Consider, he continues in this memorable portrait of Latino family life, the case of his grandparents, who fled from civil-war-torn Mexico to the United States in 1910. As they traveled north, his father told Villaseñor, "Cannons were blasting. People were screaming and dying. The creeks ran red with blood." But Villaseñor's grandmother's stories about "the stars, the moon, the she-fox" kept the children's minds off the terrors around them, guiding them to their new homeland and shaping family history. That history provides the grist for Villaseñor's exuberantly spinning mill, yielding a sprawling narrative shot through with touches of magical realism and homespun philosophy, and tinged occasionally with regret--as when, for instance, Villaseñor's mother confesses, "I miss your father so much ... but I'm the one who could never bring myself to tell him that I loved him."
But sorrow is rare and humor plentiful as Villaseñor affectionately recounts his relatives' travails and improbable dreams, some of which, like a grandfather's quest for gold in a hidden Mexican canyon, come true. As he writes, Villaseñor underscores the importance of tradition, faith, forgiveness, and, yes, good stories in making life livable, and this good story will please many readers. --Gregory McNamee