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Lydia Quixano Perez lives in the Mexican city of Acapulco. She runs a bookstore. She has a son, Luca, the love of her life, and a wonderful husband who is a journalist. And while cracks are beginning to show in Acapulco because of the drug cartels, her life is, by and large, reasonably comfortable. Even though she knows they'll never sell, Lydia stocks some of her all-time favorite books in her store. And then one day a man enters the shop to browse and comes up to the register with four books he would like to buy, two of them her favorites. Javier is erudite. He is charming. And, unbeknownst to Lydia, he is the jefe of the newest drug cartel that has gruesomely taken over the city. When Lydia's husband's tell-all profile of Javier is published, none of their lives will ever be the same. Forced to flee, Lydia and eight-year-old Luca soon find themselves miles and worlds away from their comfortable middle-class existence.… (more)
Media reviews
Ah, and there’s the rub. White folks and other non-Mexican Americans in the US: you CANNOT judge for yourselves whether American Dirt is authentic. You’re going to have to trust Mexicans and Chicanx folks. I know that runs counter to the upbringing of so many. I know it defies our national discourse.
Pero ni modo. That’s too bad.
The real failures of the book, however, have little to do with the writer’s identity and everything to do with her abilities as a novelist.
What thin creations these characters are — and how distorted they are by the stilted prose and characterizations. The heroes grow only more heroic, the villains more villainous. The children sound like tiny prophets. Occasionally there’s a flare of deeper, more subtle characterization, the way Luca, for example, experiences “an uncomfortable feeling of both thrill and dread” when he finally lays eyes on the other side of the border, or how, in the middle of the terror of escape, Lydia will still notice that her son needs a haircut.
But does the book’s shallowness paradoxically explain the excitement surrounding it? The tortured sentences aside, “American Dirt” is enviably easy to read. It is determinedly apolitical. The deep roots of these forced migrations are never interrogated; the American reader can read without fear of uncomfortable self-reproach. It asks only for us to accept that “these people are people,” while giving us the saintly to root for and the barbarous to deplore — and then congratulating us for caring.
Her obra de caca belongs to the great American tradition of doing the following:
1. Appropriating genius works by people of color
2. Slapping a coat of mayonesa on them to make palatable to taste buds estados-unidenses
3. Repackaging them for mass racially “colorblind” consumption.
Rather than look us in the eye, many gabachos prefer to look down their noses at us. Rather than face that we are their moral and intellectual equals, they happily pity us. Pity is what inspires their sweet tooth for Mexican pain, a craving many of them hide. This denial motivates their spending habits, resulting in a preference for trauma porn that wears a social justice fig leaf. To satisfy this demand, Cummins tossed together American Dirt, a “road thriller” that wears an I’m-giving-a-voice-to-the-voiceless-masses merkin.
User reviews
I'm probably not telling you anything new when I briefly outline the book's premise: a heart thumping flight from Acapulco where Lydia Perez and her eight year old son Luca had enjoyed a fairly middle class life. They're on the run from the drug cartel that massacred her entire family in the first pages of the narrative and trying to get to the U.S. border and the freedom they feel will be theirs finally. That's a bit naive considering the present administration but at any rate that's the premise. Along the way, they meet other migrants running from other circumstances. They all have the same goal.
The whole journey is amazingly fraught. From riding atop cargo trains (I still question how a mother hoists her eight year old aboard a train that's barreling down the tracks but once again, I'm assuming this came up in the research.), to meeting up with other migrants who become as close as family, to the rapes and assaults suffered by the women, to the fear that the cartel will track them down, to the trek through the Sonoran Desert where the need for shade and water makes the brutal journey deadly, I found the narrative to be incredibly gripping.
But beyond the compelling flight from danger, I thought Cummins made the people very real and human. I could feel their fear and their kindness. Their desires for a good life and their losses were palpable. Luca was such a real boy I wanted to put my arms around him and tell him it would be ok.
