THE SUNDAY TERTULIA

An informal gathering (tertulia) once a month brings together a group of women friends who share a meal and conversation. Lots and lots of conversation, it would seem.

Children’s author Carlson loves all things Latin, as she lets the reader know repeatedly: her stated intent in her first adult novel is to give North American readers an appreciation of the various Latin American cultures she knows so well. Each of the female characters here, except the young paralegal narrator whom the others adopt into their group like a lost Anglo puppy, is from a different Latin culture—Cuban, Argentinean, Mexican, etc.—but Carlson writes with such broad and overly flattering brushstrokes that she obliterates any sense of nuanced differences among them. All the women are good: lovely, wise, kind, often long-suffering to boot. Well-heeled professionals of a certain age, they sound remarkably alike despite the distinguishing characteristic each wears as a label: Aroma, the doctor, is interested in health; Luna, the chef, is religious; Pearl is artistic—all of them dangerously close to the very stereotypes Carlson deplores. Each chapter is set at a tertulia during which characters, after being formally identified, take turns holding forth, while the Anglo narrator, whose tone veers between whiny and adoring, adds her own opinions and the occasional piece of linking material in bold type. We get to hear advice, personal anecdote, recipes, and poem translations, all along with quasi-feminist philosophy. What story there is revolves around Luna, whose adulterous husband has impregnated his mistress. The one genuine moment of drama here occurs when Luna explains why she’s decided not to divorce him. But this beginning of something substantial, unfortunately, is too little and too late.

Sleep inducing, overall, like windy speechifying after a heavy meal.