My Name Is Iris by Brando Skyhorse (The Madonnas of Echo Park; Take This Man) is a chilling near-reality dystopian novel, set in an unnamed state that resembles California (and is called the "Golden State"). Protagonist Iris Prince is a second-generation Mexican American whose parents view her birthright as a gift and use the refrain "you were born here" to shame her whenever they feel her bad behavior shows a lack of gratitude. ("I am a second-generation Mexican-American daughter of Mexican immigrants, meaning that of course I was ungrateful.") Born Inés Soto, she was glad to have her first name simplified by white schoolteachers, and then to take her husband's last name. Iris is proud to be a rule follower, her highest ambition to blend in.

When the novel opens, Iris Prince has just left Alex, her husband of 16 years, and is determined to finally build the sanitized, magazine-cover life she's dreamed of: a new house in a suburban neighborhood on a cul-de-sac, a new school for her nine-year-old daughter, Melanie. She has shunned her parents' low-income home in a Spanish-speaking neighborhood (where her younger sister still lives, annoying Iris with her activism) and avoids Alex's overtures at co-parenting or getting back together. Iris feels that her real life--coffee clubs, gardening, and white picket fences--is about to begin.

Then one morning, she looks out of her lovely new bay window to find that a wall has sprung up in her front yard. It seems permanently fixed, and no one but Iris and Melanie can see it. Her realtor and contractors claim the wall must have been there all along, until gaslit Iris wonders, "Who was I to say otherwise?" And, impossible as it is, the wall seems to be growing.

Meanwhile, a new piece of wrist-wearable tech called "the band" is sweeping across the state. Iris herself voted in favor of the proposition that established this technology as a paper-saving, easy identification to "facilitate paying for and receiving state and public services, act as a drivers' license,... help users regulate a household's water usage and garbage output, serve as proof of residency for your child's enrollment in school, and potentially save the state millions of dollars." But it turns out that, regardless of citizenship, one must have a parent born in the United States to qualify for a band. Iris's confidence in her place in society is shaken. "Wear your bands and prove you belong here," says the propaganda. Hatred, bigotry and intolerance quickly swell into violence. "Somehow, in an overnight or two, my social contract had been renegotiated. Politeness vanished." Iris's loyalties are challenged: she has long associated herself with law and order and the establishment, but those forces have turned against her, despite all her rule-following. Each morning she drops her daughter off at school, the band's seductive glow encircling Mel's slim wrist--due to Alex's birthright, Mel qualifies for the privileges of the band. But Iris fears for her home and her job; her mother has been fired for her bandless status, and the family is in jeopardy. Under these pressures, Iris will have to consider just what she'll risk to protect her hard-won sense of identity.

Skyhorse seeds his text with plenty of Spanish-language dialogue, especially with Iris's parents and sister; non-Spanish-speaking readers will easily use context clues. In addition to this lovely linguistic texture, Skyhorse imbues his all-too-lifelike novel with fine details--Iris's anti-nostalgia for a defunct supermarket, her love for bland ritual--and judicious use of highly impactful notes of the mysterious or the surreal. These twists of magical realism include a ghost from a childhood trauma who haunts Iris in her vulnerable moments, and of course the wall itself, which grows and morphs overnight. The wall is ever-present, at one point "almost like a co-parent," even as it literally deprives her home of the sun's light and heat, as well as her sense of security: "Later, when I would dream, I dreamed of walls."

My Name Is Iris is terrifying with its proximity to reality. Iris is perhaps preoccupied with labels and appearances (as the book's title forecasts), and not the most likable protagonist, initially; but her flaw is simply in seeking the American dream as it's been advertised. Despite her obedience--teaching her child to always trust the police, adhering strictly to HOA rules--the world she's trusted has turned on her. What can one woman do to fight a state security regime or a magically self-constructing wall?

This gripping dystopia poses difficult but important questions about the world as we know it and the few small steps it takes to slide into horror. Intolerance and xenophobia lurk in the most seemingly benign corners. My Name Is Iris is part social commentary and part thoughtful consideration of themes that include family, identity, transitions, perspectives, and hope. In addition to being an engrossing, discomfiting tale, this will make an excellent book club selection and fuel for tough conversations. --Julia Kastner

(photo: Eric van den Brulle)

Brando Skyhorse was born and raised in Echo Park, Calif., and has degrees from Stanford University and from the MFA Writing Program at UC Irvine. He is an associate professor of English at Indiana University in Bloomington. His debut novel, The Madonnas of Echo Park, received the 2011 PEN/Hemingway Award and the Sue Kaufman Prize for First Fiction from the American Academy of Arts and Letters. Take This Man: A Memoir was named a Best Nonfiction Book of the Year by Kirkus. Skyhorse also co-edited the anthology We Wear the Mask: 15 True Stories of Passing in America. His dystopian novel My Name Is Iris will be published by Avid Reader Press on August 1, 2023.

