I have a bit of a love-hate relationship with Anne Tyler; I find her books a bit hit and miss. I’m enjoying this one so far, though. Based on what I’ve heard so far, and the back cover blurb, the novel’s about what it means to “belong” in a country, even when you’ve lived in it for a long time. Particularly pertinent for me, having lived in the US for almost 7 years (although not continuously; I’ve been in Boston for 5 years now). For the most part I feel like this is my home; in many ways I’m more comfortable here than in Australia (and just the other day, someone mentioned that they just don’t think of me as an international student, presumably because English is my first language), but I’m also regularly reminded that this isn’t the place I grew up. It’s mainly small frustrations: having strangers understand what I’m trying to communicate, remembering to use American-English vocabulary (I’ve no idea what will happen to me if I ever go back to Australia on a permanent basis, and there’s a whole lot of words that I’ve forgotten which is the Australian-English version, and which is the American-English), having a good intuition of how people think, tentatively checking if things that are acceptable in Australia are acceptable here. Of course, this is what makes the world interesting, and Boston is international enough that I’m not reallythat much of a novelty.

She awoke before dawn, when the sky was still a pearly white and the birds were barely stirring. One of the cardinals on her block had a habit of omitting the second note of his call and repeating just the first in a flinty, bright staccato. “Vite! Vite! Vite!” he seemed to be saying, like an overeager Frenchman. A jet plane crossed the hightest windowpanes perfectly level, perfectly silent, and somethimes a wan translucent moon still hung behind the neighbours’ maple tree. (254)

This book disappointed me. The premise sounded fascinating: two families adopt Korean children. One couple is a typical, white, yuppy couple. The other is an Iranian family. The story is mostly told from the perspective of Maryam, the Iranian grandmother.

The book’s strength is its depiction of the lives of Iranian immigrants to America. The snapshots of the customs and culture are intriguing. The examination of the dilemmas immigrants face is poignant and believable.

But beyond this, the book falls short. There is so much potential for something deeper and meaningful in the plot, but that potential is squandered. Throughout the book, I felt like something was missing. It felt shallow to me. The characters were two-dimensional, the story plodded along. I think I would have liked to see the author explore the different issues the two families faced in raising a child from a different culture. She only lightly touches on this. I would have liked to understand the other characters better, but the story is told almost exclulsively from Maryam’s perspective.

Overall, I didn’t enjoy the book and I was relieved when I finished it. The ending was anti-climatic and the characters didn’t hold my imagination after I turned that last page. Not recommended.

This is one of my favorite Anne Tyler books. I really enjoyed it. If I had any criticism, it would be that towards the end of the book, the girls seemed to speak in a way that most 5 years old would not! (Having a 5 and 6 year old myself). I like Tylers bookss, because they deal with issues that everyone faces, and yet I always have a pleasant feeling about the experience of reading her.

I generally like Anne Tyler’s books very much despite the fact that there tends to be a certain same-iness about them. I guess that there are a fair number of people out there who dislike Anne Tyler’s book for precisely that reason. Digging to America deftly looks at what it’s like to be a foreigner in America and at the ideas of belonging and not (quite) belonging. It has the elements of a classic/typical Anne Tyler book, but there is something new and different about it as well. Something I can’t quite put my finger on, but something that I like very much.

P.S. As I read the descriptions of Iranian meals and culture and history, I recalled that Tyler’s late husband was himself Iranian; I think that coloured the way I read the book, because I could see a personal connection between the author and her subject and I found that quite touching.