Originally reviewed on A Reader of Fictions.

Having completed Before the Rain, I find myself with very little to say, a rather rare occurrence for me. Speechlessness, of course, can be the result of many emotions, too fraught by the impact of the tale or too bored to care. Unfortunately, my reactions more closely resemble the latter.

What drew me to this book was both the lgbt element and the historical aspect. Coming into it, I knew practically nothing about the history of the Philippines, and learning about that history as a backdrop for a touching romance sounded like perfection. Having read the last page of this memoir, though, I do not feel that I know much more than I did when I started, other than now knowing a couple of names of political figures.

This autobiography should, more accurately, be subtitled simply A Memoir of Love, as there is little of revolution. The focus lies almost entirely upon the relationship between Luisita and Elizabeth. While that's fine, the book's description prepared me for something with a broader scope. History receives only the barest treatment, insomuch as it separated the two lovers, as both are reporters and had to travel to cover various events.

I would expect, though, that I would have a very strong picture of Luisita and Elizabeth in my head, since they are the focus, that I would have a good sense of their bond. Alas, I do not. I feel like Torregrosa keeps the audience at a distance from them. She clues us in on the big events of their romance, but does not let us in on any of the small details that really make a life. For all that she is proudly discussing her lesbian relationship, I found it surprising that we never get any sense of their sexual life at all. For all the talk of their intense passion, only a couple of kisses and hugs are mentioned. This made for a disconnect between what she claimed and what I was actually sensing through her words.

I will say, however, that the writing is incredibly beautiful. Torregrosa composes lovely sentences, and she has a unique flair for language. She puts her sentences together in ways I might never think to, slightly strangely, and coaxes a new and different beauty out of them.

For me, this memoir was vastly disappointing, but lovers of language largely for its own sake might find this more interesting than I did. I, personally, hoped to learn more about the author in reading a memoir, but left it with very little sense of Luisita herself. ( )

This is a memoir that reads like a novel, and that's both a good and bad thing. Torregrosa has a sinuous, vague, slippery style of writing that I love in a good novel (I was reminded a bit of early '90s Jeannette Winterson) but feels a bit incomplete in a memoir. This story of 'love and revolution' had plenty of revolution -- on an international and interpersonal scale -- but I felt a real lack of love in Torregrosa's narrative.

Which leads me back to my original complaint. Were this a novel -- with some exploration into the motivations of our two heroines -- I would be all over this. But as a memoir, I wanted more from Torregrosa: I wanted her to go deeper in her recounting and analysis of her relationship and that juxtaposition with the tumultuous world of 1980s Philippines and international journalists.

There's an enormous distance between Torregrosa and the reader due to her writing style.  A little dreamy, very much removed, Torregrosa sums up weeks at a time with a small paragraph.  She recounts other people's words but never offers her own direct statements.  The moment when (I think) she and her married lover consummated their relationship felt obfuscated, as if Torregrosa didn't want to write about it but felt like she had to.

In many ways, this felt like an homage to a relationship rather than a memoir of a life, as Torregrosa's obvious affection and gratitude toward her lover, Elizabeth, spills out from every page. She writes very poetically about Elizabeth but I never got to 'know' the woman -- which would be fine if I got to know Torregrosa. Instead, I felt at arm's length from both women, watching their squabbles uncomfortably, and drinking in the gorgeous landscapes around them. (Torregrosa can evoke place like a song; its wonderful.)

This book reminded me of those 'gay classics' one gobbles up when first coming out, desperate for someone to relate to and, let's be honest, some sex. And like those classics -- like Rubyfruit Jungle and Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit -- they're lovely, moody books that aren't nearly as gay as one wants them to be.

All this and I still liked the book in many ways; I just wanted more. Shelf Awareness loved this one and found it passionate, so it may be that I focused on the wrong themes with this reading. In another moment, I might see it as deeply passionate. Still, I enjoyed very real look at international journalism Torregrosa offered; this is armchair escape of the first order. ( )