Quite frankly a painful book to read. Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein" is a book of such depth and multiplicity... and this one strips the majority of that away, to pursue a kind of odd, dry, post-apocalyptic narrative with none of that spark. Combined with a few San Antonio references that seem to be little more than a personal marker for this author to make a stamp, I have brought this book out to friends as an example of what not to read in terms of spins/re-workings of Frankenstein. If you want a multicultural book that takes Shelley and runs with it in interesting racial/cultural ways (which this book wanted to do?), try Frankenstein in Baghdad, instead...