Body and Bread
Sam was her polestar, the big brother Sarah always looked up to, the one who could be a little wild, a little defiant, a little mysterious. It was Sam who first showed Sarah the relics and rituals of the ancient tribes that originally settled their corner of the Texas wilderness. In the 1960s, this was heady stuff, and the more Sam got into trouble—a stint in a Mexican jail, a shotgun wedding to the daughter of a farmworker—the more Sarah emulated him. She bleached her hair white blond, set off an explosion that nearly killed her friends, and joined a spiritual commune. Eventually, Sarah would grow weary of such experimentation, finding another polestar in her archaeological studies of Native American cultures. For Sam, however, the quest would not end until he had physically destroyed the source of his self-inflicted pain, leaving behind a family in turmoil. Despite its erratic narrative arc, which leaves many secrets and allegations unexplained, Cuba’s piercing coming-of-age saga vibrates with youthful yearnings. --Carol Haggas