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The narrator—later revealed to be Yunior, a Dominican American man loosely based on the author—introduces the concept of fukú americanus. Fukú is a curse introduced to the Taíno people of Hispaniola in 1492 by Christopher Columbus, whom Yunior refuses to mention by name and will only refer to as “the Admiral.”
To Yunior’s parents’ generation, fukú was particularly palpable, thanks to the rise of the Dominican Republic’s ruthless dictator Rafael Leónidas Trujillo Molina, who ruled from 1930 to 1961. Anyone who challenged Trujillo or his successors was at the mercy of fukú, including the United States, which tried to assassinate Trujillo under President Kennedy and which launched an invasion of the Dominican Republic under President Johnson. Yunior names the Kennedy assassination, the broader “Kennedy curse,” and the Vietnam War as consequences of fukú. Meanwhile, the story of Oscar de León, the book’s protagonist, is another—albeit less grandiose—example of fukú.
Finally, Yunior introduces zafa, a counterspell invoked to combat the effects of fukú. Yunior hopes that this book is a form of zafa.
Oscar de León is an overweight Dominican American teenager living in Paterson, New Jersey, with his cancer-stricken mother, Belicia, his older sister, Lola, and his heroin-addicted tío (uncle), Rudolfo. Shortly after his birth, his father—who goes unnamed for the entirety of the book—abandoned the family.
Unlike most of his Dominican peers, Oscar is woefully unsuccessful at attracting women, save for a brief period at the age of seven when he dated Maritza Chacón and Olga Polanco simultaneously. In the absence of any kind of romantic life, Oscar immerses himself in science fiction, fantasy, superhero comics, and tabletop role-playing games like Dungeons & Dragons.
By his sophomore year at Don Bosco Tech, Oscar weighs 245 pounds. His only friends are Al and Miggs, two other social outcasts with whom he spends hours playing Dungeons & Dragons. Unlike Al, Miggs, and nearly every other student at Don Bosco, Oscar uses an expansive vocabulary that only further alienates him from his classmates. His lack of success with women isn’t due to a lack of interest; rather, Oscar is a “passionate enamorao who fell in love easily and deeply” (23).
Oscar’s only true ally is Lola, his tough, beautiful, and practical older sister who, after a wild period in her early high school years, is now mature beyond her years. However, Oscar struggles to incorporate her sound advice to start exercising and stop reading porn into his daily routine. He quickly abandons his morning walks, which only serve to highlight how many beautiful women there are in Paterson and how little they are interesting with him.
In his senior year, after even Al and Miggs find girlfriends, Oscar decides that if he is doomed to be alone, he might as well devote his energy to more productive pursuits, like writing. Around this time, Oscar meets a cute girl in his SAT prep class named Ana Obregón. When he tells Lola about Ana, she says, “You better go bust out some crunches, Mister” (35)—“Mister” being the nickname she uses for Oscar in her most tender moments. In the first indication that the narrator is a character in the book, Yunior says, “Later [Lola]’d wanted to put [Mister] on his gravestone but no one would let her, not even me. Stupid” (36).
Over time, Oscar and Ana start going to McDonald’s, the mall, and the movies regularly. Unlike his former infatuations with women from afar, Oscar falls in love with Ana as he gets to know her. The longer Oscar’s nervousness prevents him from kissing Ana, however, the further he falls into what Yunior calls “one of those Let’s-Be-Friends Vortexes, the bane of nerdboys everywhere” (41). Oscar’s hopes are decisively shattered when Ana’s abusive ex-boyfriend Manny returns from the military, to Ana’s great delight.
Ignoring Lola’s advice, Oscar continues to dote on Ana, who now speaks of little else other than Manny—whether it’s the impressive size of his penis or the increasingly frequent beatings she suffers at his hands. Meanwhile, Oscar stops writing as his thoughts turn increasingly dark and apocalyptic. One night, he steals his tío Rudolfo’s gun and stands outside Manny’s apartment building all night waiting for his arrival; fortunately, Manny never shows.
After graduation, Ana goes to Penn State, and Oscar attends nearby Rutgers-New Brunswick, where Lola is a student. He expects college to be an improvement, but he is still a social outcast who enjoys zero success with women.
Lola takes over as narrator. At the age of 12, Lola is called into the bathroom by Belicia. Fearing one of her mother’s frequent fits of anger, Lola is surprised to find Belicia standing in front of the mirror bare-chested. She guides Lola’s hand over a cancerous lump in her breast. Within months, Belicia undergoes a mastectomy and numerous chemotherapy treatments, which cause her hair to fall out.
By age 14, Lola has grown increasingly rebellious, directing her resentment toward her mother. This is the age, Lola says, when she stops believing her mother when she calls her stupid, ugly, and worthless. Gradually, Lola transforms from a nerdy kid who reads Watership Down and dresses as Wonder Woman on Halloween into a “punk chick.” She starts staying out all night and getting into massive fights with her mother, who is no less formidable than ever, despite her illness.
The August after her sophomore year, Lola drops out of school and runs away with a 19-year-old carny named Aldo. He lives in Wildwood on the Jersey Shore with his mean, elderly father, who makes him stay in the room with the cat’s litter box. That night, Lola loses her virginity to Aldo in that very room, surrounded by filth and kitty litter.
By November, Lola is miserable, and in a moment of weakness she calls home. When Oscar answers, she asks him to meet her at a coffee shop on the boardwalk with money, books, and clothes. Oscar betrays her, bringing Belicia to the coffee shop. Lola runs, and Belicia pursues her, falling down in the process. Unable to leave her mother lying there sick, crying, and bald, Lola turns around to see if Belicia is okay. Having faked both the fall and the tears, Belicia leaps to her feet and grabs Lola.
