A review by maria_hossain
My Letters To Conceição by Jorge Molina del Callejo

2.0

I tried, for a long time, to review this book. At first, when I was around 60% of the book, I thought for sure this is gonna be my new favorite book. I mean, any book with the protagonist limerent over someone is definitely my jam.

Then, the book took a 180° plunge away from what it was ranting about the first 60% of it and took a new turn.

A weird, weird turn.

So, basically the story is about this guy named Vasco who's been limerent about his first love, an ex named Conceição for decades. They dated when he was 15/16 and she was 22. They were distantly related and their first time together felt like a rape from his coercing side tbh. But nevertheless, they dated until they were caught by her mom and Conceição broke it off with him. Ever since, Vasco can't clamber out of his weird obsessive, possessive, depressive mental state. Years later, he receives the news of Conceição's death and once again, plunges into a deeper, more intense possessive, obsessive, depressive state of mind until something weird happens to him. He dreams about a Cambodian woman named Sok Meta who is weeping beside a river with a gruesome dead body beside her. Slowly, from more consecutive dreams, Vasco comes to the conclusion that Sok Meta is his soulmate, not Conceição as he'd thought of most of his life, and goes on a wild goose chase across the world looking for Sok Meta. Finally, he finds the river where he met her in his dreams and learns that he's too late. That Sok Meta had committed suicide after suffering from PTSD since the 70s, when the Khmer Rouge genocide occurred and she lost her entire family.

So basically, the book is about (the first 60% anyway) Vasco being in an obsessive, possessive, depressive state of mind about Conceição and her death and their past before he meets Sok Meta. He's such an asshole during this entire time. An unreliable narrator, he's always passive aggressively angry at Conceição. While mourning for her, he has so many hallucinations, he desperately needed some psychiatric help. He's jealous of people who are in love. He often meets and befriends people whose hearts have been broken one way or another. He looks for signs and meanings where there aren't any. He possessively tries to control Yuriko, one of his girlfriend's life aka making her wear clothes he likes, not what she likes, etc etc. He travels the world immediately after his break-up with Conceição as in an "out of sight, out of mind" way. He desperately looks for her replacement and laments when he can't find any. He clings to the belief that once he finds his true soulmate, he'll recover from his heartbreak. Conceição permeates his every thought, no matter where he goes. He sleeps with one of his best friends in the Philippines, Mutya, and thus their friendship falls apart, until finally, it mends somehow. He acts jealous, petty, and bitter when he learns that Conceição's first love, Francisco, was the one true love in her life and that she'd treasured all his letters to her. He suffers from insomnia but doesn't seem worried about it. He refuses to attend his dead cousin, Paolo's funeral, who'd committed suicide and subconsciously narrates his reason behind his intense dislike for Paolo, whose other character traits hadn't bothered him, no matter how despicable they are, until Vasco learns that Paolo had slept with Conceição after their breakup and goes on to brutally criticize his dead cousin and shame his dead ex in his letters to her. At one point, his depression worsened so much that he starved himself and suffered from severe malnutrition and anxiety. He has an unrealistically ideal notion of soulmate and compares his own unfaithfulness to Conceição one time sleeping with Paolo; even though Vasco was dating Yuriko when he met and slept with Ada, not like Conceição who slept with Paolo after she and Vasco broke it off. He obsesses over Conceição and Paolo sleeping and being bitterly jealous about it.

I mean, this guy is almost a public hazard. He needed some serious psychiatric help but he never sought them. The whole book is one long monologue from him to his dead ex, first about their past, then about some soulmate he tragically never got to be with.

God, give me a medal for surviving this intolerable book!!

I'd give it one star had Vasco not visited Bangladesh and admired the eating culture there. Unlike other Westerners, he did not criticize our tradition of eating food with our right hands. Only because of this did I add one more star to this dismal, despair, depressive book.

Thank you, NetGalley and Incorgnito Publishing Press, for providing me with an eARC in exchange for my honest opinion.