Tag Archives: luiselli

11/27/21

Luiselli Style

Luiselli has a unique writing style that is unlike any other author we have seen thus far. Luiselli uses humor to relieve tension in the text. Whenever the novel covers a disturbing or tragic piece of nonfiction, there is almost always some kind of humorous jab to go with it. She speaks of irony, giving the reader time to laugh and think, then proceeds to describe the irony in immaculate detail. By doing this, Luiselli stalls the reader long enough to then make them less sensitive to the tragic content that is the target of the irony. Furthermore, unlike other authors, Luiselli does not leave much to be read in between the lines, she tends to extrapolate so much that even the least critical reader has an extremely easy time to understand the points she is trying to convey. She pours out all of her thoughts and feelings of the topic at hand throughout the novel; thus,  it is like how the reader is looking into a glimpse of her mind. The reader, captivated by what she thinks and what she thinks others think, is then pulled into the story that she is trying to portray, the narrative that she is attempting to tell. Although Luiselli’s writing style works wonders for the readers that actually read it, the form is not the best for attracting new audiences or keeping the reader involved, since it is very long compared to other short stories we have read as well as how Luiselli goes off in a tangent of long sentences just like the ones in this post.

11/27/21

The humor of trauma

What stuck with me the most from Luiselli’s text is the amount of humor that she included in it. I’m also a person who deals with stressful situations by laughing at them or trying to play a joke. Although it’s not always the most appropriate response, it’s interesting how people use humor to cope with unknown or intense situations.

I associated the use of this device with standup comedians. Usually, people who joke about their marginalization, racism, and stereotypes, are the biggest example of how humor can loosen tension about these subjects and help start a conversation about the difficulties of navigating their lives as minority groups.

I found that Luiselli was able to not only bring humor into the narration but use it in such a way that it highlighted just how extreme and unfair the system is. By critiquing the people, institutions, and ideologies involved in the immigration crisis, she allows us readers to become a part of the conversation.

11/25/21

Interrogation of Worth

Luiselli’s structural choices allow for an implicit criticism of the United States’ inhumanity during this crisis. By going through each question and providing anecdotes, the injustice and heartlessness of the US are strikingly apparent. Luiselli has no need to explicitly criticize these procedures, simply going through each question is enough to highlight the inefficacy of this process as a tool for determining a child’s worthiness of entering the country. The controlled structure seems to juxtapose the long and elaborate response that Luiselli writes to each question, reflecting the uselessness of the process; a child’s worth and value cannot be dwindled down into 40 questions. The process goes against everything the US, and the Western world, have agreed upon about human rights, and yet the crisis happened so blatantly and without intervention. Her detached approach to tackling this problem by laying it out in the same way the courtroom procedure would follow creates a powerful critique of the system when we see that it is impossible to answer these questions succinctly, thereby showcasing and critiquing the failures of the bureaucracy. I think that Luiselli’s choice to write about her college class’ initiative to help was a powerful way of showcasing that this should not be a problem that is ignored and normalized and that we should be doing something to stop this relentless cycle of colonial violence. The anger I felt while reading was, almost, soothed by this idea of hope and inspiration that I can do something to help. 

11/25/21

fitting a circle into a square

For this week’s blog post I wanted to dive a little bit deeper into Luiselli’s progressive, specific naming the numbers of the questions throughout the text. In our small group, we discussed how this worked to highlight the bureaucratic handling of something that does not fit neatly into the bureaucratic “mould.”

Numbers are potentially the most logical,  systematic way of ordering anything. Throughout the essay Luiselli demonstrates how the US immigration system attempts to squeeze these children’s unique and individualized stories into the confines of logical, ordered and systematic numerical lists.

By specifically referring to the numbered questions at different points throughout the essay, Luiselli reminds us as readers of the futility – ridiculousness – of trying to mould the children’s subjective stories to these highly objective criteria.