Does a novel like this begin with story or character?

I tell my students: it always begins with character. But not this one. It actually started with an image. I think you can guess: it started with this wall, just kind of growing out of the ground. I was finishing up my last project, an anthology of original essays on ethnic and racial passing, and it was summer of 2016, and let's just say there was a certain word that was getting bounced around, this relentless drumbeat. I started thinking about it. I remember talking to my agent, and she said that's interesting, but seems kind of topical. When Clinton is elected president, who's going to be there to buy it? And I said, I'm going to keep thinking about it.

The more I thought about it, the more I had questions. That word, wall--the most banal thing imaginable, became coded. It was a very specific kind of reference, and a relentless barrage. Where is this wall? Who is attached to it? What's the situation? I said, I'll finish this in a year. Because I didn't start with character, but with an image, it took me another five years to figure out the specifics of character and situation. Iris is trying to take care of herself, to take care of her child. She has a community that she's estranged from, and she's doing the best she can. Once that part of the story got laid out--it's about safety for her. Her American dream is safety. That's it for her. And that's something a lot of readers can relate to, I hope.

What is it that makes Iris a compelling protagonist?

Based upon the experiences Iris has had, she decided early on, I want to be safe above all. I want to protect myself and my family--that's the trade-off that I'm making, and if that makes me brusque or unlikable, I'm rolling with it. But what does that leave for Iris in the life that she's attempting to live? Has it been fulfilling; has it been satisfying? What kind of reckoning is afoot for her?

Once you get the totality of her situation, she becomes very easy to understand. I realize it's a bit of an authorial risk to put this character out there and have her say the things that she says, and put up her own wall. She has lived a very structured and specific life. My family, my daughter, my household. Very intentional. The idea of what it means to be a woman of color at this time, in this place, at this part of American history, what's that experience like? At least as I see it, there's probably a sense of guardedness, apprehensiveness. I'm not sure what the next day is going to bring me so I have to be on guard. What's out there waiting for me?

I didn't want to turn it into a Twilight Zone episode where this is a character who is being punished because she's bad. What's her backstory? Where's she from, what kind of life is she trying to live? I had to move that character development forward while at the same time pressing her from all sides. Every chapter, another bad thing happens. How to create a character who isn't solely reactive? If it's not the wall, it's the bands; if it's not the bands, it's what's going on with her family or with her daughter. She needs to take some control, some agency, but each time she does, there's something else another step ahead of her. Thinking about the lived experience that all of us have had over the last few years, I think this book is what it was like for me.

And the technology. Oh look, it's this cool little thing from Silicon Valley, and it'll track how much garbage you throw away. And very suddenly it becomes this whole other thing altogether. We have a collective embracing of certain technologies, if we feel there's going to be a benefit, and sometimes there's a flipside, unintended or intended consequences. Iris has traded away an essential part of her identity for the convenience of being American. Her community has traded away the idea of citizenship because there's a little thing that can tell them how many steps they take in a day. What does that mean for us? I don't know. But I don't know if it means anything good.

Are there heroes or villains in this story?

I don't think so. If there's a villain here, it's just fear. It's very simple. Fear leads to paranoia leads to a series of decisions... everybody in this universe in this novel is living under a perpetual dark cloud of fear.

Do you feel your readers need knowledge of Spanish to follow this novel?

My goal is not to confuse or alienate anybody. When you write a book, you're trying to connect with as many readers as possible. What I ask myself is, what's most important for this character in this situation? English, Spanish, switching back and forth? When she's with her mom, at the house, having dinner... it flows freely, and I wanted to capture that. I wanted it to be correct for that experience.

So much of the conversational nature of this book was influenced heavily by my family. My biological father left me when I was three, and I found him in my 30s. I was accepted into this family I didn't know, and all of a sudden, I had three sisters. When I hang out with them the conversation varies based on who I'm talking to, the context, what's being discussed. My Spanish is not great, but I can get what's being said if they speak really slowly, like to a child. Part of this is trying to mimic that experience for me. That sense of what would it be like to have a relationship with this language, which is important for communicating with your family, your community--lose it, and then work your way back. I hope that's one of the themes in the book. Our main character goes through this journey--if I've done it correctly--with the Spanish language. If I'm going to take the readers on that journey it has to be correct. --Julia Kastner