Errors? Non-facts? Maybe. I don't know. I didn't see them.
“It's also true that in 2017, Mexico was the deadliest country in the world to be a journalist. The nationwide murder rate was
“As Rebecca reveals what scraps of story she does have to Luca, he starts to understand that this is the one thing all migrants have in common, this is the solidarity that exists among them, though they all come from different places and different circumstances..., each of them carries some story of suffering on top of that train and into el norte beyond. “
Lydia Quixano Perez and her eight year old son, are living a comfortable middle-class life in Acapulco.
Her husband is a crusading journalist and Lydia owns a bookstore. On one fateful afternoon, during a family celebration, Lydia's world upends in a horrific event and she finds herself fleeing, with her son, from a vengeful and ruthless drug lord. This is in the opening pages, and will leave the reader shaken. The rest of the story follows the mother and son, as they make their way north to the U.S. with danger on their heels at every waking moment. The suspense and terror never flag, but they also bond with many other migrants, on the same precarious mission.
I think this is a perfect novel. The writing is incredible, along with the pacing and character development. I believe it also succeeds, in putting a face on these desperate people. It is easy to sit here in the comfy north, and shake our heads at “walls” and “caravans” but the author reminds us here, that these are living, breathing human beings, trying to make a life for themselves, despite the harrowing odds.
Well, Cummins is not Steinbeck.
It started out way more soap opera/B-movie thriller than I thought it would, with lots of pages about secret identities and unrequited love. But then it becomes a road trip novel as a mother and son slowly make their way north from Acapulco to the border with the United States.
Basically, it felt like one of those books written for the inevitable movie adaptation, from the middle-class mother and her precocious tyke filled with geography trivia to the beautiful young Honduran teens they travel with, the moody ex-gang member who stalks them, and the little kid with the outsize personality and a big secret in his pocket. We're repeatedly told how awful things are, but are given all-too-convenient plot developments, story twists, side characters, and an ending that will play well on screen.
The whole time I read I kept flashing on Sally Field in Not Without My Daughter. To me this is less a literary take on present conditions in Mexico and more a calculated product aimed at American moms and their book clubs. Not worth the praise or the controversy really.
p.s., Having posted my review I finally read some in-depth critiques of American Dirt and more fully explored the controversy. And while the book is not very good, the arguments against it are sound and the need to get pissed about it is quite legit.
Lydia lives in Acapulco with her investigative journalist husband and their son Luca. She owns a bookstore and the family is pretty firmly middle class but her story doesn't open with these mundane facts of her life. It opens with her huddling in a bathroom with Luca as a drug cartel guns down the rest of her family during a backyard cookout celebration of her niece's quinceanara. Lydia knows that once the head of the cartel knows she and her son have survived, they will not be safe. She knows this because she knows this man. Javier was her customer at the bookstore and he was her friend, at least until her husband published an article about him, an article Javier cannot forgive. So although Lydia's numb from losing her entire family in one horrific afternoon, she knows that she and Luca have to flee. The drug cartel's tentacles are long though and although she ostensibly has far more resources than many people making their way to the US, she cannot draw attention to herself and her son, fumbling and haltingly making their way through the country along the migrant path, encountering the breadth of humanity, both good and understanding people as well as exploitative and awful people. She is driven to protect her son at all costs, to get him to safety, and to help him process everything he's witnessed, both the loss of family and the terrible and terrifying things he sees along the way as they join the steady stream of migrants making their way north.
