Review of Clap When You Land by Elizabeth Acevedo
Rereading Clap When You Land was hands down the best decision I made this year—second only to finally diving into a Toni Morrison novel. I remember when I first experienced this story through the audiobook; I found myself feeling underwhelmed, giving it a mere three stars. Elizabeth Acevedo is one of my favorite writers, and a lukewarm rating just didn’t sit well with me. I struggled to connect with the characters, their voices blending together in a way that made distinguishing them a challenge. After expressing my frustration, a chorus of fellow readers urged me to read the book instead. Oh, how right they were!
Reading Clap When You Land was like stepping into a spellbinding world full of vibrant emotions and heart-wrenching realities. From the opening lines, which give us a glimpse into Camino’s perspective, I was absorbed. There’s an undeniable magic in Acevedo’s words, a stark contrast that hit me deeply as I realized the equality of the sisters’ lives yet how vastly different their realities were. Camino’s poignant recognition of “mud” as a language of survival resonated with me in ways I couldn’t have anticipated. One moment, I was merely a reader, and the next, I found myself sobbing—the tears genuinely streaming down my face as the story unfolded.
The disparity between the sisters—Camino in the Dominican Republic and Yahaira in New York—is beautifully illustrated through their experiences. While Camino is immersed in the harshness of life without her father, dealing with threats from figures like El Cero, Yahaira’s world is centered on school, fashion, and climate protests. Acevedo captures these differences swiftly. I was especially struck by how Yahaira navigated her identity as a Dominican-American and the privilege that shaped her life. Lines like, “Can you be from a place you have never been?” linger long after reading, prompting reflection on our own connections to heritage.
What truly caught my attention during this reread was not just the tale of grief and loss, but also the declaration of privilege—and how that affects our lives in radically different ways. Acevedo doesn’t shy away from exposing uncomfortable truths, utilizing topics like gentrification, police brutality, and the stark realities of women’s safety. It’s raw and real, a narrative that hangs heavy with consequence and truth. And let me acknowledge the absolutely breathtaking moments when Yahaira and Camino finally come together, demonstrating the power of sisterhood that transcends even the barriers of location and circumstance.
Of course, no book is without its slightly disappointing moments. The portrayal of Camino’s experience with El Cero felt at times exploitative, especially when her aunt accused her of inviting danger. I wished for a narrative that pushed back against victim blaming rather than leaning into it. Yet, the growth of both characters shone a light on resilience against overwhelming odds, and by the end, it felt worth every heartbreaking moment.
I can’t recommend Clap When You Land highly enough to anyone who loves lyrical prose interwoven with powerful social commentaries, or those who appreciate character-driven narratives that delve into the complexities of family and identity. It’s a book that demands your attention and refuses to be forgotten, and it has certainly left a lasting impression on me. In a world where stories sometimes feel flat, Acevedo reminds us that every voice matters, and I am grateful to have been reintroduced to both Camino and Yahaira on this beautiful, emotional journey.
If you’re ready for a reading experience that will challenge and envelop you, this is a must-read!