Daniel A. Olivas’s Chicano Frankenstein is a work of postmodern literature that blends science fiction, political satire, and existentialism. Set in a futuristic Pasadena, California, the novel introduces a society where the deceased are “reanimated” to join the workforce. We follow an unnamed “reanimated” paralegal, referred to as “the man,” as he navigates the deeply prejudiced world around him and his love story with fellow lawyer Faustina Godínez. While the concept of this book is fresh and delves into themes of classism, identity, and the Chicano immigrant experience, the execution falls short.
From the beginning, the prose was overly simplistic and tacky, reminding me of a Wattpad novel I would stumble across in fifth grade. Descriptions were simultaneously underdeveloped yet overexplained, and the dialogue seemed unnatural. For instance, the mix of Spanish and English, while aimed at cultural hybridity, felt forced rather than an innate blend. I also found the humor, especially the race and sex jokes, tasteless and cringy rather than clever. These moments made it hard to immerse myself, and I had to take several pauses out of second-hand embarrassment.
That said, the novel’s intertextuality is worth noting. The way Olivas integrated visual, textual, and historical art into the narrative was compelling. His allusions to pieces including The Walking Man, indigenous gardens, and the shifting of prose styles, such as government transcripts, support his attempted portrayal of fragmented complexity. However, these moments oftentimes felt more educational than organically present in the narrative. For instance, Faustina delivers a two-page-long historical informative session that, while thematically relevant, disrupted the story’s flow and read more like a lecture than character dialogue.
The book’s tone also struggles with inconsistency. One moment, we’re in the middle of a deep political conversation, dealing with realistic themes and issues; the next, we’re reading immature sex jokes between colleagues. In trying to cover so much, like race, immigration, love, and labor exploitation, Chicano Frankenstein ends up unsure about its own identity. Perhaps Olivas wanted to reflect “ the man’s” inner contradictions, or it’s a side effect of rushed writing.
In the end, I found the book disappointing. The premise was interesting and held potential, but the unpolished prose and tonal dissonance prevented it from being fully immersive and impactful. While Chicano Frankenstein is undeniably experimental and ambitious, it ultimately stumbled at the execution.