Lydia and Luca have lost everything, including their heretofore unexamined sense of safety and this revelation makes the unexpected (or even pre-warned about) hardships that much harder emotionally as they move forward toward a life that they never wanted but have no option to seek. Lydia is perhaps a little naive as a character but then, who isn't when living a life of unconcern and relative ease? This naivete comes up hard against the need to keep Luca safe as they travel and as she is forced to see clearly both the humanity and the inhumanity in those around her on the journey. The trip is arduous and dangerous and the reasons people from all over Central and South America attempt the journey are myriad with Cummins offering small snippets of only a few reasons in the characters of Lydia and Luca, the Honduran sisters, the former student whose visa expired, the mother trying to get back to her American children, the brothers and their sons from Veracruz. Until almost the end of the novel, most of the characters stay fairly anonymous as Lydia guards her story and her identity, fearful to trust. This makes the novel that much more insular and paranoid feeling, as akin to Lydia's own feelings as possible. She and Luca are the main focus and the novel is narrated around their perceptions and worries. It is fast paced and action oriented and although there are two very dramatic happenings close to the end that push the story a bit over the top, it never minimizes the actual danger involved in crossing into the US or on the long journey to get there. The obstacles to making it all the way, in some cases thousands of miles, are numerous and in presenting this, the novel felt revelatory, especially to an audience privileged enough, like Lydia once was, never to have had to consider it. The news may talk about the danger of the border crossing but it doesn't do a particularly good job at acknowledging that this crossing is only one in a series of dangers, not the first, nor even the last. I found this a very worthwhile read. It made me think and consider in ways that I hadn't before and I think that aspect might be getting lost in all the outrage and discussions and I think that's a shame.
Lydia and her
And the journey begins. No matter your politics or past experiences, you cannot but find what Lydia, Luca and the other migrants they encounter on the way heartbreaking. I couldn’t relate to any of the events, but I could feel the fear and hopelessness and anxiety and the staggering bravery and determination needed to try to escape this life for a better one.
I was lucky enough to receive an advance audiobook copy of American Dirt from Macmillan Audio. It is read by Yareli Arizmendi, and she is the perfect narrator for this story. Her pace is slow and calm and measured and completely conveys the terror and poignancy and drama. Thanks to Macmillan Audio for giving me the opportunity to experience this wonderful story. All opinions in this review are my own.
Each day brings new challenges and sometimes setbacks. Lydia and Luca meet two Honduran sisters, Soledad and Rebeca, and benefit from their experience. Together they travel on La Bestia, the northbound train, riding with other migrants on the rail car roofs. “Boarding” the train is extremely dangerous and can be fatal, but there is no other alternative. Throughout their journey, Lydia is constantly watching for the cartel, never certain whether someone they just met is trustworthy. But their close-knit group of four are able to help and support one another in ways neither pair could have managed on their own.
Although American Dirt is fiction, it reads like a realistic account of the hardship and danger facing migrants. For me, it was an education, making this human struggle less abstract. In that sense, it’s an important book worthy of attention.
Through a fortuitous need to have his mother close by when using a bathroom at a relative's house, Luca and Lydia only hear what is transpiring on Abuela's
Their journey is frightening, arduous and eye opening. Rape, robbery, kidnapping and murder are very real. Their fellow migrants share dreadful stories of their own. Through story telling and character development the author brings images seen on CNN to life.
I highly recommend this fast paced and exciting read.
The central character is Lydia. She had a comfortable middle-class existence in Acupulco. Her husband was a journalist and she operated a book store. They had one child, a son called Luca. Lydia grew up in Acupulco and her sister, mother, niece, nephew, cousins all lived there. Until the day when three gunmen opened fire on Lydia's family gathered to celebrate her niece's fifteenth birthday. Then there was just Lydia and Luca left because Luca had to go to the bathroom and he asked his mother to stand guard outside the bathroom because his cousin had once walked in on him. They hid in the shower stall while the rest of their family was murdered. The action was ordered by the head of the local criminal cartel as payback for an article that Lydia's husband had written about him. From that moment Lydia and Luca are on the run. Their story of heading north is dramatic and gut-wrenching but there were also instances of friendship and help and generosity. Still Lydia knows that the cartel leader is out to get her and Luca and she can never rest. They have to resort to taking La Bestia, a freight train (actually a series of trains) on which migrants can catch a ride if they are lucky, to get to the northern border. Each day is a miracle of survival.
