Michelle Gonzalez has two main goals in her book Afro-Cuban Theology: to show that Cuban and Cuban-American popular religion are imbued with African-derived symbols and practices, in particular from the Yoruba tradition of the orishas; and to argue that this religious mix carries larger theological lessons for Cubans, Cuban Americans and the rest of us. She largely succeeds in accomplishing these goals, because of her detailed empirical knowledge of her subject, and her immersion in the relevant theology. Her mix of the empirical and normative, of the sociological and theological, continues thoughtfully in the tradition of liberation theology, of which she makes frequent mention.

Gonzalez' discussion of the African influences in popular Cuban religion is strong and well-documented. In a variety of ways she makes the point that the African spiritual legacy pervades the Cuban and Cuban-American worldview. Relying on history, sociology and anthropology, she shows, for example, that the devotion to La Caridad, the advocation of Mary who is patron saint of Cuba, is closely associated in popular belief with the Yoruba goddess Oshun; that St Lazarus is strongly associated with Babalu Aye, orisha of curing; and so forth. Relying on imaginative literature, she is able to show too that the main character in Christina Garcia's novel Dreaming in Cuba, courts ‘the intercession of the gods on her own behalf, whether she seeks health, love, or to visit ill will on an enemy’. This type of ‘courting’ is a clear expression of African spiritual influences.

Turning from such descriptions to their theological interpretation, Gonzalez has freer rein. For Cubans, ‘the marriage of the spiritual and material worlds, far from being extraordinary, informs the rhythms of daily life.’ This pattern, she suggests, reveals the theological lesson that ‘our actions in this world have direct implications for our relationships with those beyond it, and these relationships are vital’ (p. 138). The book is filled with this kind of thoughtful, if not exactly surprising, theological and normative reflection. Throughout her theological reflections, she clearly takes sides with the liberation theologians' preferential option for the poor, which allows her to give voice to the popular longing to feel intimate with the divine. But it seems that for Gonzalez the most important theological lesson is a negative one: having observed that most Cubans want to deny the existence of African influence upon their worldview, she argues that this denial is tantamount to sin. ‘[O]ur full humanity as Cuban-Americans will not be realized,’ she writes, ‘until we cease denying who we are and how we have marginalized those in our community who do not fit racist constructions of identity.’ She goes further; ‘[U]nless we struggle directly against those racist structures that distort and silence all Cubans and Cuban-Americans, we are a community washed in sinfulness, denying our full humanity’ (p. 140).

Overall, this is a vibrant and passionate book that nicely weaves together its strands of description and normative interpretation. I have two minor reservations. First, I would have liked to see Gonzalez engage with Protestantism, which is certainly a growing presence among Cubans and Cuban-Americans. Though she devotes much attention to the various groups she feels have been silenced by other academics, I wonder whether the same criticism might leveled at her for avoiding the Protestants? Surely they have some contribution to Cuban theology? In other societies in the hemisphere, Protestants are forging new openings for the recognition and denunciation of racism – are they doing nothing of the kind in Cuba? Second, I would also have liked to see Gonzalez try her own hand at fieldwork. She seems a bit too dependent on other scholars' accounts of the material she is theologising about. Despite these caveats, Afro-Cuban Theology is a significant and challenging work that shows the value of synthesising social science and theology.