Writing about death is difficult to do well; its cliches seem almost as inevitable as death itself. Yet in its unhurried aphoristic style, its frequent appeal to the work of other contemporary authors and the plurality of its narrative structure, Talking to Ourselves announces itself a collaborative effort to forge a new vocabulary of grief. It meets with qualified success in this regard. Alternately told by Elena, her dying husband, Mario, and their oblivious young son Lito, the novel takes place as father and son embark on a road trip that Mario hopes will serve as a valedictory memory of their relationship. If this storyline is occasionally prone to mawkishness, it nevertheless performs an important narrative function: in absenting the two male characters, it opens up a space for Elena to pursue a passionate and melancholy affair at home. As she attempts to reassert her own youth by placing death at a distance from her body, Elena's emotions swing back and forth between gusto, guilt and grief. Her portrait is expertly handled; it is writing about death done well.