This book has generated controversy because the author and publisher were seen as profiting from the current interest in Central American migrants. In addition, some Latinas felt that a white United States resident should not attempt to tell the story of brown illegal immigrants. Cummins addressed some of this in her afterword and I believe she just genuinely was moved by the plight of the people similar to the ones she depicts. Her portrayals seem realistic to me but then I'm a white middle-class Canadian who doesn't even speak Spanish.
Lydia reminds me so much of myself. She tries to see the good in everyone, even in those who are pure evil. Her naivete contributed to her family getting killed at a family gathering. She and her son, Luca, went
They embark on the long journey from Guerrero to the US border, with plans to continue on to Colorado. This book goes in-depth telling the story of the dangers the migrants deal with making their way across Mexico and, if they make it, across the border. Rape, abuse, hunger, rain, cold, excessive heat, thieves, wild animals, and much more.
It also tells of the dangers riding the cargo train, La Bestia, in which several meet their final destiny on their last ride.
When close to the border, they meet up with a well known coyote who helps them cross.
This story had my attention from page 1 to the end. It had lots of action throughout.
The author composed such a wonderful character development that it felt like I personally knew the characters.
I really related to this book because I used to live in Mexico and I drove from NE USA to deep down in Mexico near Guerrero.
I highly recommend this book.
I received this book from the publisher to give my honest review.
Thank you (less)
The story of escape is suspenseful and compelling, but it's manipulative and deeply
The writing itself is not very good. Tropes and stereotypes abound. I don't know what Oprah sees in it. There are much better books out there.
The worst of it is, Jeanine Cummins admits that someone "browner than" her should have written this book. OMG FIND THAT PERSON THEN. It's shitty enough to write an ignorant book when you don't know any better, and doubly bad when you do and power on, anyway.
As a white woman, I am ashamed to see white women peddling this shit for the masses in the Year of Our Lord 2020. This is why we can't have nice things or elect an awesome lady to be the US President.
I listened to this for over an hour and a half (about 9% of the book); there is a lot of sensationalized violence and it felt like Lydia and her family were victims in a thriller movie, rather than
Here’s a novel that provides you with two experiences for the price of one book. First, the novel itself is a suspense/thriller about escaping certain murder at the hands of a narco gang, with the escape elucidating the plight of migrants fleeing terror; in this
On the first, most readers will find the trek of Lydia, her son Luca, the Honduran girls Soledad and Rebeca, and child of the Tijuana garbage dumps Beto, harrowing. In addition to fleeing the terrors of their homes and the psychological weight they bear, they must deal with all manner of potentially deadly forces, including criminals, terrain, weather, hunger, injury, and illness. Readers should prepare themselves for exposure, though none too graphic, to death by gunfire, accidents, and rape, including rape of children. As the author has her protagonist voice, why would anyone uproot their life, forfeit their language and culture, flee to a culture they know little of, put themselves in all manner of deadly danger, unless absolute desperation left them few or no other options? On the run, bad choices abound, irrational decisions become the order of the day, and physical and psychological trauma become a perpetual burden, even for the successful. This is the greater scope of American Dirt and viewed in this light, Jeanine Cummins has told a compelling story in a way that will attract a large audience. If the idea here is to reach out to people, touch them, and help them understand the plight of those trying to reach the U.S., then she has accomplished her goal.
