Where we come from A novel

Oscar Cásares, 1964-

Book - 2019

"From the acclaimed author Brownsville and Amigoland--a stunning and timely new novel about a Mexican-American family in a Texas border town who reluctantly become involved in smuggling immigrants into the United States. Brownsville, Texas, has a dangerous reputation: it sits on the U.S. side of the bridge into Matamoros, Mexico, a city controlled by notorious cartels. But that isn't why 12-year-old Orly doesn't want to visit. Though he's still grieving the death of his mother, his father, Victor, is making him spend the summer in Brownsville with his godmother, Nina. Now a successful ad executive in Houston, Victor was raised in Brownsville and thinks it will do Orly good to know about his less-privileged roots. But Nin...a, distracted by having to care for her elderly mother, seems only to have rules for Orly. In particular: Don't go near the back house. . . Nina has spent her own life following rules and sacrificing her own desires for others' needs. But when a single act of kindness toward her desperate Mexican cleaning lady begins to spiral out of control, Nina risks exposure from all sides--not only from her curious godson and her controlling brother, but from ruthless human traffickers and the police. Now, Nina will have to face the secrets she's long kept if she has any hope of helping the people suddenly under her care. Tackling the crisis of U.S. immigration policy from an unusual, deeply humane angle, Where We Come From explores the ways that family history shapes us, how secrets can burden us, and how finding compassion and understanding for others can ultimately set us free"--

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Subjects
Genres
Novels
Published
New York : Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Penguin Random House LLC 2019.
Language
English
Main Author
Oscar Cásares, 1964- (author)
Edition
First edition
Item Description
"Borzoi books."
Physical Description
256 pages ; 22 cm
ISBN
9780525655435
Contents unavailable.
Review by Booklist Review

When 12-year-old Orly travels from Houston to the border town of Brownsville to visit his godmother, Nina, he discovers a secret: she is hiding Daniel, a Mexican boy his age who has crossed the border illegally, hoping to be reunited with his father, who is living in Chicago. Though wary of each other at first, the two boys bond, Orly wondering what it must be like to be illegal not because you've done something you're not supposed to, but simply because you want to be safe with your family. But speaking of family: Nina's heartless brother, Beto, is suspicious and resolutely determined to find out what his sister is up to. Nearly discovered by Beto, Daniel flees; but where can he go? Can he possibly make it to Chicago on his own? In this gentle novel, Cásares has done a beautiful job of answering Orly's questions for the reader, creating a vivid portrait of a boy caught between two worlds. The story is a necessary exercise in empathy at a time when there is too little for the Daniels of the world.--Michael Cart Copyright 2019 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

The author of the collection Brownsville returns to that Texas border town for this thoughtful and quietly suspenseful novel. Retired single schoolteacher Nina lives with and cares for her crabby, bedbound mother. She is looking forward to spending a few summer weeks with her 12-year-old godson, Orly, whose advertising executive father, Nina's nephew, lives in Houston, and whose mother recently died of an aneurysm. Meanwhile, a few months before Orly's visit, Nina has gotten in over her head by providing secret housing for undocumented immigrants in the rental house behind her mother's. When Orly arrives, one boy, 12-year-old Daniel, is hiding there. Despite Nina's efforts, Orly discovers Daniel's existence, and the two form a tentative bond, in the process putting Nina's extended family in danger. While keeping the focus on family dynamics and the characters' internal struggles, Casares frequently, and often heartbreakingly, sets this domestic story in a wider context by stepping back to investigate the stories of people with whom the main characters interact only tangentially (a waiter who provides room service for Orly's father in San Francisco; the gardener who cleans the gutters at Orly's house in Houston). With understated grace and without sermonizing, Casares brilliantly depicts the psychological complexity of living halfway in one place and halfway in another. (May) Correction: this review originally had the incorrect title. © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Kirkus Book Review

