Trouble hunts some people down, while others seem to effortlessly avoid its camouflaged clutches. And still others charge headfirst into its clumsy, but firm grip.
Robert Lomos, the 16-year-old protagonist of Manuel Luis Martinez's latest offering, "Drift," wears his pain proudly all over his body. For him, trouble serves as his only reliable companion, besides his aged and ever working Grams.
Abandoned by his rambling father, a womanizing and party-hungry Tejano musician, circumstances forced Robert to quickly grow up and become the man of the house, caring for his innocent and perceptive little brother and his frail and mentally anguished mother.
But the stress from the daily challenges of a broken home quickly overwhelmed his mother and she, too, leaves Robert, taking his little brother with her to California where her overbearing sister wrapped her in a protective cocoon.
Written in the first person, the free-flowing, steam-of-consciousness-driven novel opens at Sunnydale Christian Academy in the barely fictionalized version of San Antonio where Robert lives now with his grandmother.
Sunnydale represents a last ditch effort by Grams to keep Robert, who has been kicked out of two school districts in just as many years, from becoming a "burro" like her.
Although the school is strict and even degrading - making the students raise a flag to go to the bathroom - Robert plays along so he can realize an abstract plan to follow his mother to the Promise Land of Orange County.
Although it has its share of bumps and dips, the narration develops much more smoothly than Robert's scheme, which seems inevitably doomed by the boy's own self-destructive notions. These notions pull and push the troubled youth, like a deceptively calm river, towards rocks, rapids, and a great, final fall, while his bruised and battered body drifts along for the ride.
Painful and frustrating, Robert's journey towards the verge of either oblivion or manhood and his swift plunge over the edge also compel the reader along with concealed currents.
These currents, however, spring from the reader's own history, a checkered past mixed up with a city that is simultaneously beautiful and dangerous, inviting and repulsive.
Robert shares this same confused, yet powerfully intimate relationship with San Antonio. The reader immediately empathizes with Robert, who makes references to the molinos, the "Edgewood School District," la matanza, the Alizondo Courts and the yerba buena of the West Side.
And while the educational system would be quick to label him as "at risk," we quickly realize he is no typical juvenile delinquent when he alludes to "Slaughterhouse-Five," "Catch 22," and "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas."
His love of books and aversion to school, however, does place him squarely in a stereotype cornered by another literary character: Holden Caulfield from "Catcher in the Rye."
Although a strong comparison could be made between the two - both on a journey, both dropouts with strong ties to distant siblings - Robert is far more, well, likeable.
And while Holden's aversion to phonies seemed sometimes paranoid, Robert's demons are not so subtle. They scramble to meet him, beat him and kick out his four front teeth.
Still, Robert keeps getting up, and we root for the barrio boy each time, hoping he makes good, because when he stands up he stands for all the disregarded, misunderstood, underrepresented young men struggling on the West Side of our San Anto.

Truth may be stranger than fiction, but fiction usually has a more compelling dramatic arc. Usually.
Writer Alfredo José Estrada, however, dresses his fiction in the tattered and draping gown of truth, leaving the story to stumble and trip even as it parades down Calle Obispo de Havana.
The magazine editor's first attempt at a full length novel dives into the murky salt waters of the Gulf Stream and emerges on a bustling island almost 70 years in the past, dripping with details gleamed from periodicals and biographies.
Like the winding, enigmatic streets of some shadowy, seasoned city, Estrada's tale, "Welcome to Havana, Señor Hemingway," twists and turns, and the reader must often backtrack after running directly into a dead end.
Rich and exotic, the world painted by Estrada, we quickly learn, is much like our own. While many of his characters live fantastical lives, they deal with love and the loss of love as ineptly and clumsily as any of us.
The harsh reality of terrorism adds to the timeliness of the narrative, which slips from actual accounts into the thoughts and feelings of the characters, leaving readers incredulous. Still, bomb blasts and the staccato of Thompson submachine guns yank us back into Estrada's world - the years and moments just before the Cuban revolution of 1933 - whenever we start to drift like his daydreaming protagonists Javier.
Estrada blends reality and fiction ceaselessly, if not seamlessly, starting the novel with this sentence: "My grandfather once knocked down Ernest Hemingway, or so I was told."
And with that we are taken into an investigation of the life of the grandfather, Javier, and his rocky relationship with Hemingway.
But the novel swings focus like the light tower of Castillo del Morro, illuminating in pulses the troubled lives of its players.
Estrada uses the frenzied exploits of Hemingway - whose ghost remains strong in Cuba - as his beacon, defining his other characters by the way they refract his brilliance.
But like a moth to the flame, Estrada is unable to resist Hemingway's light, letting the larger-than-life writer who preferred to be called "Papa" draw the entire story into himself, leaving a vacuum where a novel should be.
The romp through Cuba, however, proves fun and educational. Leaving empty bottles of Hatuey in our wake, we tear across Havana, from the Zombie Club to the Alhambra, sucking down crabmeat and clams on the way.
We also encounter characters too numerous to track - Jane Mason, Jack Halsey, Tom Beales, the infamous El Zurdo, Kiki Herrera and Leopoldina la Honesta - and watch many of them meet death and disaster as revolution rips apart Havana.
But predominately the creations of Estrada meet disappointment and failure, and while that may or may not be an accurate depiction of real life it makes for a novel that comes up short.
The exploits of Hemingway on the high seas, searching for a great old marlin, fill many of the books pages. Towards the end of the novel, after Javier finally blackens Papa's eye, Hemingway hooks the big fish. His efforts, however, prove irrelevant as the marlin makes a dramatic escape and we are left wondering, what was the point?
After the insubstantial conclusion, Estrade writes, "Each book is a conspiracy," and like so many conspiracies "Welcome to Havana" amounts to a whole lot of nada.

