Tula Station Book

It seems fitting for a man being heralded as heir to García Márquez and other Latin American godheads of postmodern circuitousness that the namesake of David Toscana's English debut, Tula Station, is the central image and fulcrum of not only the novel but also any criticism that may be made of it. As the town of Tula's fortune ultimately resides in the government's decision of whether or not to include it on the railway line, so does the book's success depend upon the reader's willingness to separate its three narratives so that they become more than coincidental echoes of one another. Supposedly culled by Toscana from the manuscript of Froylán Gómez, long considered dead, Tula Station continues to toy with the hazy realm between fact and fiction. Gómez is paid to write the biography of Juan Capistrán, the bastard orphan of Tula. Capistrán spends his life in pursuit of the affections of the beautiful, elusive Carmen as well as validation from the town of the once-prosperous Tula. Preoccupied with its ultimate standing in history's eyes, the town goes to great lengths to leave its mark, including this amusing attempt to be the most populous city and therefore the capital: How many more do we need? One hundred? Three hundred? And nobody can die. That is Dr. Isunza's responsibility. I, one of them said, am going right home, and in nine months, I will provide another Tulteco. All applauded and drank to expanding their families. Well, I couldn't even if I wanted to, señores, because my wife is already in menopause. Then marry off your daughters. And the men left the casino and headed home, ready to eliminate the cold showers, half acts and the not-todays. Capistrán and the town itself quickly emerge as likable underdogs, thanks to Toscana's loving attention to quirky details. Gómez, on the other hand, requires a bit more patience if one is to see something larger in the selfish rejection of his established life for the pursuit of yet another mysterious Carmen. The same can occasionally be said for the overall novel itself, cutting quickly back and forth between Gómez and Capistrán's related journeys. But what is intended as harmony can descend into a temporary cacophony for anyone who is less than patient. Toscana supplies the story's cords, but is up to the reader to elevate them to chords. --Bob MichaelsRead More