They look so different from us. What could we have in common. We don’t know them. In The Book of Unknown Americans, Cristina Henriquez introduces us to “them,” represented by an unknown family who just immigrated to Delaware from Mexico.
Parents of a teenage daughter, Arturo and Alma brought her to the United States to attend a good special education school on the advice of her doctors. Beloved Maribel had been in an accident that left her brain damaged – but how seriously and permanently no one could say. The parents gave up their home, his successful construction business, their relatives and friends to seek help for their daughter. They became immigrants, legal aliens. He had a work visa and a job.
This novel is an excellent depiction of the loneliness and hardships of immigrant life but also the comfort and help they receive from their neighbors from Panama, Puerto Rico, or Nicaragua, many of whom are now permanent citizens. There is a wonderful scene when, at Christmas, the heat goes out in the apartment building. The residents, natives of hot weather countries, cram into one small apartment to try to forget the cold, and end up experiencing the friendship and fun they used to have at home. We begin to see “them” not as immigrants, but as people with universal concerns – how can I meet new friends? how can I pay my rent if I lose my job? how can I make the best decision for my child?
Two characters tell the main story from their individual perspectives. Others also speak, thereby widening our view of why people leave their home countries and how they manage when they get here. In this way, each person expresses him/herself and we get to “know” the Americans in the title.
I especially like how tightly constructed the plot is. Every situation and every character is important; there is neither padding nor rambling on. This spare well-told story starts with one immigrant family, enlarges to the general immigrant experience, and ends with a powerful statement about the precariousness of life, somthing all humanity has in common.
Lucy, again. Once more, in Lucy by the Sea, I had a chat with Elizabeth Strout’s Lucy. In the first person, in an intimate friendly way, she talks about what is going on in her life, inspiring me to answer in kind (hopefully, not out loud, at least not yet).
Her ex-husband William rents a house and takes her to Maine where they shelter during the pandemic. Lucy talks about what that fear and isolation are like, how her daughters are coping, the few people they meet. It is low key, but out of a combination of action and memory arise life questions – and some answers – from a warm and perceptive thinker. I like her books!
There is an old saying that if you learn something new, a word or a fact, you will inevitably meet it again in a few days. That has happened to me twice lately.
The first new fact was that libraries send books to troops during wartime. I had never thought about the downtime from fighting and that soldiers would appreciate a respite from anxiety or boredom. Lolling around reading books and combat just didn’t go together in my mind.
So, I learned something from the novel The Paris Library by Janet Skeslien Charles. The not-in-character ending spoiled the story, but I liked the information. During WWII, The American Library in Paris, the largest English language library in Europe, stayed open. The intrepid staff kept it going, sending books to troops all over the world plus offering solace to Nazi occupied Paris.
As I was reading Library, I found “How the Humble Paperback Helped Win World War II” by Jennifer Schuessler, in The New York Times, October 6. This is worth seeking out and reading in full.
The main thrust of the article, published during Banned Book Week, is that in the 1940s, patriotic Americans were considered those willing to donate unabridged, uncensored books to the military. Also, special paperbacks were published that would easily fit into a pocket.
“The paperbacks were intended to help soldiers pass the time. But they were also meant to remind them what they were fighting for and draw a sharp contrast between American ideals and Nazi book burnings.”
The second “here it is again” occurrence was about prejudice against Asians. I read Interior China by Charles Yu which deals with assumptions about what Chinese Americans are like.
While I thought the novel was just ok, I was interested in its subject, the subtle prejudice and dehumanization of being a type who always lives among gongs, dragons, chop suey, and kung fu.
As I was reading the book, I found an ad referring to a more overt prejudice against Asians, hate crimes on public transportation. Café Maddy Cab is an organization in NYC formed to protect Asian women and the elderly from harrassment by providing free cab rides to those in need.
I wish the two subjects, soldiers at war and prejudice against Asians, weren’t so current. I wish the definition of patriotic wouldn’t have been co-opted and changed since the 40s and the feelings towards Asians would have been updated and changed.
