not, and a quick way to get a hold of them.

And that’s how I snagged Ricardo Brown to do it. He had made the mistake of commenting on the page, saying he “wouldn’t miss it for the world.” So I sent him a brief note and, somewhat to my surprise, he not only agreed but also asked me to be on his radio show.

Who the heck is Ricardo? Only the best journalist in South Florida. Currently, he hosts El Factor Brown, a nightly news commentary show on WGEN-TV, Channel 8, in Miami.

Ricardo used to work as a foreign correspondent for the Spanish International Network, Univision, Telemundo and CBS Telenoticias. He was also news director for the HBC national newscast on Telemundo and CBS Telenoticias. He has covered major news events in more than 50 countries and has four Emmys on his mantle.

I mean, in Miami you don’t get bigger than Ricardo.

And, er, he’s my cousin.

Well, sort of. He used to be married to my dad’s cousin. But we always liked him so much – and I was so in awe of him – that we just claimed him right out.

And I call him Richard. Always have. Couldn’t begin to explain why, just do.

He was, of course, just delightful on the radio – throwing me total lobs, being so warm and sweet I just wanted to reach across the airwaves and squeeze him. We talked about the genesis of Ruins and I said that it had, in part, been inspired by my neighbors in Cuba, on Tejadillo Street in Old Havana. I added that less than a month ago, one of those neighbors, Jorgito, had made it to the U.S. by crossing the Mexican border. He’d said he was coming that night, and I wanted to dedicate the reading to him.

That evening, my mom and I got to the Books & Books early, a kind of miracle considering Miami traffic and construction (and both of our penchants for running late). “Oh,” said a staffer, “you know nothing starts on time at the beach, right?” There were maybe five people there, of which four were probably related to me.

The first time I’d read at B&B, in Coral Gables, at the old store, was also my debut as a published author in Miami and when I got there, it was pretty much the same scenario: a handful of folks, most of them familiar. I got so sad and felt so miserable I had to leave the store and go for a walk just to regain my composure. When I got back, I was stunned to find a line out the door.

That experience should have kept the tremors at bay but, truth is, the only time I’d ever been scheduled to appear at the Miami Beach store before had been pretty dramatic: it was for Days of Awe, slated for September 12, 2001. Needless to say, we cancelled. As I looked around this time, I worried again … it doesn’t matter how many readings I survive, how many books I publish, it’s still scary – and especially in Miami. Why? Because I’m Cuban and thus I’m local.

By the way, the new B&B space is lovely – it’s just off the mall, a little twisty to find the bookstore itself but not at all difficult. Upfront, B&B has set up a café, not as big as the one in Coral Gables but the same idea. And, of course, the entire staff there is just terrific: knowledgeable, friendly, tireless.

Richard showed up at B&B shortly after my mom and me. Totally casual, with one of his sons in tow (a tall, Irish looking young man – reddish blond hair and moustache – with a very Cuban swagger). I would have much to thank Richard for the next day, since two other local radio programs – tipped off by my appearance on his -- would call for interviews. But for now I was just glad to see him.

It seemed that within minutes of his arrival, the place got packed. The B&B staff set out more chairs and still there were folks standing on either side of the room and along the back. Among those in attendance were Moisés Asís, a wonderful Cuban Jewish writer I worked with on Havana Noir (and who I hope to include in an anthology of Latin American Jewish writers I’m editing with Lawrence Schimel), the spectacular Jordan Levin from The Miami Herald, and Adrian Castro, one of my favorite poets. There were so many relatives of mine there, I stopped counting. The one person nowhere in sight was Jorgito, and my heart sank a little.

Richard’s intro, though, brought it right back up. He was kind about the book but, for me, the most important part was when he talked about my Abuela Lala and my dad, and what original storytellers they were. It was personal, not so much literary, but that was precisely what made it so right, especially there, with so much family present.

Early in any book tour, the reading text is still being adjusted, but as I began I realized I was enunciating quite clearly, going slowly and deliberately at the text in a way I never do. And then I saw my Tía Yolanda was directly in my line of vision, and, to be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a word of English come out of her mouth. I’m not saying she doesn’t speak it – for all I know, she may be tutoring Judy Dench – but I have never had a conversation with her in anything but Spanish. And the absurdity of her being there – strictly to support me – hit me so hard, I almost lost my place.

