The world of publication and literature is a fickle thing. One writer manages to strike the fancy of readers or critics, or both, if lucky, while another writer in the same genre or locale avoids notice almost altogether. There is often little rhyme or reason to the phenomenon of who makes it into the larger consciousness of literature. The story of Rick Collignon is such a phenomenon.

Collignon’s first novel, [The Journal of Antonio Montoya] was published by MacMurray and Beck, a small independent publisher known for introducing new authors, in 1996, and then picked up by Avon Books in 1997. The book is now in reprint with Unbridled Books, along with three of his other novels. [Antonio Montoya] received very positive reviews, including one from the New York Times Book Review that said it was “a one-sitting read, a novel that captivates and surprises all the way to its chilling end.” But Collignon remains largely unknown in the book world – only about 140 copies of his four books are owned by Librarything readers. What’s worse? He’s also almost completely unknown in his home state of New Mexico, running a roofing and contracting business to pay the bills because he can’t make a living at writing. Outside of marketing blurbs for the book from Tony Hillerman and John Nichols, it doesn’t appear that anyone else in New Mexico is paying attention.

By the time [Antonio Montoya] was published, Rudolfo Anaya had had about 20 years to be christened the godfather of Chicano and New Mexican literature. Anaya’s [Bless Me, Ultima], a story in the tradition of magical realism like Collignon’s novel, is now a part of high school English and Chicano literature courses, and is one of the blessed few titles to be part of the national literacy movement, The Big Read. Hillerman, with his Navajo mysteries, and Nichols, with [The Milagro Beanfield], have cornered much of the rest of the local market. One, if not all, are recognizable to almost every New Mexican reader, and to a large portion of the rest of the reading world. Each have garnered numerous local and national honors for their craft. But Collignon toils away in the early morning hours at his writing and on roofs the rest of the day in obscurity.

Anaya is an easy study – a Chicano man who writes about the Chicano culture, his books were initially picked up first by an independent press and then more nationally in the wake of the Chicano rights movement. Hillerman’s popularity is most likely an outgrowth of his genre, the mystery, and the rose-colored glasses with which he describes his Native American characters. Nichols is probably the closest comparison to Collignon, a white man writing about the unique blend of Hispanic and Native cultures in the Northern reaches of New Mexico. The mixture of religion and spiritualism in the fiercely insular, tightly-knit communities against a backdrop of smoky pine and juniper provides a rich storytelling environment. He is the least well-known, and probably wouldn’t be known at all if not for the fact the Robert Redford dug [Milagro] and made a movie from it. Is it because Collignon is a white man writing about people of color that he hasn’t gained any traction? If his name were Ricardo Chavez, would there be a spark of interest? Hillerman managed to avoid that trap, but he stands his Native cultures up on pedestals, the survivors of persecution and keepers of strange, otherworldly knowledge that’s lost on their harassers. Collignon’s stories are a more straightforward account of life in a small, Hispanic community, told from the perspective of the people in the community. Even Nichols uses some outsiders to tell his stories.

[The Journal of Antonio Montoya] recounts the death of Jose Montoya’s parents when they hit a cow in the road. At the rainy funeral, as everyone has filtered out, Jose’s mother sits up in her coffin and speaks to her sister-in-law, Ramona Montoya, asking the woman to take charge of Jose. When Ramona gets home, she is greeted at the door by her long dead mother and father, who’ve taken up residence in the home where they once lived and where Ramona now lives. Ramona, an artist, struggles with her craft, trying to capture the life of the place in the landscape and the people, failing more than she succeeds. After an outing with his ghostly grandfather to tend the irrigation ditches, Jose brings home an old, moldy book. The book is [The Journal of Antonio Montoya], Ramona’s ancestor, a long forgotten cousin. Antonio chronicled the life of the village and carved religious statues for the church and other residents. As Ramona talks with her lost parents and reads Antonio’s journal, she finds a new connection to her heritage. It is a connection that completes her soul, one that will help her raise the next generation of her family in Jose.

Collignon’s prose is simple but evocative, echoing the power of the high-desert where he lives and where the story is set. His characters are lush and complicated, rich in their Hispanic culture. The pinon and juniper pollen jump off the page, combining with the chili slowly cooking in Ramona’s kitchen, the coppery smell of the late-summer rain, and the dusty odor of the water coming down the dirt irrigation ditches. Collignon is a master of his environment. But he’s also a master of the people who live there, a testament to the relationship he’s developed with the community where he resides, even if he is an outsider.

It’s a shame that more people don’t recognize Collignon; that his name isn’t included in the list of great New Mexican authors with Anaya, Hillerman, and Nichols.

Bottom Line: A book and an author that more people should know about.

5 bones!!!!!
A favorite for the year.

PS – If you like this one, try another relatively unknown New Mexican author and book – [Cottonwood Saints] by Gene Guerin. ( )

This book was a fantastic surprise for me. I picked it up to get familiar with the authors who are coming to the Southwest Festival of the Written Word (swwordfiesta.org). Best book I've read for a year. It's surreal and darkly humorous, but also so very familiar. You can see and feel the characters' surroundings. Many of us have friends or family who will appear clearly among the characters. I recommend it to just about anyone in New Mexico, to Catholics and to former Catholics, and to the curious. ( )

Life in the magical Land of Enchantment.

She sat up in her casket & ran her fingers through her wet hair. “It's not a good day to be buried," she said. "In the mud. I hate the mud."

This was a fun little read. A contemporary ghost story with a dash of folklore. I came across the title during a scan of NM authors. I was surprised, when I opened the package and found a cute little book the size of a personal journal. Playfully odd and strikingly familair. You just knew that the author had spent lots of time around the people of New Mexico. Enjoyed it very much, thank you Mr. Collignon. ( )