Family Lore by Elizabeth Acevedo: From the sublime to the ridiculous

Most people are curious about what others think of them. It’s natural, a kind of universal curiosity. More often than not, it’s when a person has died that we speak openly about what the deceased meant to us, for better or for worse. Elizabeth Acevedo’s Family Lore takes the tradition of waking the dead and turns it on its head. Magical elements bring this book to life, when a central character, Flor, has a vision that reveals her own impending death. This brings her to hold her own living wake.

In the weeks leading up to the living wake, the Marte family history unfurls, following the four sisters from a small village in the Dominican Republic, to the capital Santo Domingo, and then on to New York. What makes this story of emigration unusual is that each of the Marte women hold a sort of magic. While one member of the family can sense when an untruth is being told, another is burdened by the gift of being an astoundingly good dancer. I must tell you, however, that the book suffers from one flaw, which saw it descend from the sublime to the ridiculous. Family Lore loses the run of itself when a second-generation member of the Marte family reveals her own secret power. This power is one she, very literally, contains within her: she is the keeper of a magic vagina. I kid you not. My one query is: Is it really a power to be reckoned with if the magical organ appears to just do the natural function of lubrication?

Family Lore is Acevedo’s first adult novel, with a catalogue of young adult fiction published before this, and it’s evident through her ease of writing that her narrative sensibilities are more in tune with a younger audience. I do not mean this in any derogatory way, in fact, quite the opposite, the rather complex narrative flows seamlessly. Clever formatting and tight control of tone allow the reader to easily merge with the differing voices appearing within one chapter. Magic vaginas aside, Elizabeth Acevedo’s Family Lore is a compulsive read. One that lends itself to be gulped down in two or three sittings, preferably without anybody close enough to peer over your shoulder!

Aimée Walsh is a writer from Belfast. Her debut novel Exile will be published in spring 2024