Invasion of the spirit people

Villalobos (I Don't Expect Anyone to Believe Me) returns with an on-point satire of immigration politics with the story of Gastón, an empathetic agriculturist who runs a small market garden. Gastón's beloved dog, Kitten, is terminally ill; his best friend, Max, is on the brink of losing his restaurant of nearly 30 years; and Max's son, Pol, has abruptly returned from doing research on a distant tundra. In an unnamed city that evokes Barcelona, childless Gastón has summoned a "sedatoress" to provide palliative care for Kitten in his final days. Meanwhile, the city is being transformed as newcomers--"Far Easterners," "Near Easterners," and "North Easterners"--buy out local businesses and open budget bazaars and corner stores on every block. Around the time that the new businesses begin appearing, the city's Historic Park is vandalized, prompting additional tension between "Incomers" and longtime residents. As factions develop, Gastón remains unfazed. Pol, emaciated, disheveled, and convinced he's being followed by his tundra-project boss, warns the others about the presence of extraterrestrial life forms, a double entendre on the word alien. Throughout, Villalobos hilariously sends up the ways in which racism and xenophobia sully the city's strong cultural identity. Once again, Villalobos proves himself a jester. (July)

In an unnamed city, a man walks his dog--also, it's possible that aliens have landed. At the center of Villalobos' wry, luminous, and witty new novel is Gastón, a man getting on in years who makes a living (more or less) from his vegetable garden and whose dog, Kitten (that's right), is rapidly deteriorating--terminal cancer--and needs to be put down. Meanwhile, Gastón's closest friend, Max, is deeply in debt and must close his restaurant; he's so depressed, though, that he spends his days playing games on his phone rather than clearing out his business. Then there's Max's son, Pol, whom Gastón helped raise. Pol, a scientist, is either dangerously close to a psychotic break or has troubling news to share about the interplanetary aliens who colonized Earth. In previous novels, Villalobos established himself as a spinner of wild, absurd, occasionally experimental tales rooted--somehow--by deadpan narrators who seem to look their readers directly and steadily in the eye while expounding outlandishly. This novel, though it takes a somewhat gentler approach, is no exception. Its third-person narrator uses a calm and quiet tone and, at the same time that it's unraveling all its various threads, also takes the trouble to make itself explicit. "There are lots of other characters in this story," the narrator says, "but we're going to accompany Gastón at all times, as if we were floating just behind him and had access to his feelings…." Then, what seems to be a story about one thing--or another thing--Villalobos slyly inverts. This is a book about xenophobia and racism and the conflicted tug between isolation and community. It makes a fine--and deliciously strange--addition to Villalobos' already grand personal canon. Wrought with tenderness, wit, and a wonderful sense of absurdity, Villalobos' latest novel is a triumph. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.