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3.82 AVERAGE
3.82 AVERAGE
This could've been an interesting book. The story of a family traveling cross-country, on their way to document Native Americans and try to find children lost in the immigration crisis while the parents and children deal with the marriage falling apart.
However. This book was just such a slog, mostly because of the overwhelming pretension that pervades the book. Luiselli was not only make a trying Statement about immigration and America's Indigenous people, but also echo other works. A lot of the references to other works are explicit, and the book is full of metaphor and simile. I know that I tend to prefer more straightforward writing, but this was just beyond the pale for me. The debate about documentarian vs. documentarist was just...I don't even know. I didn't even bother reading the "elegies" throughout the book because I was just done and my eyes glazed over for the 20-page run-on sentence. I'm not sure what the husband was going to DO when he got to the Southwest, and pretty much everything both he and the wife said was like some stereotype of how Coastal Elites are.
It's a bummer, because there were moments where this could've been an interesting book. Take away the layers of references and navel-gazing and delve into exactly what went wrong in the marriage (other than the fact that the couple moved in pretty much immediately, it seems, despite them each having a child, which just seems like a bad idea). The family got to Asheville and the mother was surprised at the size of the place, but that was glossed over. There was a moment when the family was in Arkansas, maybe, and had a few interactions with the police and locals that were interesting. Delve into the relationship, into the culture shock--maybe have those cause the mother to reflect on what she's doing. The part narrated by the son was a bit better, though at times unbelievable. But I really enjoyed getting THAT perspective on the dissolution of the marriage, and his fear of losing his sister.
I don't remember the last time I was so relieved to finish a book.
However. This book was just such a slog, mostly because of the overwhelming pretension that pervades the book. Luiselli was not only make a trying Statement about immigration and America's Indigenous people, but also echo other works. A lot of the references to other works are explicit, and the book is full of metaphor and simile. I know that I tend to prefer more straightforward writing, but this was just beyond the pale for me. The debate about documentarian vs. documentarist was just...I don't even know. I didn't even bother reading the "elegies" throughout the book because I was just done and my eyes glazed over for the 20-page run-on sentence. I'm not sure what the husband was going to DO when he got to the Southwest, and pretty much everything both he and the wife said was like some stereotype of how Coastal Elites are.
It's a bummer, because there were moments where this could've been an interesting book. Take away the layers of references and navel-gazing and delve into exactly what went wrong in the marriage (other than the fact that the couple moved in pretty much immediately, it seems, despite them each having a child, which just seems like a bad idea). The family got to Asheville and the mother was surprised at the size of the place, but that was glossed over. There was a moment when the family was in Arkansas, maybe, and had a few interactions with the police and locals that were interesting. Delve into the relationship, into the culture shock--maybe have those cause the mother to reflect on what she's doing. The part narrated by the son was a bit better, though at times unbelievable. But I really enjoyed getting THAT perspective on the dissolution of the marriage, and his fear of losing his sister.
I don't remember the last time I was so relieved to finish a book.
I don't know how to review this book! I loved it, in a way, but it's a difficult read for sure. It's incredibly innovative, as it includes shifting narrators, lists, maps, song lyrics, photos, and so many allusions to other works, some of which I caught and I believe there are many I didn't. I'm not entirely sure why all of them are there when it comes to telling the stories contained in this book, but I think it has to do with the different ways we tell our stories as individuals and on up to story-telling to ourselves as a country - and that our stories as individuals may include pieces of literature as formative, declarative or explanatory experiences, and as a country, surely our literature both explains and shapes us. In an educated family like the one we follow on the road trip of this book, they would refer to many works including the songs and more child-appropriate books the children of this novel are familiar with, so that worked for me, but I think there was a lot more to it, much of which I'm likely not understanding. But I want to say you can enjoy this book without understanding everything Luiselli is doing.