I was just about at the end of my text, finally relaxing into it a bit, when I heard rustling and saw a flash of movement in my peripheral vision. I glanced over and saw Jorgito, his wife Leticia and their daughter, all breathless. He grinned as big as the whole world.

When I finished, I took questions, as I often like to do, and these veered all over the place, from curiosity about how to travel legally to Cuba to the real identities of the characters in “Ruins” (fiction, folks, fiction). There was a lot of laughter and a very warmly casual atmosphere, which permitted me to back up and do what I had promised: dedicate the reading, albeit after the fact, to Jorgito, who blushed and waved, holding his daughter against him like a human shield.

The next day, I hung out with Richard and one of his producers, Gloria Diliz, in the a.m. and met Alex El Mago, who performed card tricks at the breakfast table. Then Jorgito and Leticia and I grabbed lunch, which turned out to be their intro to sushi – he was a good sport about it but we ended up adding some beef to the plates anyway!

Later I sat in with Ariel Gonzáles at WLRN, the local NPR affiliate. I always enjoy these chats with Ariel because he is supremely well-prepared. He has a calm, unpretentious manner. Even though we talked for more than a half hour, it felt like five minutes – it just turned into a conversation, which is really the best kind of interview.

I’d just gotten into my car and was headed out to hang with friends when I got an email from an old Chicago bud, Tomás Martínez, who’s now in management at Radio Caracol, one of Miami’s pan-Latino stations. He’d heard me on Richard’s show; could I come in and meet with Enrique Cordoba? Sure but Enrique Cordoba? Enrique’s a totally unassuming man, completely belying his status as a giant of Latino radio. When he interviews writers, it usually means Mario Vargas Llosa. So I was more than a bit nervous. We taped close to 40 minutes – and talked hardcore lit – but if you didn’t know that Tomás had just thrown this at him, you wouldn’t have had a clue Enrique hadn’t read the book. I don’t think it gets any smoother than that!

The last interview was Monday morning, which Gloria Diliz arranged, and it was a minor miracle we pulled it off. By then I was already long gone from Miami, nestled in Oakland with M. The time difference meant a 4:45 a.m. wake up call for a 5 a.m. interview – three hours earlier than sunny and beautiful Miami.

Can’t wait to go back.

REVIEWS!!!

2009-02-25T18:31:00.004-06:00

I'm going to try to post reviews as they come in but the truth is I'm way behind: Booklist, El Paso Times, Library Journal and articles in a handful of periodicals, including some recent stuff in Cafe Magazine and Poets & Writers have already come out. I'm always a little wary of reviews, though I know I've been lucky. It's just that I really don't read them well at all the first few times. It's only after a while that they really sink in, that I have enough distance to see what was good, what veered off course, etc. I also need the distance to have the nerve to claim them -- that is, to understand that they're talking about my work. I think, having been a journalist for so long -- having been on the other side of the pen, so to speak -- it's still disconcerting to suddenly be on this side (okay, not so suddenly, but it still feels new to me ... ).

So I'll start with the one that got things rolling, the debut review from Publisher's Weekly:

Ruins Achy Obejas. Akashic, $15.95 paper (206p) ISBN 978-1-933354-69-9

In 1994 Havana, times are hard: for maladroitly named Usnavy and his family, home is one windowless, sparsely furnished room, and rationing is so tight that “pieces of a blanket... beaten and marinated in spices and a little beef broth” pass for sandwich meat. When not managing the local bodega or playing dominoes with childhood friends, earnest Usnavy tries to keep his out-of-work wife and 14-year-old daughter from despair and disillusionment. His one treasure, as precious as his mother's legacy, is a “most extraordinary lamp… of multicolor stained glass and shaped like an oversized dome.” Around this lamp (a genuine Tiffany?), poet and novelist Obejas spins a mystery with political ramifications. Keeping within the tight frame of Usnavy's day-to-day life, Obejas confronts the ruin of Cuba; the fate of those who escape to the States, and those who remain; and broad issues of religious and sexual identity. With the deft and evocative detail of a poet's, Obejas's prose is as illuminating and honest as her struggling protagonist. (Mar.)