At the same time, in a more formal way, the numbers act as little “touchpoints” throughout the story to keep the reader grounded in the story. They move the narrative along, which is especially important because Luiselli jumps between different temporal spaces throughout (between her attempts to get her green card, her road trip, her job as a translator).

Interestingly, I noticed that the “Coda – Eight Brief Postscripta” is organized numerically, even though each “subject” doesn’t fit into a particular “category.” I’m not sure what to make of this, as Luiselli has critiqued the system of numbers throughout the essay, and yet organizes her ideas in this way at the end of the text. I’m not criticizing her for doing so, and perhaps it means nothing – but it just sparked a thought.

11/25/21

American Labyrinth

Inside, the building branches vertically and horizontally into hallways, offices, windows, courtrooms, and waiting rooms… it’s easy to get lost. The building’s labyrinthine architecture is, in a way, a replica of the U.S. immigration system. And, as in any labyrinth, some find their way out and some don’t. Those who don’t might remain there forever, invisible specters who go up and down elevators and wander the hallways, imprisoned in circular nightmares. (Luiselli 35-36). 

Luisilli’s equivocation of the physical architecture of the building to the US immigration system is incredibly apt, and her evocation of the labyrinth reminds me of Franz Kafka’s The Trial and the Greek myth of the Minotaur’s Labyrinth. This specific passage has many parallels with Kafka’s novel. Josef K, the protagonist of The Trial, must both physically and mentally navigate the court system when he is accused of committing a crime. However, (spoiler alert) he is thwarted at every turn, and after a year of trying the escape the impossible labyrinth, he pays a couple of people to murder him. In the novel, and in Luiselli’s explanation of the building, both authors understand that the physical architecture mimics a bureaucratic system that is trying to confuse and exhaust the victim — they are “imprisoned in a circular nightmare” (Luiselli 36). A more cynical reading would suggest that Luiselli evokes the Minotaur’s Labyrinth when she compares the system to the Labyrinth. Young Athenians were sent into the labyrinth as sacrificial victims to be devoured by the minotaur. This comparison would suggest that the children were always meant to lose, and they never stood a chance — the game was rigged from the start. 

Luiselli acknowledges the victims of this obfuscated system. She recognizes them as ghosts, spectres — perhaps suggesting that they are dead or sent to their death because of the decisions made in the court. Alternatively, Luiselli could also be referring to all the people that have already died on their way to this building; the people trying to navigate the nightmare world that is their real life.

11/23/21

ALIENS ON ALIENS CRIME?

When I read this book, I felt as if I had a review, like general culture, something you hear on the radio or see on the news, something that is not normal, but you are used to it. I can’t imagine what a foreigner might think or feel as they read through the violence surrounding the country. As a Mexican woman, things like la Bestia, Los Zetas, Enrique Peña, and “Build the Wall” are familiar terms. So much so that we even make jokes about them (SARCASM).

One of the facts that I didn’t know and impressed me the most is that the children who identify as Mexican do not go through a degrading immigrant process in the United States. Moreover, they could be deported without a second thought.
Almost as if they meant… Oh, you are Mexican? No worries, we don’t have time. We know about all the violence you experienced, but you literally have no chance of getting a permit even if you are MORE discriminated against or harmed in this country. Go behind the line again, Go start over, Go on  keep suffering behind it. That exact same line they drew when they stole more than half of the Mexican territory.

In 1848, the United States “took” more than half of Mexico’s territory. Through the so-called Treaty of Guadalupe-Hidalgo, the current states of California, Nevada, Utah, New Mexico, and Texas, as well as parts of Arizona, Colorado, Wyoming, Kansas, and Oklahoma, all of which today belong to the United States, belonged to Mexico until the signing of the Treaty of Guadalupe-Hidalgo. And, what I find most ironic is how they call the Mexicans “aliens,” the ones they deport from their supposed country. By what right do they have the power to return these aliens to Mexico when they were the first aliens who invaded the territory.