The Bullet Swallower, Simon & Schuster, $27
Twirl a radio dial in much of Mexico, and eventually you’ll happen upon a corrido. Centuries old and nationally cherished, corridos are narrative folk ballads relaying stories of bandits, smugglers, rebels, gunslingers, doomed lovers, and fugitives, typically based on real-life people and events. Sometimes likened to gangsta rap for their gritty, swashbuckling vibe, corridos are full of drama and desperadoes along with tubas and gut-string guitars. They’re one of Mexico’s most exquisite and enduring soundtracks.
It wouldn’t be out. In fact, I recommend it. (Try global sensation Peso Pluma for the freshest take or raspy-voiced Ramón Ayala for a more vintage groove.) That’s because James’s rousing, bullet casing-strewn book could be called a corrido in novel form. Like so many corridos, its roots are sunk in actual events: James based one of its central stories, about a small-time outlaw whose multiple escapes from custody bring down the unholy wrath of the Texas Rangers, on that of her own great-grandfather. His nickname, like her main character’s, was El Tragabalas, or “the bullet swallower.” As well, the narrative has the cantering pulse and emotional urgency of a song, toeing that warbly line between drama and melodrama. All that’s lacking is an old-time corrido’s oompah rhythm.