"The Carlsbad of the Americas"

2009-02-24T13:40:00.003-06:00

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2009-02-24T13:35:00.000-06:00

2009-02-24T13:34:00.000-06:00

2009-02-24T13:33:00.000-06:00

INDIANA!!!

2009-02-24T13:32:00.004-06:00

The event in Evansville took us on a long and winding journey from Chicago to the very southern tip of Indiana.

On the one hand, it was a nostalgic trip for me. Having grown up in northern Indiana and gone to school in Bloomington, I’d made many a trek of this sort before – on what the maps call blue and red highways. They tend to be narrow little roads that pass through what I refer to as 5 minute towns, because that’s how long it takes to traverse them. There’s usually a gas station, a VFW hall, maybe an early 20th or late 19^th century City Hall with a steeple that sits on a square. Some of the small business names were hilarious: Frances’ Hairport (next to an airplane hangar), Arab Pest Control. There’s something dear about them.

But, on the other hand, these are the towns where you really see the effects of the economic slowdown. All around those central squares, in town after town, there would be empty storefronts one after the other. The businesses left were the inevitable diner, a few antique stores, the post office. Many of the houses looked weary, slumped. They needed a coat of paint, a new screen door.

In Evansville, the Barnes & Noble was actually buzzing, though our host, Mariana, insisted it was a slow day for them. She explained that they get almost half their clientele from Kentucky, just over the state line, and that the colleges in town, especially Indiana University Southwest, are just booming. When I went to school in nearby Bloomington, Evansville was practically thought of as a drive-in campus, so this was a stunner.

Mariana explained that “Ruins” has been added to the Discover shelf, as befits it being named to the Barnes & Noble Discover Great New Writers Program (it was on the third shelf down but, as Mariana hosted, M casually re-arranged it on the first … hehe). She also told us it was included with Local Authors, which I found utterly delightful.

Folks were friendly, of course, as you’d expect in Indiana. Two different sets of mom and kids came by because the moms wanted the kids to meet “a living author.” One of the girls – high schoolers both – said she was a big fan of Daniel Steele and J.K. Rowling. The other liked manga. The first one shrugged, rattled off a title she liked. “You do not!” said the second girl. “Well, I like the TV show,” the first one confessed.

And there was the guy who took forever to read the back of the book, then told me all about it. “This is about a guy who wakes up one day and his whole world is topsy turvy,” he said.

“Right,” I said.

“And, see, he just doesn’t know how to cope,” he said.

“Exactly,” I answered.

“Nothing makes sense,” he continued; this went on and on. “I gotta buy this book, but I gotta look around first. Will you save me a copy? I gotta get it signed.” And, needless to say, I never saw him again.

But my favorite was Paul, a twinkly-eyed older gentleman who was already carrying a bag full of bought books.

“Cuba? This book that place in Cuba?” he asked.

“Uh huh,” I said.

“I was in Cuba once, in Guantanamo, although we called it Gitmo.”

“That must have been before the Revolution, right?”

“In 1948. You know, people think there’s a town named Guantanamo, but that’s just the base. The town was called Cay … Cay-something.”

“Caimanera.” I didn’t mention that, in fact, there is a town named Guantanamo. Caimanera, renowned pre-Revolution for its more than 700 brothels (according to Guinness), is the town closest to the base: to this day, it shares a fence. The brothels are long gone, of course, as are the prostitutes. In their places, the town – which is closed off even to non-resident Cubans – is now a place for only most militant, the Cubans who can be trusted not to jump the fence.

“That’s right, Caimanera!” said an excited Paul. “You been there?”

“Yeah,” I said, then tried to steer the conversation back to the book. “The character in ‘Ruins’ is from Caimanera.”

“You don’t say!” said Paul, picking up the book and examining it. Then he leaned in confidentially: “You know, I became a man in Caimanera!”

“Really?”

“Well, they had a lot of places where you could become a man!”

Paul barely let the book go long enough for me to sign it, then came back after he’d paid for it.

