Afterlife by Julia Alvarez: 3.5/5
“Art reminds us that we’re all connected, the guy eating the piece of pie, the ice skater going through the ice.”
Afterlife is a short and introspective novel by the celebrated author behind In The Time of the Butterflies. Antonia Vega, a recently retired English Literature living in Vermont, has her entire life upended by the sudden death of her beloved husband Sam. As Antonia grapples with this loss and the question of how to keep her late husband’s memory alive, she is called to attend to two pressing problems: an unruly older sister whose actions bring out simmering familial tensions, and an undocumented pregnant teenager who appears on Antonia’s doorstep.
It’s a quiet, occasionally pedantic novel peppered with quotes from literary quotes and secondary characters as they filter through Antonia’s mind. For me, the plotline regarding the undocumented pregnant teenager who shows up at Antonia’s door was much more compelling than the storyline dealing with Antonia’s difficult sisters. The events which bring out the sororal conflict were themselves believable and carefully written; my disinterest stemmed more from the lack of definition given to the sisters themselves. Here was where the novel most suffered from its short length; even at the end of the book, I still felt that I didn’t know any of the sisters well, had difficulty differentiating them, and so was less invested in their complicated relationships.
Afterlife does have its moments of poetry, and some passages, particularly those in which Antonia contemplates the realities of life in the Northeastern United States as a Latina, and the various horrors experienced by those who sacrifice everything to cross the border. These passages were the most poignant, the ones where Alvarez is most clearly in her element, her candor and lyrical prose resulting in scenes which are both startling and heartfelt.
For all the ruminations and discerning details in Afterlife, though, I felt that there was surprisingly little insight. Alvarez has an excellent sense of rhythm and deftly illustrates people, places, and events with a few swift detailed strokes, but the breakthrough never seemed to arrive. Make no mistake, this is a beautiful and thoughtful book; perhaps it was a case of my own expectations getting in the way of the reading experience, but after reading Alvarez’s other works and given the premise of this particular story, I expected her to reach greater emotional depth than we get here.
Some of the problem may stem from Afterlife’s protagonist. Antonia Vega, despite the rich inner monologue which makes up one of the narrative strands, is not a very emotionally available character, and so the reader’s window into the emotional core of the story is limited from the start. Antonia is described as the disciplined, hyper-sensitive sister of her family, the ‘bad cop’ to her uncritically kind late husband’s ‘good cop.’ Her thoughts cover much ground, yet we don’t see Antonia do much, and what little she does is accompanied by a medley of doubts and speculation.
All that being said, the final scene is a work of art, perfectly illustrating Alvarez’s skill with tension, showing so much while telling so little. It serves as a well-timed reminder of why Alvarez is such a lauded writer, and grounds the reader once again in the real dangers apparent in the lives of the characters, just before letting them go.
This book should appeal to those looking for slower-paced, cerebral works that are thought provoking and touch on a variety of current issues. Despite the short length and what the blurb on the book jacket says, it is not a novel that will make for a quick or easy read. It’s a work that takes some commitment and focus from the reader, and while it doesn’t offer as much as I’d hoped in terms of lasting insight, it does reward the careful reader with some truly beautiful passages and passing thoughts from a writer who has perfected their craft.
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