Aside from snippets of expository text that situate Vanishing Maps as a stand-alone novel, the book is not invested in explaining the Cuban diaspora to the unfamiliar ... García seems less interested in the land mine of historical accuracy than in the emotional registers of its fractured interpretations ... Alongside her own stylistic experimentation, García allows for a slipperiness between what is real and what can only be explained in the untranslatable languages of specters and Santería.
Readers will commiserate with Ivanito through his trials and tribulations with problematic family members and emotional trauma as García serves up a sabroso (tasty) smorgasbord of muy human family foibles, from obsession to passion, forbearance, and all kinds of love.
Stalwartly stands alone ... Return readers might notice that García's inventive structure in both novels is similar, mixing third- and first-person narration, moving back and forth in time, and inserting interludes for illuminating, sometimes teasing, glimpses into the past. Underscoring a visceral longing for connections--even hugs are too few--in generations scattered by ideology, politics, and just plain circumstance, García presents an exquisite family affair to remember.
Rich if uneven ... Garcia piles on a bit too much backstory in the first half, though the narrative becomes much more intriguing once the family members reunite. Though a slow burn, this will appeal to readers of Cuban diasporic stories.
The plotline isn’t much to speak of, and the prose isn’t quite as fresh as it might have been—there are all too many adverbs ... A subplot about a long-lost twin feels like a stretch. All in all, the book has a kind of matte, lackluster quality that is especially disappointing when compared to García’s earlier work. The del Pino family continues their machinations but without the same vibrancy.
