Author Michael Nava writes in this 2020 revision of his seventh Rios novel that when he finished Rag and Bone in 1999, he planned for it to be his last Henry Rios novel. He had become a staff attorney for the California Supreme Court and was increasingly involved in working to diversify the bar and judiciary. He was, quite simply, too busy.
However, as Nava explains, his books remained in print and were being taught and written about in academic settings because “Rios remained a singular figure in American literature—a gay, professional, man of color, brainy, articulate, complicated and often conflicted. In a culture that regarded, and still often regards, Mexican Americans as a simple race of maids and gardeners, he was an anomaly, a challenge.”
Nava further states that when he first wrote his Rios novels, big publishing houses—which remain largely white, straight, male, and based on the East Coast---thought there might be a profit in gay publications. When that money failed to roll in, however, gay writers found it as hard to be published as did Latinix writers.
At the conclusion of his afterward, Nava writes that “I like to imagine an America whose national literature acknowledges, incorporates, celebrates and promotes all of its communities. Such a literature would, I believe, ultimately teach us not so much about our specific differences—whether ethnic, racial, sexual or gender-based—but about our commonalities. But it would not do in the simplistic “we’re-all-brothers-under-the-skin” ideology…that was an assimilationist ideology that implicitly (and sometimes not so implicitly) demanded that everyone adopt the values and culture of the white, middle-class, Protestant Americans who were then a majority.
I imagine a literature that shows the struggles of people who insist on honoring and preserving their authentic identities against the tentacles of bigotry in all its macro-and-micro forms because they know a life lived on someone else’s terms in not worth living.”
I think it for this reason that I love Michael Nava’s books. When I taught literature courses in high school and even in college, my primary focus was American literature. But the anthologies used by the schools largely portrayed the United States as white, straight, middle-class, male, and Christian. This always seemed wrong to me. Not only was this picture an incomplete look at the country, but it was also a lie, and was a tool for promoting and supporting the dominant culture while ignoring, erasing, or holding back persons on the “outside.”
In the rare instance when a Black, Latinix, female, Muslim, or gay author appeared in the anthologies my school system used, the work almost always promoted assimilationism. Again, this seemed wrong to me. Rather than celebrating humanity and its diversity, literature was being used to tell people to deny themselves to fit in or be second class.
Michael Nava’s gay, Latino protagonist, Henry Rios, refuses to be erased or relegated to second class status. Despite all the pressures against him, he lives his life with integrity.
Rag and Bone falls within the broad mystery genre, but there is not much mystery. Instead, the murder does not occur until halfway through the novel and someone confesses to the killing. Though there is a twist, it was predictable.
Instead, Rag and Bone is more about a family’s struggle to survive—and thrive—in a country that refuses to welcome persons outside the dominant culture. It is about the healing of a broken heart. Today, twenty years after its first publication, the book is still relevant.
Rag and Bone begins when criminal defense attorney, Henry Rios, is in court defending a client when a heart attack sends him to the emergency room. Upon awakening in a hospital bed and seeing his long-estranged sister, he learns his heart had stopped for a full minute; he had died.
While recovering he hints to his sister that his death might not have been so bad. His former lover was dead from AIDS, his law practice was no longer satisfying, and life as a gay Latino was seldom easy.
Once home, however, a good friend from law school tells him he is a possible candidate for a judgeship. And, later after collapsing from chest pains and exhaustion while on while on a walk, he meets John, a working man who offers help and eventually becomes Henry’s lover.
Rios also learns from his estranged sister, Elena, that she had given birth to a daughter many years earlier and given up her baby for adoption. That daughter, Vicky Trujillo, now near 30, has a young son, Angel, and they need Rios’s help. Vicky is a battered woman with a record and her son, who reminds Rios of himself as a young boy with an abusive father, shows signs of future problems.
Then, halfway into the novel, Elena confesses to killing her drug-using husband, and Rios finds himself defending her and taking care of her young son.
Though this plot outline could lead to a melodramatic novel, it does not. Nava integrates its parts to speak about love, loss, commitment, family, the law, and privilege. Through it all, Rios’s humanity, and decency shine through even as he struggles with all that he learns about himself and his family, seeks to reconcile with the past, and welcome the future.
Like Rios, we are also encouraged to reassess our own views of ethnicity, sexual orientation, and class, as well as the “struggles of people who insist on honoring and preserving their authentic identities against the tentacles of bigotry in all its macro-and-micro forms because they know a life lived on someone else’s terms in not worth living.”