Belicia sends Lola to Santo Domingo, the capital of the Dominican Republic, to live with La Inca, whom Lola refers to as “abuela” but who is really her deceased grandfather’s cousin. There, Lola thrives as her school’s top track runner. She begins dating a kind boy named Max Sánchez who transports film reels between movie theaters by bicycle.
Over time, Lola’s feelings of restlessness return. Sensing this restlessness, La Inca sits Lola down to tell her Belicia’s story for the first time.
Through his narrator, Yunior, Díaz litters his prose with Dominican slang, Spanish neologisms of the author’s own design, and countless references to comic books, fantasy, and science fiction—in short, what would come to be termed “geek culture” or “nerd culture” in the early 2000s. According to The Annotated Oscar Wao website, there are over 130 Spanish language, terms, neologisms, and pop culture references in Chapter 1 alone (The Annotated Oscar Wao. www.annotated-oscar-wao.com). These range from Spanish phrases with no precise translation—like “dale un galletazo” (14), which literally means “give a cookie,” but which in context reads more like “slap the girl with the back of your hand”—to references to comic books that are relatively obscure to mainstream audiences, like Gordon Rennie’s White Trash: Moronic Inferno.
Some readers may view the reference-heavy prose as little more than winking to audiences, as Díaz proves his Dominican and nerdboy bonafides. However, particularly with the Spanish phrases, the language gives Yunior an authentic voice that captures the dialect of the Dominican diaspora. Moreover, the incorporation of nerd culture into this dialect captures the code-switching world Oscar inhabits, wherein he spends all day at school and at the dinner table surrounded by Dominican Americans before retreating into his world of fantasy/science-fiction cinema, literature, and role-playing at night. In the late 1980s, when Oscar’s narrative begins, The Lord of the Rings and Marvel Comics had not yet been adapted into billion-dollar film franchises nor suffused into mainstream culture. Thus, these references brand Oscar as an outsider, especially in the context of Dominican culture but also in the broader American culture at that time.
This outsider status is apparent throughout high school, but it is especially painful for Oscar when he reaches college, where he expected to finally find a circle of friends who understand him. The White kids, whom he hopes will be less likely to judge him for his nerdy tastes, treat him with “inhuman cheeriness.” Meanwhile, Yunior says, “The kids of color, upon hearing him speak and seeing him move his body, shook their heads. You're not Dominican. And he said, over and over again, but I am. Soy Dominicano. Dominicano soy” (49).
In an interview with author Edwidge Dandicat, Díaz described the inspiration for Oscar and how Oscar relates to his own identity and upbringing:
Oscar was a composite of all the nerds that I grew up with who didn't have that special reservoir of masculine privilege. Oscar was who I would have been if it had not been for my father or my brother or my own willingness to fight or my own inability to fit into any category easily. (Dandicat, Edwidge. “Junot Díaz.” Bomb Magazine. Fall 2007.)
This idea of “masculine privilege” is explored in greater detail later in the book, when Oscar and Yunior finally meet and their separate understandings of Dominican male identity collide.
Oscar’s dual identities also reflect a broader dichotomy felt by members of modern diasporas: the blurred division between the Old Country and the New Country. In a world where an immigrant’s country-of-origin is only a plane ride away, the old traditions—and, in Yunior’s telling, the old curses—remain. In his review of The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, The Nation’s William Deresiewicz writes that for Caribbean immigrants of the late 20th century, “[a]ssimilation is less certain, involvement with the homeland more intimate and more fraught. [...] [F]amilies can remain suspended between two places, two languages and the claims of two discordant histories.” (Deresiewicz, William. “Fukú Americanus.” The Nation. 26 Nov. 2007.)
Díaz also employs many elements of metafiction in the work, reflecting the influence of other major novels of the preceding 10 years, particularly David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest and Dave Eggers’s A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius. This influence is most noticeable in the dozens of footnotes Díaz includes in the text. These are opportunities for Yunior to temporarily hit pause on the narrative and to talk to the reader directly, often about authorial decisions pertaining to the text itself. Later on, for example, Yunior frequently preempts potential objections from Dominican readers whenever his narrative threatens to become too sentimental or his characters too stereotypical.
This explicit recognition of authorship, combined with the authenticity of the book’s narrative voice, sometimes gives the impression that Díaz/Yunior is telling the story as he would to a friend in a casual setting. In other moments, as in the Introduction and especially in Chapter 3, Yunior characterizes himself as “your humble Watcher” (4), a reference to a race of fictional aliens from The Fantastic Four who watch over the multiverse but are prohibited from interfering. This characterization echoes Yunior’s later actions with respect to Oscar, in that his efforts to help Oscar are often half-hearted and ineffective.
Finally, the author introduces the book’s central moral cosmology with the concepts of fukú and zafa. While Díaz hardly invented Caribbean folk tales or the idea that Christopher Columbus and other Europeans brought a curse on the region, the exact terms “fukú” and “zafa”—at least with respect to Dominican culture—appear to be his own creations. While the generational trauma passed on since 1492 is very palpable and real, by naming it and giving it a supernatural origin, Díaz frames his narrative as the kind of Manichaean struggle between good and evil found in Oscar’s comic books. Viewing racism, oppression, and hardship through this lens is a comfort to Oscar; if the source of one’s pain is supernatural, then there must be an equal and opposite supernatural force capable of wiping that pain away. However, particularly in the chapters that focus on Lola and Belicia, Díaz will actively undercut the notion that mystical forces are to blame for most hardship, when in fact trauma is rooted in complex sociopolitical dynamics and human behavior.
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