A fascinating look at the immediate effects of immigrating--when poverty is a huge part of the picture. The shabby apartment that they live in, compared to their beautiful home back in Mexico, to coming to a country and not knowing any English at all, to shopping for food from the gas station because they don’t know where to go, to job hunting when you don’t have legal papers or know the language. At the same time, there’s a beautiful community that emerges in this apartment building among all of the immigrants, despite them coming from many different countries. Beautiful look at the hard truth of a tough immigrant experience.
And I LOVE that Henriquez intersperses personal stories of each immigrant (in the apartment building) within the narrative. So each character, even a minor supporting character we see only a few times, gets their chance to share their story. So lovely, and when you get to the very last story … ah. Just lovely.
Henriquez says about this novel:
“This book was inspired by my father, who came to the United States from Panama in 1971 to go to college, and who has been here ever since. He’s made a life here, he’s become a citizen, and even though his story isn’t dramatic or spectacular, it’s important for the simple reason that it exists at all.”Some other quotes that I loved:
“They found other places to live. Places like Delaware. It’s cheaper than Pennsylvania. And no sales tax. We have all the Spanish supermarkets now, and the school district started those English programs. I know some people here think we’re trying to take over, but we just want to be a part of it. We want to have our stake. This is our home, too.
"I like it here. I started off as the manager, but now I own this building. Bought it out almost ten years ago after working jobs on the side, saving up. I got a good deal. The area is changing, though. A clash of cultures. I try to make this building like an island for all of us washed-ashore refugees. A safe harbor. I don’t let anyone mess with me. If people want to tell me to go home, I just turn to them and smile politely and say, I’m already there.” (p. 146)
“The only reason I’d come was because my dad thought he might need a translator. I told him, “You use English every day.” But my dad had argued that he didn’t know the language of cars. To him, everything had its own language--the language of breakfast, the language of business, the language of politics, and on and on. In Spanish he knew all the languages, for as long as he’d been speaking English, he believe he knew it was only in certain realms. He never talked about cars with anyone in English, he said. Therefore, he didn’t know the language. It was no use explaining to him that I didn’t exactly spend my days talking about cars with people, either. To him, I knew all the languages of English the way he did those of Spanish. And as proud as he was that I was so good at one, I think he was also ashamed that I wasn’t better at the other.” (p. 161)And so much so:
“Maybe it’s the instinct of every immigrant, born of necessity or of longing: Someplace else will be better than here. And the condition: if only I can get to that place.” (p. 286)