In Lost Children Archive, a mom and dad are driving from New York to Arizona. They're sound documentarists, embarking on separate projects. The mom is working on a story about missing child refugees at the Mexico-US border, and US immigration policy involving family separation. For work and personally, she's overwhelmed with thoughts about the two daughters of a woman she was working with in New York, who are among the missing children, having set out for the US to join their mom. The dad is working on sound recording for a work about the Apache, Geronimo, and the last place where a Native American tribe lived free of white rule; he's obsessed with that story. The marriage is slowly falling apart, and each parent is lost in their own "archive" of sorts. The children, particularly the 10-year old boy, are aware of the tension between the parents, & aware of the plight of the immigrant children through a book they find among mom's things, not really meant for children but they convince her to read it to them, and because during the road trip they hear bits of radio news. I felt like there's a parallel being drawn between this marriage and family coming apart, and our country coming apart as we collectively ignore the plight of children who need our help. In the final third of the novel, the children of the road trip family set out on a journey of their own, hoping to gain their parents' attention and maybe help some of the lost immigrant children they've been hearing about.
Because of the way the characters have been set up, I found myself not really drawn to the mom, and certainly not to the dad. The mom seems detached in general, though passionate about her work. The children came more alive for me. Some reviewers have said they didn't care for the boy's narration when it switches to him, but I enjoyed that. I could feel the inside of his head more than I could the mom's. Maybe he's not a realistic 10-year old, but I think he's more real as a character. And I love the 5-year old girl! She's a bad-ass.
There's a lot to think about in this book, a lot to notice. I'm still digesting it - and there were things I loved and didn't love about it - but I deeply admire it. If you have also read Luiselli's non-fiction "Tell Me How It Ends", which is also about what happens to Central American immigrant children on their journey to, and in, the US - this is very much a companion piece to it, but it's not necessary to read one to enjoy the other.
In Lost Children Archive, a mom and dad are driving from New York to Arizona. They're sound documentarists, embarking on separate projects. The mom is working on a story about missing child refugees at the Mexico-US border, and US immigration policy involving family separation. For work and personally, she's overwhelmed with thoughts about the two daughters of a woman she was working with in New York, who are among the missing children, having set out for the US to join their mom. The dad is working on sound recording for a work about the Apache, Geronimo, and the last place where a Native American tribe lived free of white rule; he's obsessed with that story. The marriage is slowly falling apart, and each parent is lost in their own "archive" of sorts. The children, particularly the 10-year old boy, are aware of the tension between the parents, & aware of the plight of the immigrant children through a book they find among mom's things, not really meant for children but they convince her to read it to them, and because during the road trip they hear bits of radio news. I felt like there's a parallel being drawn between this marriage and family coming apart, and our country coming apart as we collectively ignore the plight of children who need our help. In the final third of the novel, the children of the road trip family set out on a journey of their own, hoping to gain their parents' attention and maybe help some of the lost immigrant children they've been hearing about.
Because of the way the characters have been set up, I found myself not really drawn to the mom, and certainly not to the dad. The mom seems detached in general, though passionate about her work. The children came more alive for me. Some reviewers have said they didn't care for the boy's narration when it switches to him, but I enjoyed that. I could feel the inside of his head more than I could the mom's. Maybe he's not a realistic 10-year old, but I think he's more real as a character. And I love the 5-year old girl! She's a bad-ass.
There's a lot to think about in this book, a lot to notice. I'm still digesting it - and there were things I loved and didn't love about it - but I deeply admire it. If you have also read Luiselli's non-fiction "Tell Me How It Ends", which is also about what happens to Central American immigrant children on their journey to, and in, the US - this is very much a companion piece to it, but it's not necessary to read one to enjoy the other.
challenging
dark
hopeful
sad
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Plot
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
No
This book was very cerebral, but I really enjoyed it. Characters were very compelling and a great reminder that we’re all imperfect and doing the best we can.
This book is ambitious, and I admired it. Was it the easiest read? No. Were there literary references and sound-making concepts that went over my head? Yes. The story is about a blended family, a mother and her daughter and a father and his son, that may or may not be a family at the end of the road trip in this book, and that question kept me turning pages. The voice here was amazing, especially the mother’s (when the 10yo boy takes over midway, a good place for a turn in the story, I found him sometimes distractingly mature). The “lost children” of this story are both unaccompanied minors coming from Central America and Mexico to the US and the boy and girl in this family. The photographs at the end are very affecting. A lot of times this read like nonfiction and other times it read like magical realism - like I said, it’s ambitious and I’d say unique.