“Caimanera!” he exulted. “Caimanera!”

After the book stop was over, M and I decided to do a little antiquing but we didn’t have much luck. We realized we were exhausted though, and that it wasn’t necessarily a great idea to drive back to Chicago that night. We also realized we were awfully close to French Lick, Ind., which I’d told M about – a place that has a certain magic for me. So we decided to head that way and stay at the famous West Baden Springs Hotel.

But don't worry if you’ve never heard of it: The West Baden Springs Hotel is a historic landmark hotel in central Indiana known for its vast domed atrium. Prior to the completion of the Houston Astrodome in 1965, it had the largest free-spanning dome in the United States and was the largest in the world from 1902-1913. It’s part the National Register of Historic Places, a National Historic Landmark and a Historic Civil Engineering Landmark.

When I first went to Bloomington in 1977, my lover Diane took me to see it. She told me that at one point it had been considered the Eighth Wonder of the World! In its heyday, frequent guests included Al Capone and Big Jim Brady. After the crash of 1929, it became a Jesuit monastery, then a business college. It was renovated by the state in the 90s but nobody would buy it until a couple of years back, when the French Lick Resort & Casino – just down the road – took it over and finally opened again to guests in 2007.

Back when I first saw it the 70s, it was completely abandoned, whole walls had crumbled and the gardens were a thicket of scrub. But even then you could see its majesty: The very center of the hotel had a ballroom under that dome – a ballroom that reeked with elegance even as we stepped onto its mildewy floor. I remember looking up from the very center and seeing all the room windows looking out, and imagining myself on one of the terraces. (Somewhere in my storage room, in fact, there’s a photo of me leaning out on one of those precarious railings.) Diane and I wandered around those ruins for an entire day. We danced, of course, to silent waltzes. We climbed into the mossy tubs from the old mineral springs. We walked through the deserted kitchens and dining rooms, envisioning sumptuous banquets.

And we climbed the roof. I think back on it now and realize we were out of our minds, that one bad step and we would have hurled to our deaths. But to this day I’m glad we did it, that we were blessed that reckless day and stood on what seemed like the very top of the world.

When M and I got into French Lick, it was nighttime and we were amused when we passed Michael T’s Motel and saw a No Vacancy sign.

“Maybe it’s broken,” M said about the sign.

We just couldn’t fathom it was really full. After all, it was the middle of February in the middle of Indiana, and nowhere near a major highway.

Because I wasn’t sure I’d be able to find West Baden Springs at night, and after so much time (I’d been there once before in the middle of the renovation, about 10 years ago), we stopped at a ma and pa gas station in the center of town (across from “Holiday Liquors”) to ask. “It’s just down the road,” the fellow said, extending his arm in the direction we’d been heading. “But you’re not gonna stay the night, are you?”

“Well, yeah, that was the plan,” I said.

He shook his head. “All full up at the casino,” he said. “You might get a room at West Baden.”

We trudged up the road, and there it was: Even in pitch black, the double arches welcoming us to “West Baden Springs, the Carlsbad of America” were pretty impressive. Just to the side is the old train station that used to bring guests. The driveway is a long straight boulevard that then curls around the palatial building where we were greeted by valets who, we surmise, lifted my reading copy of “Ruins” overnight. (For some reason, this idea makes me very happy.)

We got a room all right – but the very last one looking out at the ballroom. It was on the second floor, with a locked down terrace that arched over the bandstand. Huge king bed, six chocolate covered strawberries before bedtime. It was all pretty terrific.

Before nodding off, we had dinner at a restaurant in the ballroom (nice cocktails) then wandered around to see the pool (wow!), the little shops (all closed – it was too late), the library, all the old photographs. We leaned back in one of the recliners in the lobby and watched the magnificent dome change colors. All I could think about was that Usnavy would have been blown away.

2009-02-24T13:26:00.002-06:00

Tomorrow: The Hoosier State

2009-02-21T01:20:00.003-06:00

The official release date for "Ruins" isn't until March 1, and the official book launch party isn't until March 5, at Women & Children First in Chicago (my bookstore home), but the tour officially begins tomorrow, Saturday, in Evansville.