A Mexican-American family in Texas finds their home turned into a way station for immigrants smuggled across the border.Csares (Amigoland, 2009, etc.) returns to his hometown of Brownsville for a potent novel about the complexities of immigration and the lies we tell ourselves and our families. Twelve-year-old Orly is from Houston, has light skin, and speaks passable Spanish even though he strongly prefers English and sometimes denies knowing Spanish at all. After his mother's sudden death, Orly is sent by his dad to spend the summer with his aunt Nina in Brownsville. Unbeknownst to him, Nina has a small, pink casita in her backyard being used by coyotes moving human cargo north. Neither Nina nor Orly quite knows how they got into their situations. Orly's brother is at camp, his father is in Napa with a new girlfriend, and his mother's absence is a gaping hole so big he can't see the other side. Just when Nina thinks she's rid of the smugglers for good, a young boy named Daniel knocks on her back door in the middle of the night after narrowly escaping Immigration and Customs Enforcement. Nina puts him up in the casita and now has to hide her secret from Orly, her elderly mother, and her bossy brother. As Nina, Orly, and Daniel learn each other's secrets, the reader is treated to a novel that addresses the complexity of immigration, identity, and assimilation while telling close, intimate stories. The novel is told in a roaming third person that turns each character, no matter how seemingly one-dimensional or minor, into a powerful presence. Each voice in this chorus has something urgent to say. Csares devotes a page or so of italicized backstory to seemingly minor characters who would drift out of a different novel without a second glance: a raspas vendor, a coyote quickly arrested, a Brownsville police officer, Orly's English teacher, and many more. Whether it's the teacher about to be deported, a man who doesn't concern himself with the fact that his own mother used to be undocumented, or the many people making the dangerous crossing who are beset by tragedy, these asides all reveal the sometimes-hidden yet always profound effects of immigration. Helping us learn the truth about who we are individually and as a society is the ultimate goal of this novel.In some ways timely, this quiet, delicate book delivers a truly timeless emotional punch. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Excerpted from Where We Come From Orly's dad packed the Suburban on a Saturday morning. Alex had left for camp the day before, the bus departing from the Methodist church parking lot down the street. For Orly's dad this would be only an overnight trip, 725 miles down and back, because after he drove back to Houston he had to fly out to San Francisco two days later. He considered putting Orly on a direct flight to Brownsville, but thought they could use some father-son time, especially with Orly still wondering why he couldn't just stay in Houston. When they were done bringing all their bags out to the car, his dad told him to ride up front with him. "But Mom said I had to wait until I was a teenager." "It doesn't look like there's any room in the back, buddy." His dad had tossed the bags in the backseat instead of in the cargo space in the very back of the Suburban, where they usually stored the luggage. "Plus it's a long ride. I could use the company." "She always said it was against the law for me to sit in the front and we might get in trouble." "Not really," he said, "and you already look thirteen to me." He mussed Orly's hair in that way he did when he meant to say it was a private joke, some caper between the two of them. ***   Until that grayish Tuesday afternoon when he learned she died from one, Orly had never heard of an aneurysm. It was already weird, their dad picking him up after school two hours late when it should've been Maribel picking him up on time. Alex was in the car and still sweaty from his basketball practice. This was the day their mom was supposed to be moving into her townhouse. Oct. 4: Mom moving to Condo.   There it was on the dry-erase board for everyone to see when they were at the refrigerator getting a cheese stick or filling their water bottles at the dispenser; she'd even peeled off the magnetic stickers to Vincent's Doggy Daycare and the poison control center so they could see her note more clearly on the board. After the first or second week, though, the words had become more of a blur to him, seen but not read, recognized but no longer processed, no different from a reminder about an upcoming chimney sweep visit or Pepe's heartworm pills. It didn't help that she had run out of room to write "townhouse" and instead had settled for calling it a condo, when all along she had only called it a townhouse. There were probably similarities between townhouses and con­dos, sure, but in his mind he associated the word "condo" with the times they had gone as a family to the beach, which were fun and worth remembering and he knew this condo wasn't going to be either of those. Her notes usually ended with two exclamation points, but in this case, because it wasn't exactly a happy day, not like a birth­day or anniversary, she had settled for underlining her words. Underlining wasn't the same as exclaiming; underlining meant this is important, don't forget because sooner or later this is com­ing around and you'll want to remember it; an exclamation point meant PAY ATTENTION because something's about to hap­pen, something you'll probably regret missing for a long time. And so yes, as soon as his mom had mentioned