Untamed shore

Silvia Moreno-Garcia

Book - 2020

"Baja California, 1979. Viridiana spends her days watching the dead sharks piled beside the seashore, as the fishermen pull their nets. There is nothing else to do, nothing else to watch, under the harsh sun. She's bored. Terribly bored. Yet her head is filled with dreams of Hollywood films, of romance, of a future beyond the drab town where her only option is to marry and have children. Three wealthy American tourists arrive for the summer, and Viridiana is magnetized. She immediately becomes entwined in the glamorous foreigners' lives. They offer excitement, and perhaps an escape from the promise of a humdrum future. When one of them dies, Viridiana lies to protect her friends. Soon enough, someone's asking questions, ...and Viridiana has some of her own about the identity of her new acquaintances. Sharks may be dangerous, but there are worse predators nearby, ready to devour a naïve young woman who is quickly being tangled in a web of deceit."--Publisher descirption.

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Subjects
Genres
Bildungsromans
Thrillers (Fiction)
Historical fiction
Published
Hoboken, NJ : Agora Books, an imprint of Polis Books, LLC [2020]
Language
English
Main Author
Silvia Moreno-Garcia (author)
Edition
First hardcover edition
Physical Description
284 pages ; 23 cm
ISBN
9781947993921
Contents unavailable.
Review by Booklist Review

A goldfish grows as big as its bowl, Viridiana has heard, but this young woman has long passed that stage. Her dreary 1970s Baja, California, town is stifling in every way, from the stink of shark carcasses that fishermen discard to the expectation that she marry a boring local boy and work in his mother's boring store. Viridiana has English-language skills, though, and those are her ticket to work for an American family in Baja. The job turns out to be much more dangerous than Viridiana bargained for, but it also allows her to live up to the book's theme: becoming someone other than yourself is freeing, even if the freedom has a terrible price. The descriptions of Baja are uncommonly evocative of gritty reality, with poverty and desperation made plain on the page, as well as the lengths people are willing to go to in order to escape. Moreno-Garcia's Certain Dark Things was an NPR best book of the year in 2016, and this insightful look at criminal life from the viewpoint of a sardonic yet lonely soul seems destined for more plaudits; readers can also look forward to the author's upcoming horror novel, Mexican Gothic, which will be released later this year. Another winner from Polis' new Agora imprint, which is dedicated to publishing diverse voices in crime fiction.

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

Fantasy author Moreno-Garcia (Gods of Jade and Shadow) ventures into thriller territory with mixed success in this noir set in 1979 Baja California. Life for 18-year-old Viridiana in the "nothing at all" town of Desengaño has been full of dull, senseless duty that she yearns to escape. When wealthy American Ambrose Allerton--an older man who's renting a house with his trophy wife, Daisy, and her handsome brother, Gregory--offers Viridiana a summer job to be his secretary, she gladly accepts. But her good fortune doesn't last. After a drunken Ambrose takes a fatal fall down some stairs, suspicion falls on Daisy and Gregory. After agreeing to lie on their behalf, Viridiana becomes a suspect in Ambrose's murder. Fueled by her thirst for exotic adventure, she begins a highly charged affair with Gregory, but sordid reality soon catches up with her. Moreno-Garcia's unsparing delineation of a ferocious land compensates in part for Viridiana's somewhat unconvincing dreams of Hollywood romance. Fans of the author's fantasy novels may want to take a pass. Agent: Eddie Schneider, JABberwocky Literary. (Feb.)