As for the second, Mexican and Mexican-American authors have taken Cummins, her publisher, and the publishing industry as a whole to task on the question of authenticity. Could not this story have been better told by authors with deep cultural roots in Mexico or Central American countries? Allied with this are the criticisms of compensation and promotional muscle. On the first point, these authors certainly have a legitimate grievance, and they cite many ways Cummins misrepresents aspects of Mexican culture. You can read these yourself online, including among the Amazon reviews of the novel, and they are worth reading. They will help you see where Cummins has gone awry. Perhaps an enterprising author will write a fuller critic of the novel to put things right by his or her lights. On the question of compensation, here most every single author will probably agree, and gripe, about either no advances or advances barely sufficient to cover a few New York cab rides. The truth of the matter is only a handful of authors receive these big advances. Publishers are always looking for the few titles that will sell big and support the rest, that is the vast bulk, of their line. Too, only a small group of authors earn healthy livings from their published works. The idea that authors, and actors, and others in creative fields, are rolling in the dough is a myth. These fields are like others: some do very well, and then there is everybody else.
So, for what the novel is, a suspense/thriller, that might raise the awareness of Americans to what’s happening on the border, most readers will find it a satisfying, and perhaps enlightening, read.
" But now that she’s sitting in this quiet library with her son and their stuffed backpacks, like a thunderclap, Lydia understands that it’s not a disguise at all. She and Luca
are actual migrants. That is what they are. And that simple fact, among all the other
severe new realities of her life, knocks the breath clean out of her lungs. All her
life she’s pitied those poor people. She’s donated money. She’s wondered with the
sort of detached fascination of the comfortable elite how dire the conditions of their
lives must be wherever they come from, that this is the better option. That these
people would leave their homes, their cultures, their families, even their languages,
and venture into tremendous peril, risking their very lives, all for the chance to
get to the dream of some faraway country that doesn’t even want them."
The action is compelling and the relationships formed by a few of the migrants, especially a pair of beautiful sisters whose looks are a liability, show the compassion possible even in dire situations. Though the book received some criticism as perpetuating stereotypes and though the writing itself wasn't especially notable, I found the novel worthwhile, giving the reader a glimpse of what is involved in this desperate quest for a better life. To understand the circumstances that necessitate these treks, helps the reader to empathize with the desperation of these migration stories.
Lydia Perez operates her own bookstore in Acapulco, Mexico. Her husband is an investigative journalist. The family has a good life. Lydia becomes friendly with a book store customer, who unbeknownst to her, at first, is the head of a
The book goes into great detail about the trials and tribulations of her escape. She wants to get to an uncle in Colorado. As they run, they encounter several others escaping for one reason or another, but mostly from a terrible lifestyle. The reader meets two teenage girls from Honduras, Soledad and Rebeca. Soledad has been repeatedly raped by human traffickers. These young men and other cartel members, everywhere, are powerful and take advantage of their innocent victims. They extract bribes, sex and force those they control to do as they say on penalty of torture and death. Soledad wants to save her younger sister from the same fate, thus, when she realizes the boy who is abusing her, has also discovered her sister, she packs up and leaves with her, for El Norte, the USA, the American Dirt! This leads to disastrous consequences for her family. She has no idea what awaits them on their route to ultimate safety, but she is willing to risk all to escape. They try not to trust any strangers they meet on their journey, since they might have connections to the heads of cartels or they might be thieves, but still they are robbed and abused. There is danger everywhere. In the end, after riding on the tops of trains, marching for miles in all kinds of heat and wet, they enlist the aid of a rare, reputable Coyote.
There are many interesting characters developed in the book. Beto, a ten year old asthmatic, Lorenzo, a cartel member, the Coyote who cares about those he is leading to the USA, but who is also cold-hearted about it and others. There is constant danger everywhere. As the reader learns more and more about them, the plight of the migrant becomes palpable. Along the way they are all betrayed by police and others they encounter. Greed drives many of the people they meet. Everyone is either looking to take advantage of the migrants, or is running from, or toward, something in America, and those very same migrants are willing to risk their very lives to get there.
I found the book to be very engaging. It is very well organized and easy to read, plus it is obvious that a great deal of research went into its planning. The audio narrator read it well, if perhaps a bit too slowly. Still, the interpretation of events and her portrayal of the various characters seemed spot-on so the characters were not often confused with one another. The story flowed smoothly as it showed examples of the horrific migrant experience, some running from danger, some running toward financial independence. Each has hope for a better life.