Sonia Manzano makes magic out of the un-urbane urban life in "No Dogs Allowed." She brings her years of experience enchanting ordinary city living straight from Sesame Street, where she has won 15 Emmys as a staff writer and played the role of Maria for over 30 years.
In her first attempt at children's literature, Manzano continues to represent Latinas as strong, creative individuals with her main character, Iris. But the story line also gives Manzano the opportunity to study many of the other diverse characters that fill Iris' life.
Recounted in the first person by Iris, the tale, at times, compels the reader to sing, "These are the people in her neighborhood, in her neighborhood..." Well, at least for this reader.
The plot is simple: Iris' extended family, along with a dozen of their closest friends, and the grocer, head to the beach at Enchanted Lake for a picnic.
But, along the way, they encounter logistical complications. They get lost and cars break down. Luckily, the caravan brings a copious supply of food, books, and love to keep them occupied on their long journey. Iris entertains herself by playing with her dog, El Exigente.
Although spirits remain undamped by the challenges the group gallantly engages, a single sign casts a dark cloud over what should have been a picture-perfect picnic: "NO DOGS ALLOWED."
Not to worry. Teamwork and a little ingenuity save the day and a good time is had by all, including the dog, the one being read to and the reader.

Manzano's characters - while oversimplified conventions with names like Mami the Busy and Carmen the Beautiful - are familiar and full of life.
The illustrations by Jon Muth capture the chaos and beauty of family outings, exaggerating the discord of it all. A fine balance is created by his strong, distinct pen and soft water colors. At times his work, the penultimate depiction showing a panoramic view of a sunset, for example, is surprisingly poignant and hauntingly beautiful.
Animated, vigorous, and fun, "No Dogs Allowed" is a comforting story set in a mixed up world, appropriate for these uncertain times.

We played a game around the office. We took turns reading the captions under the pictures in "Who You Callin' a Cheetah?" and guessing the accompanying picture. Here, let's play:
"Monica was jealous because Marvin was always siding with the neighbors."
Now take a guess at the illustration. If you guessed a woman nervously looking on as Marvin helps the neighbors attach siding to their house then you pretty much understand the concept behind Lloyd Leifer's first stab at professional authorship. (Insert picture of Lloyd thrusting a dagger into Stephen King here.)
Reminiscent of Gary Larson's "Far Side" strips, but lacking the biting wit, the illustrations, sketched by the capable hand of Michael Zittel, dutifully follow Leifer's gloriously obvious puns straight into coffee-table perdition.
On the other hand, it's kind of fun guessing at those pictures. Let's play again:
"As usual, the tamales disagreed with Milton."
That's right, the tamales are actually standing up on the plate arguing with a frustrated Milton. And the book goes on like that for another 80 pages.
Some people, like Leiffer, really love puns and it doesn't matter how forced, obvious, or ridiculous they may be. If you are one of those people then you are probably still laughing as you imagine Mexican food challenging a balding, overweight man named Milton and this puny paperback primer is for you.
Others, however, are still puzzling over why a lion is playing poker with a tiger and a cheetah. A fifteen-year-old, for example, who skimmed the collection of capricious cartoons, needed the cover explained three times before her eyes brightened with epiphany. This book would be good for her, too. With a little patience she could actually improve her verbal acumen, gradually grasping the multi-meanings of words like "customs," "swat," "chum," and "retainer."
Still, for the most part, making choices like "sit," "raise," and "stay," Leifer plays on simpler, duller words. (Insert picture of Leifer frolicking on top of a statuesque "blunt.")
Well-intentioned, harmless fodder for the whole family, "Cheetah" invites the readers to have some fun crafting their own puns. How bad could they be?
Pick up a copy of "Who You Callin' a Cheetah" and find out.