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Library Journal Review

Moreno-Garcia's first crime fiction novel (after fantasy title Gods of Jade and Shadow) is set in the small town of Desengaño, Baja California. At 18, resident Viridiana is trapped between an unwanted proposal her mother is urging her to accept and the desire to escape to a bigger, better life beyond. After working as a personal assistant and translator to three wealthy Americans, one of them unexpectedly dies and questions of murder abound. Viridiana suspects the survivors aren't who they claim to be, but helping them could be her way out of Desengaño. Although set in 1979, the town's isolation and classic movie references make this story timeless, and the local shark-fishing industry is an apt metaphor for the complex layers of hunters and hunted. VERDICT This thriller sets a quiet tone before building slowly and evenly, showing how a meek teenager trapped by circumstance grows into a strong woman who takes control of her future, though in the end it might change who she is. For fans of Celeste Ng, Alafair Burke, and Kent Anderson.--George Lichman, Rocky River, OH

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

One The beach smelled of death. Half a dozen sharks lay under the sun, waiting to be salted. Whenever Viridiana saw them, glistening belly-up in the midday heat, they reminded her of dominoes set upon a table before the game begins. An angry shark can bite through tin and metal, the locals said; it could cut through the boats they took out to sea. And looking at the jaws hanging from the wooden rack, Viridiana might concur. But she liked the sharks, she even liked the stench of their livers roasting on a fire. It was a bitter, foul smell, but she had pleasant memories of her father cooking it, attempting to extract oil. He'd done things like that when she was young, trying to make himself comfortable in Desengaño, to leave his city roots behind. He eventually stopped. It was obvious he was a city boy, with his books and his diploma from the university under his arm, and no amount of shoving a shark's liver across a pan was going to make him a fisherman. Besides, there was no point in trying to master the nets and the boats, anyway, since sharks were almost worthless. Once upon a time, during World War II, fishermen could make a fortune selling shark livers, and many a fool in search of quick cash had steered his boat towards Baja California. Synthetic vitamins had killed that business. In Desengaño, stubborn fishermen still dragged the sharks out of the water, but many others dedicated themselves to hauling shrimp or an assortment of fish. The ones left chasing sharks sold them to merchants who inevitably passed them off as valuable "cod" fillets. No one would pay more than a pittance for shark meat, but shark meat wrapped in plastic and advertised as "genuine Norwegian cod" was worth the effort. Not that this helped the fishermen, since they sold the meat for a peso while the merchant sold it for fifteen in the city. But people had to make a living. Shark skin was sold to make boots, and the fishermen hung the sharks' large jaws from a wooden rack, hoping tourists might purchase one, or else they might peddle the shark teeth dangling from strings. There were not many tourists. The highway now brought Americans in their cars, pulling their boats behind them, dollars stuffed in their pockets, but Desengaño was out of the way. There was one hotel with two dozen rooms. The owner had a brother in Mexico City who owned a travel agency, and he convinced foreigners to take a trip to scenic Baja and funneled them into the hotel. Desengaño was really nothing at all. Viridiana stared at the sea, at the sharks. Reynier had asked her to stop by, but the Dutchman never woke before noon. She should have waited until later to leave home, but her mother had popped out another kid and it wailed day and night--a colicky monster. Viridiana scratched her leg and looked at the shadows traced by the sun. She wasn't wearing a watch, but there was no need for that here. You could figure the time by observing what the fishermen were doing by the seashore, or paying attention to the noises of the town. The church bell clanged early every morning and every evening to further mark the day. At nine Don Tito opened his tiendita, and everyone else followed suit, doors banging open or metal curtains going up. Around noon the doors banged shut again. They didn't bother lowering the curtains; all the locals knew it was time for a nap. The bar in the hotel didn't open until seven, but the cantina welcomed everyone at four even if the fishermen wouldn't get there until eight. The bar catered to whatever foreigners were passing by and the more moneyed townspeople; the cantina took in fishermen, tradesmen, the local alcoholics who could spare the cash. By eleven, the pharmacy turned its sign off and the drunks stumbled past it, and stumbled home. Desengaño plunged into silence. The shadows cast by the sharks' jaws indicated it was time to get on her way. The few foreigners who had built permanent vacation houses lived