Good book, worth the read. She plays around well with storytelling and inserting two narratives together. The switch to a different form of prose near the end is especially effective. Long, but good.
When I first heard about this, a story exploring the plight of children at the Southern border that mixed fiction and non-fiction and less orthodox materials, and that it would be written by Luiselli, I was very excited. And on paper, all that is awesome, as is the idea that the story is organized around these boxes of archival materials, that it (at least in theory) includes audio recordings (here as transcripts) and all these literary texts, including a novel in translation about post-apocalyptic kids on trains, I was like, bring it on.
But in practice, this doesn't work, however ambitious and cool Luiselli's plans; they exceed her abilities as a writer, and the result is often dull and sometimes just falls flat-- the sections narrated by the ten year old not only don't sound like a ten year old, they occasionally seem to fatally misunderstand what the genre Luiselli is writing in needs (think of the early runaway scene told with the excitement that young Swift Feather feels, where dread only creeps in later). And then, to echo Beckett (or Woolf, as Luiselli says) with a long unparagraphed section also from the POV of the ten year old? The writing didn't sparkle enough to make it work, and the result was honestly hard to read.
A disappointing case of great plans that weren't successfully executed.
But in practice, this doesn't work, however ambitious and cool Luiselli's plans; they exceed her abilities as a writer, and the result is often dull and sometimes just falls flat-- the sections narrated by the ten year old not only don't sound like a ten year old, they occasionally seem to fatally misunderstand what the genre Luiselli is writing in needs (think of the early runaway scene told with the excitement that young Swift Feather feels, where dread only creeps in later). And then, to echo Beckett (or Woolf, as Luiselli says) with a long unparagraphed section also from the POV of the ten year old? The writing didn't sparkle enough to make it work, and the result was honestly hard to read.
A disappointing case of great plans that weren't successfully executed.
I really wanted to like this book but it didn’t happen. I gave up halfway. I thought the book was as boring as the long unrelenting car trip the characters were on.
Luiselli is a really good writer, and I enjoyed her prose very much. This is an experimental novel which takes quite a few risks, and I’d say sometimes they work, and sometimes not so much. It can get really weighed down in literary and cultural references, for one thing. There are a lot of very abstruse lists.
The core story is one of a family of four – two parents, a boy (10 years old) and a girl (five years old), none of whom are given names - heading west in a car. They’re a blended family, and the boy belongs to the father, the girl to the mother. Some of their backstory is given, so we know how they found each other, moved in together, and became a family unit, three years ago.
During these years, the two adults have been working together, recording the sounds and languages of New York City, but this project is over, and now their work is taking them in separate directions. The father wants to document the land where the Apaches lived and died, capturing the silences that they left behind, while the mother is preoccupied with the fate of missing refugee children. This is their last car trip together as a family.
Part of this novel is narrated by the mother, part of it by the boy. Then there is a book which the mother is reading, sometimes by herself and sometimes as a good-night story to the children. It tells the story of a group of refugee children, shepherded across the border by a coyote, clinging to the top of a train, climbing over a wall, walking through a desert. These children don’t have names either, but are called “the sixth child”, “the seventh child”, and so on. This book-within-a-book heightens the tension inside the car, as does the fact that they sometimes listen to an audio version of “Lord of the Flies” as they drive along. Another recurring motif is the David Bowie song “Space Oddity”, about the astronaut getting lost in space.
Although the novel relies too much on literary and cultural allusions, much of the writing is beautiful. At one point, in the section narrated by the boy, there’s a 20-page-long single paragraph, which sounds disconcerting, but actually works pretty well. At this point, the two children from the car trip are lost, on their own, trying to survive as they make their way through the desert and mountains, and their story merges with the refugee children from the book-within-a-book, suddenly making them real as well.
Let me quote some passages. These are all from the section narrated by the woman.
