This is my second Rodriguez book, following Always Running, and I think I'm hooked on him, now. Each short story is impossible to turn away from, and each represents a different sub culture of East LA's Chicano and Mexican cultures. Most importantly, however, each represents a different character and personality, within each of these subcultures. Modern American entertainment tends to lump all minority characters into one revolving cyborg, as if they're all connected to the same brain. Rodriguez's answer to that is introducing us to the real people of East Los Angeles and their real feelings, not only toward America, but toward each other. About as far as mainstream American folkore goes with the latter is the drive by gang war. Rodriguez doesn't leave that out either. But he gives us a different look, one from the "locas", or the women. The issues they face, ranging from violent to romantic to family neglect, will not give you the time to wonder, "what do they see in these guys, anyway?". And to think, we're distracted from this question just reading the book; imagine being in their shoes...

It's this kind of writing that makes people like Rodriguez so important to America today, as unfortunately, stories of culture in places like East Los Angeles die on a vine before reaching the American mainstream household or entertainment venue, which leaves the role of messenger to Hollywood film producers and book publishers, who more often than not give us their own version. What else could explain most mainstream productions of Latino, black, or Asian culture?

I really didn't know what to expect from the book when I got it. I was going on a guess that I would like it having already read the author's previous book Always Running. But the characters are so real and one can see them so clearly and draw on their experiences. I am not from East L.A. so the culture is different from my own in many ways, yet Rodriguez has allowed the reader to empathize with the characters so easily. My favorite story was "Finger Dance," which is about a father called Chi Cho who put his whole soul into his metal work and artistry and "who was feared, respected, and to be honest, just plain ornery," but somehow missed making an important connection with his children (77). As the father's health declines due to dementia and cancer, his son Arturo finds a way of connecting to his father in a way that is very moving. No one can read this story (as well as the other stories), and somehow not come away moved and very impressed.

The Republic of East L.A. is incredible because it talks about the truths of East L.A. Some stories are hard to believe because it is so gruesome and tragic. For example, on page 63, a sixteen-year-old girl named Noemi got raped by some vatos. Furthermore, on page 229, there were women who sold themselves for sex in order to obtain money. However, there are parts of the story that are just funny. For example, on page 64, a freshman girl named Olivia fought over a seat and got suspended. We would recommend The Republic of East L.A because it has an exciting mixture of settings, emotions, and characters. We recommend this book because it talks about betrayal, love, and tragedy. Overall, this book is worth reading.

It's rare to find new literature about Chicanos in Los Angeles. Most I've found is set in the years from 1920 to 1970. This was a breath of fresh air.

I must admit that I hadn't heard of Luis J. Rodriguez before I read the books. What first attracted me to the book was the pretty girl on the cover. While the stories were compelling to me as a Chicano, I think the true beauty of the author's work is a truth that transcends racial and socio-economic background and most importantly, age.

Highly recommended.

Luis J. Rodriguez once again has painted a vibrant and complex picture of those who work, live, love and die in "The Republic of East L.A." Rodriguez's prose is straight-forward yet poetic as he tells us about the varied struggles of cholos/as, a budding journalist, a limousine driver, immigrants, working people, all sorts of gente. My favorite story is "Sometimes You Dance with a Watermelon," where forty-year-old Rosalba (an immigrant living in poverty and already a grandmother) needs to escape her crowded home to get a momentary bit of joy. She rouses her favorite granddaughter, Chila, and they drive to Grand Central Market where they buy a watermelon. Rosalba balances it on her head and starts to walk swaying "back and forth to a salsa beat thundering out of an appliance store." She and Chila get caught up in this joyous dance:

"Rosalba had not looked that happy in a long time as she danced along the bustling streets of the central city in her loose-fitting skirt and sandals. She danced in the shadow of a multi-storied Victorian -- dancing for one contemptuous husband and for another who was dead. She danced for a daughter who didn't love herself enough to truly have the love of another man. She danced for her grandchildren, especially that fireball Chila. She danced for her people, wherever they were scattered, and for this country she would never quite comprehend. She danced, her hair matted with sweat, while remembering a simpler life on an even simpler rancho in Nayarit."

This is a powerful, beautiful collection.

NOTE: This review refers to the paperback edition.