outside the town proper. All of them except for Reynier, who was located a few streets from the town square. He had a large yellow house, which distinguished itself from the houses of the wealthier Mexicans in town--the doctor, the pharmacist--by its relative simplicity. It was neither faux-colonial nor boldly modern. Instead, it was made of wood--an oddity in a place where everything was stone, cement, or adobe--and had a gable roof, making it easy to spot. The Dutchman's house was a landmark which you could use to map your steps. Reynier didn't bother locking the front door, and she let herself in, heading directly to his office. Reynier kept books in three different languages in the office, but they also spilled throughout the house. She had learned to speak English, French and Dutch thanks to these books. Reynier sat in his big burgundy chair, dressed in one of his prim charcoal suits. He never succumbed to the desire for casual fashions; the 1970s, with their polyester and flared trousers, had not been acknowledged in his home. Reynier's white beard was neatly trimmed, his face tanned and streaked with wrinkles. Since she was a child he had always been old, weathered like a tree trunk, but around the house, black-and-white photos testified to a blond youth. She sat on the slim, elegant gray couch opposite him. The shades were drawn and a fan whirled above their heads. It was not quite cool inside his office, but it was as good as it got without air-conditioning. Some of the foreigners outside of Desengaño partook in that luxury. Reynier did not. In this, too, he was old-fashioned. "I have a job for you," Reynier said, with that deep, soothing voice. "There are people coming to stay at Milton's house and they don't speak a word of Spanish." Milton had been a long-time visitor to Desengaño. He came every spring, since before they finished the highway in '72, seven years ago. But Milton passed away over Christmas. "His kids?" she asked. "No. They're renting the house to friends. They'll be here in two days. I'll hand them the keys. I already sent Delfina and her daughter to clean the place up and air it out." All the regular visitors knew one another, and they all knew Reynier. He kept an eye on their houses for most of them: Reynier was the only one who stayed all year long. It wasn't difficult, since the regulars had only half a dozen homes. Although Narciso Ferrer, the hotel owner, was always talking about how tourists would one day flow in plentiful numbers through the town, his prophecy had failed to materialize. "How long will they be staying?" "A few months. The man I spoke to, Ambrose, has a notion to write a book while he is here. He needs a personal assistant. So it wouldn't be a weekend touring them through the coves. He wants someone to type notes for him and the like." This was different. When the tourist season was in full swing, Viridiana made a living as a guide. There was another guide in town, Alejandro, four years older than she was and the son-in-law of the hotel owner, which meant all business from there was siphoned to him. Viridiana was left to attract the attention of the young people who were camping on the beaches or the sport fishermen who rattled into town with campers in tow. Reynier tried to direct business her way when he could, and he also paid her to stop by once a week and speak to him in Spanish. To improve his language skills, he said, but they spent more time practicing Dutch or English, for her sake, than speaking any Spanish. He didn't need the practice, anyway, he got by well enough. He did it because Viridiana's father had been a friend and Reynier felt responsible for the girl, even if her dad didn't feel responsible for anyone. Viridiana frowned. Her father's memory had been pleasant before, when she had been thinking about him frying the shark's liver, but that had been a memory of their time together. Now she recalled his abandonment. "What is it?" Reynier asked. "It's just, tourist season is around the corner," she lied. She did not talk with Reynier about her father, nor about any personal matters. They discussed books, music and the vegetation of the region. "There will be people going through town. I'd lose business." "He has money. The pay would be good, I'm certain. If it's not, you could turn it down." "I wouldn't have time to see you each week if I'm busy with them. And the house is far," Viridiana mused. Milton's house was nicknamed The End for a reason. There was a big stretch of nothing between the town and that property. "They're expecting you Friday. You should introduce yourself. If it doesn't suit you, turn it down," Reynier concluded. "I suppose so," Viridiana said. "The man, then, he's a writer?" A writer could prove interesting. She'd never met one. He might own a lot of books. She had probably read Reynier's books twice-over. There was no library in town, and no bookstore. For fun you could take a dip in the ocean or drive to the lighthouse and contemplate the view. Viridiana did plenty of contemplating. Excerpted from Untamed Shore by Silvia Moreno-Garcia All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.