Yikes.
You'll note that one of my shelves for this book is "somehow the movie was better". That's because, roughly 100 pages into this boring peasant festival, I watched the 1936 movie with Loretta Young (who is shockingly NOT half-Indian) playing Ramona and some Italian chap(who is incredibly not Indian) in a terrible wig playing Alessandro. The romance/love story is hyped up and the conflict between the Indians and the whites is almost nonexistent so, obviously, there's a love quadrangle. See, Margarita, who yearns for Alessandro, hates Ramona, who is totes in love with Alessandro. Ramona is loved so much by her sorta-adopted brother, Felipe, (who in no way wants to be her brother) that he is willing to let her marry Alessandro, who was instantly struck by Ramona's beauty and is deeply in love with her. Presided over this is a bitchy matron lady who is Ramona's father's former fiancee's sister and no one is good enough for her son, Felipe. Sounds like a drama filled mess, right? Well, it was actually pretty good. It was in technicolor and evvverything.
But this is not a space for reviewing the movie, much as I'd actually rather do just that...
So the book. It's supposed to be an epic love story/tale of true love tested. Well, if by that you mean "horrifyingly lengthy love triangle fraught with tragic circumstances, angst, and depression that is as dull as the Amazon River is long", then BOOM, you're right on point.
There's one scene where Ramona is actually dying due to her not being able to be in Alessandro's presence because he is gone for a week. Then one night, Ramona awakes and knows, just knows that Alessandro is near. So she hops out of bed, sprightly as you please, and wanders around the estate until she finds him. Is it just me, or does that sound highly ridiculous?
But really, I think the shining highlight of this whole gem is the last 100 pages. Let me elaborate.
Ramona and Alessandro's land is stolen from them by the American Government, who sold it off to some white people. Their baby dies. Depression sinks in. They have another baby. Alessandro is shot and killed. Ramona is incapacitated by grief and is practically at death's door. Felipe shows up and, after an (maybe) appropriate amount of time, professes his undying love for Ramona, who agrees to marry him only because he's been so helpful and she does love him, but SHE LOVES HIM LIKE A BROTHER. They have a bunch of kids, Felipe is blissfully happy, Ramona appears to never be truly happy again, and Ramona 2.0 is the prettiest and bestest and most specialest of all the kids, because her dad was Alessandro.
Ugh.
I'll admit that the writing of the book, barring any and all dialogue, is really quite decent, but I could not, in any way, get into the story. This book was supposed to bring the people to a better understanding of the plight of the Native Americans, and it was supposed to accomplish this through the characters, but I found it to be so much more an depressing lengthy love story than anything else. But it doesn't even matter what was the point, because I didn't care for any of it.