While I might in many ways compare this novel to Marquez's 100 Years of Solitude, Diaz gives his characters a much stronger personality, although Oscar seems to be rather faceless for me when held up against his sister Lola or his mother Beli.
There is a passion to the language Diaz uses here, not particularly eloquent but extremely strong in voice that suits and fills out the two women–perhaps three, considering La Inca, the grandmother as well. These women are, as is common, the survivors, the ones who can overcome anything. They are busty and blustery and a great combination of the strengths and weakness of women who let love drive their lives.
Against the nearly constant background of war, the history of the generations are dealt with in reverse, almost as if Diaz shows us the present and in explanation, shows us what stock these characters are bred from. There is the motif of war, and the supposed curse on the family, and as well, I find the color black as a fine thread that steadfastly holds them together. While it is their color that often betrays them, it is also seen to me as a line of continuity that helps them rise to face their trials with a spitfire endurance that paler shades could not hold up.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology