LIKE HAPPINESS

A woman recalls her friendship with a man caught in the grip of the #MeToo movement.

In Santiago in 2015, Tatum Vega lives with her girlfriend, settled into her life as a museum employee far from her working-class roots in San Antonio, Texas. She’s contacted by a journalist from the New York Times who wants to know about her relationship with the writer M. Dominguez, who has been accused of sexual improprieties. Initially reluctant to discuss her friendship with M., whom she knows as Mateo, and cautioning the journalist that she was never sexually mistreated by him, Tatum finally agrees to a series of conversations; eventually, this onslaught of memories causes her to chronicle her time with M. Addressing Mateo in the second person, Tatum recounts her past as a transplanted Tejana at Williams College in Massachusetts, a place she picked so she could be close to the history of literary heroes like Sylvia Plath. Her desire to exist merely as a “pulsating mind” leaves her lonely and largely friendless; her status as Latina in the white-dominated worlds of the arts and humanities leads her to reach out to the Latino author of the short story collection Happiness, her favorite book. The fan letter she writes kickstarts a decade of a (mostly) platonic relationship in which Tatum and Mateo endure failed romances, Mateo struggles to write a novel, and Tatum gradually comes to understand her sexuality. As the chronicle barrels toward the moment when the relationship implodes, Tatum realizes there are many different kinds of violation. Though Villarreal-Moura’s writing style is a bit buttoned-up, her emotionally astute novel offers a moving perspective on the different kinds of victims abusers leave in their wake.

Memorable and incisive, this debut grapples elegantly with the complexity of betrayal.