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If you haven’t already read this book, there’s really no need. Most of its best parts are recycled in Oscar Wao. A man without a face, people shuffling between Santo Domingo and New Jersey, some early experimenting in Junot Diaz’s “original voice��.

The toughest part of reading Diaz is trying not to put his critics�� opinions in front of Diaz’s words. Trying to separate Diaz’s at-times honest efforts from the hysterical effect they have on certain literary types is hard sledding. It’s not fair to the author to hold others�� inanities against him �� except when it feels like’s he’s writing for a focus group. There’s more of that in Oscar Wao than in Drown, but Oscar Wao casts a cynical eye backwards onto Drown.

In this book, Diaz contents himself with being the voice of the Dominican Republic. In Oscar Wao, he’s the voice of Latinos everywhere. That makes this book a somewhat more honest, if less refined, effort.

Much of Diaz’s success �� like most writers�� success �� returns, in some part, to good fortune and timing. Diaz wrote Drown at a time when the conversion from literature to cultural commentary was revving up. Who better to marry the two than a talented writer of Dominican roots who told the literary establishment what others were afraid to say? I guess.

Since being a Dominican is what’s most important to Diaz �� he does very little with the human condition, otherwise �� one should probably rejoice a bit about the circumstances that brought Drown to the public. According to the tired narrative of such things, voices like Diaz’s were never given a chance before 1990 or so. If that’s true then it’s good that Drown was published. Diaz is a talented author who may just surprise us with an enduring work before he’s through.

If not, his works will serve as a good counterargument to the next generation of literary types who tell us Latino authors were never given a chance until (insert literary movement here) came along.