The House of Broken Angels

Not long after burying his own mother, Big Angel de La Cruz, the revered, terminally ill patriarch of a large Mexican-American family gathers his kin for one final celebration before he says goodbye. Attending him are his wife, Perla, his daughter Minerva/”La Minnie,” his son Lalo, and his half-American half-brother and namesake Little Angel, among others. Past and present converge as Big Angel’s memories illuminate his final days.

Luis Alberto Urrea’s 2018 novel comes from what is likely a place of pain. Like Little Angel, Urrea has had to juggle Mexican and American identities, and also like Little Angel, the author recently lost an older brother. But despite this inherently sorrowful premise, The House of Broken Angels is far from being simply a sad read. Urrea tempers the novel with vivid writing and equal parts humor and pathos.

Though Big Angel is arguably the focal point, The House of Broken Angels tells a multigenerational story from a variety of perspectives. The sheer number of characters is a chore to keep up with though few, if any, are dull. Perla, outwardly the doting wife, still bitterly recalls being scorned by her in-laws as a dark-skinned peasant. Lalo, a weary military veteran, lives in the shadow of his murdered brother, whom his own son presses him to avenge. The relationship between the two Angels is also fraught with tension as the two live in different worlds despite sharing mutual respect as well as a name. There’s also a benevolent priest, a tyrannical boat captain uncle, and a grand-nephew who plays in a metal band as The Satanic Hispanic.

The novel’s tones are every bit as rich and diverse as its cast. Urrea pokes gentle fun at border Spanglish and the Mexican preoccupation with impractically large American cars. However, he also offers sincere critiques of stereotyping, machismo, and classism.

All of this makes for a rewarding read, but it would have to be given the book’s nearly fatal flaw: an at-times stultifying lack of momentum. The House of Broken Angels dispenses with a conventional plot in favor of a series of character sketches, and not since Mrs Dalloway has a book, in its worst moments, felt so listless and stalled. The saving grace here is that there are enough humorous, humanizing, shocking, or otherwise compelling beats in both the past (a brazen attempt to smuggle a green parrot across the border) and present (Big Angel stubbornly trying to act on his attraction to his wife despite the limits imposed by his failing health) to compensate for its structural incoherence and bouts of tedium.

The House of Broken Angels has as much capacity to alienate as it does to captivate, but for those who are willing to look past its inconsistencies and character bloat, it is meaningful, impassioned, and warm. For a book ostensibly about dying, it is remarkably full of life.

NOTE: Urrea narrates the audiobook version himself and does a fantastic job.