< It’s past noon when we finally get to the Baltimore aquarium. The boy escorts us through the crowds and takes us straight to the main pool, where the giant turtle is. He makes us stand there, observing that sad, beautiful animal paddling cyclically around her waterspace, looking like the soul of a pregnant woman – haunted, inadequate, trapped in time. >
< We agree to drive only until dusk that day, and the days that will follow. Never more than that. The children become difficult as soon as the light wanes. They sense the end of daytime, and the presentiment of longer shadows falling on their world shifts their mood, eclipses their softer daylight personalities. The boy, usually so mild in temperament, becomes mercurial and irritable; the girl, always full of enthusiasm and vitality, becomes demanding and a little melancholic. >
< As a teenager, I had a friend who would always look for a high spot whenever she had to make a decision or understand a difficult problem. A rooftop, a bridge, a mountain if available, a bunk bed, any kind of height. Her theory was that it was impossible to make a good decision or come to any relevant conclusion if you weren’t experiencing the vertiginous clarity that heights impose on you. >
< Children have a slow, silent way of transforming the atmosphere around them. They are so much more porous than adults, and their chaotic inner life leaks out of them constantly, turning everything that is real and solid into a ghostly version of itself. Maybe one child, alone, by himself, cannot modify the world the adults around him or her sustain and entertain. But two children are enough – enough to break the normality of that world, tear the veil down, and allow things to glow with their own, different inner light. >
The core story is one of a family of four – two parents, a boy (10 years old) and a girl (five years old), none of whom are given names - heading west in a car. They’re a blended family, and the boy belongs to the father, the girl to the mother. Some of their backstory is given, so we know how they found each other, moved in together, and became a family unit, three years ago.
During these years, the two adults have been working together, recording the sounds and languages of New York City, but this project is over, and now their work is taking them in separate directions. The father wants to document the land where the Apaches lived and died, capturing the silences that they left behind, while the mother is preoccupied with the fate of missing refugee children. This is their last car trip together as a family.
Part of this novel is narrated by the mother, part of it by the boy. Then there is a book which the mother is reading, sometimes by herself and sometimes as a good-night story to the children. It tells the story of a group of refugee children, shepherded across the border by a coyote, clinging to the top of a train, climbing over a wall, walking through a desert. These children don’t have names either, but are called “the sixth child”, “the seventh child”, and so on. This book-within-a-book heightens the tension inside the car, as does the fact that they sometimes listen to an audio version of “Lord of the Flies” as they drive along. Another recurring motif is the David Bowie song “Space Oddity”, about the astronaut getting lost in space.
Although the novel relies too much on literary and cultural allusions, much of the writing is beautiful. At one point, in the section narrated by the boy, there’s a 20-page-long single paragraph, which sounds disconcerting, but actually works pretty well. At this point, the two children from the car trip are lost, on their own, trying to survive as they make their way through the desert and mountains, and their story merges with the refugee children from the book-within-a-book, suddenly making them real as well.
Let me quote some passages. These are all from the section narrated by the woman.
< It’s past noon when we finally get to the Baltimore aquarium. The boy escorts us through the crowds and takes us straight to the main pool, where the giant turtle is. He makes us stand there, observing that sad, beautiful animal paddling cyclically around her waterspace, looking like the soul of a pregnant woman – haunted, inadequate, trapped in time. >
< We agree to drive only until dusk that day, and the days that will follow. Never more than that. The children become difficult as soon as the light wanes. They sense the end of daytime, and the presentiment of longer shadows falling on their world shifts their mood, eclipses their softer daylight personalities. The boy, usually so mild in temperament, becomes mercurial and irritable; the girl, always full of enthusiasm and vitality, becomes demanding and a little melancholic. >
< As a teenager, I had a friend who would always look for a high spot whenever she had to make a decision or understand a difficult problem. A rooftop, a bridge, a mountain if available, a bunk bed, any kind of height. Her theory was that it was impossible to make a good decision or come to any relevant conclusion if you weren’t experiencing the vertiginous clarity that heights impose on you. >
< Children have a slow, silent way of transforming the atmosphere around them. They are so much more porous than adults, and their chaotic inner life leaks out of them constantly, turning everything that is real and solid into a ghostly version of itself. Maybe one child, alone, by himself, cannot modify the world the adults around him or her sustain and entertain. But two children are enough – enough to break the normality of that world, tear the veil down, and allow things to glow with their own, different inner light. >
