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I feel rather underwhelmed by this book, my first by Allende. This is a story about the making of Zorro, and it has all the incidents that we might expect in such an account. Shoshone shaman grandmother who concocts magic potions; mute Indian sidekick/ milk-brother; Barcelona fencing master who is also the head of a secret society; lovely but fickle love interest; evil, sneering antagonist; fat Sergeant Garcia; gypsies; and even pirates. Everything that should make this a fun, swashbuckling ride that Zorro should be are there, but Allende writes of them in the driest, most uninvolving way possible. The prose is bland, cliche-ridden, and the characters, including Zorro himself, are scarcely more than cardboard cutouts. The bits of history that the author slip in to provide background to the story are somewhat interesting, but this is not a history book. Zorro should be the literary equivalent of a rousing, action-adventure matinee offering; in this respect this book fails miserably. Or perhaps I was expecting too much from the union of a character who is essentially a pulp fiction creation and a respected South American author. I expected better of Zorro, and I expected better from Allende.