Ballantine
Review by Gabriel Tanguay Ortega
I always look forward to the release of a new novel by Isabel Allende, as I already know what it has in store—lyrical, descriptive writing, an emphasis on history, and a good story told with lots of empathy. What can I say of Allende’s latest novel? It’s everything I expected from Allende, but maybe therein lies the reason for my lukewarm response to My Name Is Emilia del Valle.
Allende introduced us to the del Valle family in her 1982 debut, The House of the Spirits. Since then, members from various branches of Allende’s invented del Valle family have featured in her novels, and as a lifelong fan of hers, I appreciate when Allende expands the world she’s created over her long career. Her del Valles are a large, influential, and storied clan, and the titular Emilia in Allende’s latest work fits right into the mold. In fact, all the familiar components from Allende’s canon are present: headstrong, intelligent female characters with a penchant for storytelling; light shone on Chilean history—in this case, the Civil War of 1891—and romance discovered against the tumultuous backdrop of political upheaval.
One of Allende’s greatest skills is how effortlessly she brings history to life. The novel opens in post-Gold Rush San Francisco, where Molly Walsh, daughter of Irish immigrants and a devout Catholic, bears the child of the wealthy Gonzalo Andres del Valle (whose branch of the family tree amassed a fortune in the California Gold Rush) after a torrid fling. That child is Emilia, raised by her strong-willed mother and kind stepfather, the mestizo scholar-teacher, Don Pancho. Emilia is raised in her humble house in the Mission speaking English and Spanish, is encouraged to read, write, and be curious about the world around her, but with her mother’s Catholic capacity for generosity and service. Without pressure from her parents to marry and bear children, Emilia develops a skill for writing; she first pens successful dime novels under a male pseudonym before taking that name and using it as a way into the journalistic sphere at the San Francisco Examiner.
It isn’t long before the Examiner gives Emilia the opportunity to travel to Chile—that remote, mysterious South American country many San Franciscans can’t point out on a map—to cover the brewing tensions between the President and Congress that have Chile primed for civil war. She’ll be sent to Chile with her colleague Eric Wheelan—for it is unheard of to send a woman journalist to a foreign country to cover politics and bloodshed—but with the unprecedented permission to write under her given name. With her family’s approval, especially that of her mother, who has never concealed the truth about Emilia’s father and his country of origin, Emilia departs for Chile to write important stories and discover her heritage. While Emilia learns much of her birth father and the aristocratic del Valle family, she is also confronted by the brutal, violent realities of war. That some historical figures make appearances, including Chilean President Jose Manuel Balmaceda, leaves a trail of crumbs for readers to further explore Chile’s long and bloody history.
“How is it possible that, from the dawn of their presence on earth, men have systematically set out to murder one another? What fatal madness do we carry in our soul? That propensity toward destruction is the original sin.”
My Name Is Emilia del Valle doesn’t contain anything we haven’t already seen from Allende, and with superior execution. It’s a slim novel at less than 300 pages; while the character of Emilia is sensitive and likeable, the supporting characters weren’t sufficiently developed to similarly pull my heartstrings, and I found the romantic journey Allende set Emilia on convenient and gratuitous. Despite the lovely prose, interesting heroine, and competent storytelling, I felt this novel just too formulaic, its messages, however true—that war is not the answer, that violence breeds violence, that one must be true to oneself—rendered too mildly for me to place other works in Allende’s canon (The House of the Spirits, A Long Petal of the Sea) that pack everlasting punches.
Perhaps my own familiarity with Allende’s writing set me up to find My Name is Emilia del Valle as a watered-down reiteration of themes she’s previously explored. That said, Allende’s writing feels, to me, a lot like coming home, and I’ll gladly continue picking up her new releases as long as she continues to write. I think a reader unfamiliar with Allende could read this newest work and pick up on her tried-and-true talents and timely themes and be compelled to read more of her works. And if you’ve read, and like me, adored, The House of the Spirits, you may take special enjoyment in the cameo made by the infamous Father Restrepo, and find yourself called back to Allende’s epic saga that began it all.