The author has painted a picture that feels very authentic. There were some flaws in the book like cell service in the desert when I have trouble getting it in my community! Also, the idea of undocumented vs illegal aliens is whitewashed in favor of the immigrant. The Lorenzos of the world are trying just as hard to get into America as the Lydias. The Lorenzos are cartel members, gang members, violent members of their own societies who are threats to Americans. The Lydias are running from extreme danger, running for their very lives and only want a better life. They don’t have the liberty to go through the process; they will be killed waiting. They deserve the asylum the USA offers.
The book is filled with the terror of the migrant experience as they attempt to cross countries and landscapes to illegally enter the United States. The sad thing is that the ones in real danger are mixed in with the ones who are just coming for work, who need to get in line. If they would do it legally, the ones who are in real danger would not have the issues they do. Their entrance into America would be easier.
The book has its flaws, however, objecting to its publication because the author is not Latino, seems ludicrous. In America, one would hope that authors would be free to write about anything they wish. One would hope that readers and protesters understand these are novels they are objecting to…, they are fiction, not fact.
Authors write for diverse audiences and come from diverse backgrounds. The cancellation of the book tours because of death threats is probably going to spur the sale of her book, anyway, but it is ill advised to allow the protestors to cause such havoc. The author comes from a multiracial family, she researched the book for four years before she published it, she married someone who came to the country undocumented, and so she seems very credible in her depiction of life for the migrants. Even though it is fiction, it is based on some actual events, as well. To criticize her for cultural appropriation or mischaracterization of the situation is ludicrous and unworthy of comment. It is a novel, and is not meant to be a memoir!
The tale tells of a mother and her 9-year-old son who survive the massacre of her family by cartel members, only to find themselves forced to flee to the United States to escape the clutches of the cartel leader. A journey in which they face many of the unimaginable challenges that real-life migrants face every day.
Personally, I'm not concerned f every story she relates is rooted in authenticity. Even if 50% of it is true, it's too much. The reality is that the majority of the tale is probably true and only begins to scratch the surface of what many of our neighbors to the south face in a search to meet the basic needs of their families and loved ones.
As the author states in her notes at the end of the book, we need more people telling these stories not less.
The writing itself is fine. I appreciate the frequent literacy mentions. If one reader goes in search of those original sources than the book is worth more than the paper it is printed upon.
I recommend this one for a multitude of reasons.
When a family outing becomes the perfect place for Javier's maggots to strike, killing Lydia's beloved journalist husband and all her family except she and her beloved eight- year- old boy, she immediately flees the city with her son, hoping they will be able to escape.
The mother and child are able to find someone who, with others, sets on a journey to get past the border and enter America. There are thrilling depictions of events that occur in the deadly trek to flee a crime-ridden county in the hope of a better, safer life.
A strong statement regarding those who need to leave their country and the perils that they face both in their homeland and in the process of hoping for a new life.
I found it to be surprisingly well done and on an important subject. I truly liked these characters and felt for what they had gone through and the effort it took for them to make the decisions they made. It definitely bought home the suffering of those arbour borders and what they had already gone through to make it this far. Eight year old Luca was my favorite, a young boy already wiser than his years who will see and experience things no child should. If there were cliches within, they passed me by. The authors note explains why she wrote this book and the research that went into the writing. Once again, I found her reasons more than credible.
Who owns a story, an idea? This is after all fiction, not non fiction. Doesn't this book and it's promotion get the plight of the migrants out there and in the public eye? Doesn't that have value in and of itself? How many, who have not even read the book just jumped on the bandwagon to be part of something? Isn't trying to condemn, squash the popularity of this book, another form of the relinquishing of our rights to freedom of the press? Just a few things to think about and then go and read the book yourself and form your own opinions.
Afterwards I chanced across the Twitter uproar over the fact that a white woman author wrote poorly about