Monkey Boy by Francis Goldman

The genre of what is termed auto-fiction--which is essentially fictionalizing your memoir, is one that I am not hugely fond of, but does seem to be all the rage. There is quite a bit of the underbelly of American style racism and discrimination, mixed with what have been a slightly annoying kid that makes the book interesting as a commentary of the author's experience. The year is 2007 and 49-year-old Francisco (a.k.a. Frank or Frankie Gee), just off a dangerous stint doing investigative journalism in Mexico City, is on his way from New York City to Boston to visit his Mamita in a nursing home. That’s the plot. But the literal train ride is mostly a pretext for the train of thought Frank conducts along the way, with stopovers at key points in his past, reflections on recent political history and speculations about his romantic prospects. While hoping to coax some old secrets out of his memory-challenged mother — about her ancestry, her girlhood, her long, unhappy marriage to his father — Frank (both the man and the author) is clearly trying to make sense of his own experience.