It's a 6 hour drive from Chicago, and the reading's scheduled for 2 p.m. so we're getting up at the crack of dawn to be good girls and allow ourselves lunch, a gas fill-up and getting lost on the way down ... M is here for the weekend and going with (totally above and beyond gf duty) and will no doubt enlighten the drive by reading aloud from Hegel and Foucalt.

I used to live in Indiana and so I'm both excited and a little anxious about reading in Indiana. Will I run into anyone I know? Who comes to a reading about Cuba in Evansville? Can't wait to find out.

RUINS spring tour

2009-02-15T14:23:00.000-06:00

Sat., February 21, 2pm
Barnes & Noble
624 S. Green River Rd.
Evansville, IN

Tues., February 24, 8pm
Books & Books
933 Lincoln Rd.
Miami Beach, FL

Sat., February 28, 3pm
Barnes & Noble
4601 Grape Rd.
Mishawaka, IN
*Cosponsored by the Institute for Latino Studies at the University of Notre Dame

Thurs., March 5, 7:30pm
Women & Children First
5233 N. Clark
Chicago, IL
*Book release event

Sat., March 7, 3pm
Barnes & Noble
2323 Sagamore Parkway S.
Lafayette, IN

Mon., March 9, 7pm
Barnes & Noble West
7433 Mineral Point Rd.
Madison, WI

Tues., March 10, 7pm
Prairie Lights Books
15 S. Dubuque St.
Iowa City, IA

Wed., March 18, 7pm
Left Bank Books
399 N. Euclid Ave.
St. Louis, MO

Thurs., March 19, 7pm
Joseph-Beth Booksellers
2692 Madison Rd.
Cincinnati, OH

Fri., March 20, 7pm
Malaprop's
55 Haywood St.
Asheville, NC

Sat., March 21, 3pm
Barnes & Noble
5400 New Hope Commons
Durham, NC

Sun., March 22, 6:30-8pm
Busboys and Poets @ 5th & K
1025 5th St. NW
Washington, DC
*With Robert Arellano, author of Havana Lunar. Cosponsored by the Center for Democracy in the Americas.

Mon., March 23, 6:30-8pm
Enoch Pratt Free Library (Central Branch, Poe Room)
400 Cathedral St.
Baltimore, MD
*With Robert Arellano, author of Havana Lunar.

Tues., March 24, 7pm
Bluestockings
172 Allen St.
New York, NY
*With Robert Arellano, author of Havana Lunar.

Wed., March 25, 7:30pm
92nd St. Y
1395 Lexington Ave.
New York, NY
*With Robert Arellano, author of Havana Lunar.

Thurs., March 26, 8pm
Raconteur Books
431 Main St.
Metuchen, NJ
*With Robert Arellano, author of Havana Lunar.

Fri., March 27, 7:30pm
Ada Books
717 Westminster St.
Providence, RI
*With Robert Arellano, author of Havana Lunar.

Mon., May 4, 7:30pm
Elliott Bay Book Co.
101 S. Main St.
Seattle, WA
*Akashic All-Stars Event: Featuring Achy Obejas, author of Ruins, Robert Arellano, author of Havana Lunar, and Maggie Estep, author of Alice Fantastic.

Tues., May 5, 7:30pm
Powell's
1005 W. Burnside
Portland, OR
*Akashic All-Stars Event: Featuring Achy Obejas, author of Ruins, Robert Arellano, author of Havana Lunar, and Maggie Estep, author of Alice Fantastic.

Thurs., May 7, 7pm
City Lights
261 Columbus Ave.
San Francisco, CA
*Akashic All-Stars Event: Featuring Achy Obejas, author of Ruins, Robert Arellano, author of Havana Lunar, and Maggie Estep, author of Alice Fantastic.

Fri., May 8, 7pm
Book Soup
8818 Sunset Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA
*Akashic All-Stars Event: Featuring Achy Obejas, author of Ruins, Robert Arellano, author of Havana Lunar, and Maggie Estep, author of Alice Fantastic.

Sat., May 9, 7:30pm
Make-Out Room
3225 22nd St.
San Francisco, CA
*Part of the "Writers with Drinks" reading series