If you grew up watching those "Jaws" movies then Nancy Field's educational and environmentally friendly children's paperback probably won't cure any fish phobias you might have developed. Then again, if you're old enough to remember "Jaws" you may be a little too old for "Discovering Sharks and Rays." It might, however, be a good idea to look it over before your next outing to the beach.
Filled with interesting facts and figures about a seemingly endless variety of elasmobranchs, the scientific name for the carnivorous sea dwellers, "Discovering Sharks" informs in a straightforward way that, at times, gets, well, dry.
But the cool stickers make up for it. Labeled for easy reference, the kids can have fun decorating their book or decorating their parent's oak furniture with them.
Besides the stickers, "Discovering Sharks" includes a nifty board game that teaches about birth rates and the threat humans pose to the ecosystem.
And Field successfully conveys the message of who is the truly dangerous species. For example, five people were killed worldwide by shark attacks in 2001, while as many as 100 million sharks are killed by humans in any given year.
Still, Field includes tips for a safe sea-faring experience with unintentionally humorous illustrations, by Michael Maydak, of a swimmer punching an aggressive shark in the snout and of the similarity between a surfer and seal.
Most children probably won't read "Discovering Sharks" from cover to cover, but a variety of activities are bound to keep children interested and learning.

In light of the "zero tolerance" policies maintained by most schools, conventional wisdom says parents should discourage their children from fighting or causing trouble.
Kathleen Krull's latest biography flies in the face of such convention, daring children to resist the status quo, to take a stand and to, yes, fight.
This past Saturday San Antonio honored the legacy of Cesar E. Chavez with a march to the Alamo - the mission, not the premiere. But how much do we really know about the noble migrant laborer who passed away peacefully in his sleep 11 years ago? How much do our children know about this Chicano organizer - only the second Mexican American to receive the Presidential Medal of Freedom?
With broad brushstrokes and soft, warm tones, Krull and illustrator Yuyi Morales paint a picture of a quiet, peaceful man who was compelled by injustice, greed and racism to overcome his own fears and insecurities.
The story begins on a summer night upon the lush, utopian, magical fields of his grandfather; family that relaxes after a long, but satisfying day working the land surrounds Cesar.
Watching young Cesar run away from school on the first day of class back to the loving embrace of his gentle mother, the reader relates, beginning to see the human being behind the legend.
To drought and depression paradise is soon lost and the Chavez family must strike out towards California to seek out new opportunities, a new Promised Land.
But Cesar finds instead an oppressive blanket of harsh reality, patched together by insecticides, calluses, short-handled hoes and pennies a day for backbreaking work. After many brutal hours under the unrelenting sun his family returns to a shack with no doors in an overcrowded shantytown. And school provided no refuge, either, as teachers torment Cesar for his poor English.
Through these difficult pages he appears downtrodden, quiet, sad, fearful. As injustice is heaped upon his shoulders Cesar quietly bears his load.
But he remembers his early childhood, knows "Farmwork did not have to be this miserable" and gradually Cesar realizes things will never change by themselves - he must force change.
The book then details the nonviolent means Cesar used to battle oppression and stand up for the rights of migrant workers, returning a sense of pride and hope to a people long deprived of these basic human needs. Krull recounts in simple language the first meeting of the National Farm Workers Association, the grape picker strike of 1965 and the subsequent March to Sacramento from the San Joaquin Valley.
Morales' sweeping images use few straight lines, so the rigid black eagle of the NFW and the large banner reading "HUELGA" stand in stark contrast, anchors providing the weight due such monumental matters in a book washed over in light acrylic and pastels.
But the pictures match the man - mild and unassuming, with the strong, black eagle representing the warrior spirit of the Aztec imbedded inside.

Cesar Chavez demonstrated the power of unity and organization. And "Harvesting Hope" begins to show that a person with tenacity and compassion spurs change from the way things are to the way things should be.
Unfortunately, this is a lesson that may go largely untaught in a school system dedicated to keeping our children in line and outbursts to a minimum, making Krull's work that much more necessary and relevant.