América Gonzalez, the heroine of Esmeralda Santiago's first novel, works as a maid in a small resort on a Puerto Rico out island. When the story begins, América hasn't yet articulated a dream to motivate her beyond her confined world.

And at first, it's hard to care about América. Even given the differing cultural attitudes of an American mainland reader and a young Puerto Rican woman on a remote island, América behaves like a ninny. Sheep-like, she puts up with an acerbic-tongued alcoholic mother, a rebellious and lippy 14-year-old daughter and the girl's father -- who uses América alternately as an outlet for his sexual drive and his violent impulses.

Correa is this brute's name. América ran off with him when she was only 14. She became pregnant with their daughter, Rosalinda, soon after. She is trapped by Correa, though they aren't married, since he bullies her and threatens every other man who comes near her. Meantime, she must cope with a daughter who briefly runs away with a teenage boy,
only to return even more resentful toward her mother.

A job in New York

América appears to believe herself doomed to this dreary life. But when a New York couple on vacation offer her a job as their combination housekeeper and babysitter, she accepts, though filled with trepidation.

From then on, this thin story takes a better hold as América begins to grow as an individual, becoming worth caring about. Santiago, whose first book was the successful 1993 memoir, When I Was Puerto Rican, provides a window on the yuppie world as seen through the sharp but nonjudgmental observations of an empleada. When América realizes, for instance, how much her female employer pays for underwear, she is appalled, then later decides that ``anyone who spends fifteen dollars on a pair of panties should be able to afford a couple extra dollars for the woman who cares for her kids.''

All right, América! She's getting braver, surer of herself, stronger. But she doesn't get the raise. Still, her life is good compared to other empleadas she meets -- she is a U.S. citizen, whereas they are all illegals and running scared.

A family in the Bronx

América has relatives in the Bronx. They provide her with companionship, for she is lonely, naturally enough. They also expose her to a more cohesive family than her own, yet she shies away from confiding in them about her fears regarding Correa or her concerns for the daughter she left in Puerto Rico. She even misses that brute Correa.

Not as much happens in América's Dream as its author keeps hinting will. Many threads of the narrative meander into oblivion, as though the people who enter América's life after she leaves Puerto Rico can't really touch her emotionally. Perhaps Santiago meant this to be, implying that América's fate hinges solely on her eventual confrontation with Correa. Yet, when it arrives, providing the novel's climactic moment, the event and its aftermath seem rushed and hastily concocted -- and not a little contrived. At story's end, América is a woman who still seems willing to settle for less in what she dreams for, still unsure that she is worth the caring of others.

Kathleen Krog is a Herald editorial writer.