I've finished reading “The Blood of the Conquerors” by Harvey Fergusson with mixed feelings. I grew up in New Mexico only 30 years removed from the 1920s era that forms the bulk of the tale's time and location; however, the author's references to mountains, mesas, and rivers, including the flora and fauna, too often did not jell with my knowledge of the area, particularly that area around “Old Town,” a part – although never mentioned – of Albuquerque. In fact, many of the references to the physicality of the area were vague or flat-out misleading – for example, to go west from Old Town to get to the capital (assumed to be Santa Fe but never stated as such) is incorrect. One must go north of Old Town to get to Santa Fe. A famous part of any trip to Santa Fe back then would be traversing La Bajada Hill, but there was no mention of La Bajada. In addition, I thought the narrative was a bit plodding with no firm sense of a plot. In many ways the story was simply a biographical glimpse into a year or two of the life of a twenty-something fellow named Ramon who has a bloodline that includes the original Spanish conquerors of the “natives.” The story also has an undertone of racism against Mexicans by “gringos” and reverse racism by Mexicans against gringos (not uncommon in even present day New Mexico). Lacking a substantive plot and having a rather abrupt non-satisfying ending, my final impression was that the story was a kind of metaphor for life – you play, you work, you dream, you win, you lose, and you eventually settle for “what is” rather than what could have been. Maybe three-stars. ( )