I saw a very "friend of a friend" sort of IG acquaintance post about reading this, talking about how it should be required reading...so, naturally, I put it on hold at the library. And after reading it, I have to say, I pretty much agree. 

 

In Solito, poet Javier Zamora shares the story of his crossing from El Salvador to the US on his own, at 9 years old. From his small hometown to Guatemala, then Mexico and finally, on the third attempt, to the US (Arizona) by way of the Sonoran Desert, Javier makes this trip without anyone he knows, just a small group of other El Salvadorans attempting the same harrowing journey, and the coyote(s) they've hired to lead them. The "trip" is supposed to last two weeks, but it is seven weeks later (for most of which his family has no idea where he is or if he still lives) that he is finally reunited with his parents. From dangerous boat trips, being held at gunpoint and detained, suffering endless treks through the desert without enough food/water, losing almost all his belongings running from "la migra," and spending most of the journey scared and dirty and feeling alone, Javier experiences a life-changing two months that are far beyond the reckoning of so many, yet still intimately familiar to too many. Without the selfless effort of two of the other travelers in his group, who take him under their care despite having no incentive/need to do so, the end of his story may have been very different - one that he likely would not have been here/able to tell us.    

 

My goodness, Zamora's writing is stunning. The juxtaposition of the poetry of his words and the clarity with which he describes (in many cases) terrifying and grueling circumstances, is incredible. One of the reasons for that, and really a highlight of the entire reading experience for me, is the attention that Zamora gives to the details. Throughout the entire book, the descriptions are visceral; his use of all the senses, in conveying what he remembers, does a spectacular job in bringing the reader along on every bit of these weeks of Zamora's life. And really before that, as well. The opening chapter, that takes place in his hometown in El Salvador, as he and his family prepare for his "trip," where he shares memories of his daily life, school, classmates/friends, toys, his family (especially his abuela's food stand and the relationship he has with his tía Mali), is so sweet in the simplicity of it's recognizable childhood-ness, of "just like kids everywhere." And your heart begins to ache while reading it, in anticipation of him having to leave/lose that, knowing (as an adult) what he (as a child) cannot: that he'll never be back in this place, with these people, in the same way again. Even with his own anticipation and joy for a “trip” leading to a long awaited reunion, and even being aware that there is a "happy" ending (as it were), you also know that what's to come will change this bright-eyed and hopeful young kid forever. And when it all comes, it's just as traumatic and heartbreaking and harrowing as you're steeling yourself for it to be.  

 

And that brings me to the one major socio-political commentary I want to make... Who is able to argue that a child deserves to have to experience what Zamora experiences for even a chance at living a safe (comparatively - which, yes is arguable, and is also not the one comment I'm making, so, go research that on your own if you need to) life with their parents? Like, seriously, who are you people? Because imagine having to make this choice...to subject your child to a journey/border crossings like this, alone, with a very real possibility of serious injury/death/trauma OR to possibly never see/live with them again? If there were legitimately any other option, an actual opportunity to do things another way, who wouldn't pick that other way? And if you were in that position, having to make this impossible choice, wouldn't you want your destination to be more understanding/friendlier/more welcoming that you/we are acting? Just like, look in the mirror, take a moment to reflect, read/learn something, and just be better. 

 

The way Zamora communicates his experience, but manages to, even from the current distance of time and processing he's had as an adult, maintain the details and observations and understandings of a child's perspective of it all, is something really special. One would wish that it didn't have to be something special, that he (or any child), would never have to live through this type of thing. But I'm eternally grateful and indelibly impacted, by the bravery Zamora's shown first in surviving in the moment, and second in surviving the reliving and the telling and the sharing with the world. The Author's Note at the end offers thanks to humans (in general, yes, but more specifically the few featured here in Zamora's own story), who chose to help and sacrifice and even jeopardize their own chances/selves, knowing they may never see the results. The way people can truly change each other's lives for the better, if we would only work towards that, instead of putting effort into the opposite, is so clearly shown. And finally, I have to mention the emotional and tender dedication to all those who have/are making/didn’t survive the crossing. 

 

Zamora gives a voice to such a hidden population here, one that is purposely silenced and vilified in a fear-mongering way that does nothing but hurt us all, reclaiming their dignity and humanity and the truth that they are equally deserving of opportunity that is so routinely stolen from them. "All" he does is tell his own story, with no messaging or arguing of anything added in, ever. Because his story is enough - the candor of it, the bald face of it, should make us all horrified. It should spur us all to fight for better systems. This entire novel, from writing to content, is stunning. And again, I concur, this is a novel of the "American Dream" that should absolutely be considered required reading.