it that morning Orly remembered the date, of course, even if he tried to act like he thought it was next month or at the end of the summer, and anyway by then she'd pulled up to the front of the car line and Mr. Domínguez, who happened to be on traffic-control duty that morning, opened Orly's door and said, "¡Buenos días, Orly!" in his chipper voice and waited for him to exit, as did the other two dozen cars behind them. From there, his mom had rushed back to the house to wait for the movers, who were the ones who found her passed out next to the boxes she'd been storing in the garage. Weeks earlier she had started taking the packing boxes out of the house so Alex and Orly wouldn't have to see what they already knew but didn't want to believe. Their father had planned to wait until they were home before telling the boys anything, but with the summer heat and stop-and-go traffic and the tightness in his chest building like it would only be harder to say the longer it took to finally circle into their driveway and sit them down in the living room, he instead pulled into the first open parking lot he saw. He undid his seat belt so he could turn around and face them, then signaled for them to turn off their devices and remove their headphones, but told them not to open the doors because they weren't getting out. Then why pull into Star Pizza? For as long as the boys could remember and way before their parents ever mentioned separat­ing, they used to come here as a family on those Friday nights when Maribel had the night off. It was the place they used to order the garlic bread from, with the deep-dish pizza that Alex used to get all over his shirt, the place that looks like an old house and has tiny restrooms, with the busboy who looks like their cousin Eloy, only older and with a gold tooth, where their parents sometimes let the kids sit outside on the patio while the grown-ups ate inside looking at their phones. Why that place? "I need to tell you something sad that happened today." Orly's hand shot up. "You got a new job and we're all moving somewhere else together?" "No, it has to do with our family, with Mom." "She changed her mind and isn't moving out?" Alex said. "Why would that be sad?" Orly asked. "I'm just saying. Maybe he's the one moving out now." "But Mom said she had to be the one or else it might not happen." "Just let me finish, okay? Me first, then you." Their dad had twisted around in his seat but was still gripping the steering wheel with his left hand. He stared at both of them for a couple of sec­onds, as if he wanted to remember what their faces looked like in this moment before he said what he had to say. "Your mom had an accident this morning." Without knowing what exactly was coming next, Orly covered his ears and buried his face in his lap. He was humming so loud that it should've blocked out the sound of his father's voice, but he heard enough to know the accident, as he suspected, was more than an accident. He heard it in his father's voice before he finished and the words made any sense. After their father gave them the details of how she had died but they still had no idea what an aneurysm was, he told them it was a brain stroke, thinking this might stop them from asking so many questions, but of course it didn't because neither Orly nor Alex knew what a stroke was either. Even with his seat belt still pressing against his chest, Orly felt as if everything he had inside him, his heart and lungs and liver and kidneys and stomach, was slipping from his body, down his legs and onto the floor mat where he'd just dropped his iPad. Their father tried to explain that a stroke was like a heart attack but to her brain and the damage it did to her brain was what killed her. They knew heart attacks because their dad's mother had died of one years earlier, but a heart attack was something that hap­pened to old people and their mom was barely forty-one, which was old but not old-old, like grandma-old, not like heart-attack-old, even if hers was more like a brain attack. None of it made any sense. Their dad was seven years older. So why was she the one who got sick? Alex had stopped with all his questions and was star­ing out the window at something in the bushes. Then he started slowly bumping the side of his head against the glass over and over until his dad opened his door and went around the car to hold him in his arms, and a couple of minutes later did the same with Orly.   Even going against traffic, it took almost half an hour before they passed every Marshalls, Target, Walmart, Chili's, McDon­ald's, Academy, Subway, Home Depot, and Bed Bath & Beyond it seemed there could be in the world. The drive down to Browns­ville usually took about six hours, but this time Orly knew it would feel a lot longer, more like seven or eight hours, maybe because on this trip he would be staying weeks and not days, or because his brother and his father wouldn't also be there with him. When he sat in the backseat he always had a movie or game to play on his iPad and basically, unless his mom or dad told him and Alex to look at some random cows in a pasture, he never had to deal with how utterly boring it was to look out the window. They were only an hour from the house when his iPad dinged with a text.   [Where r u?] [In car w/ dad, just left HTX.] Orly responded. [Tell Eduardo I said hi!]     "Alex says hi," Orly told his dad. He knew better than to say that just between them Alex liked to refer to their father by his first name. Or that he insisted on calling him Eduardo, the way he was addressed in Brownsville, and not Eddie, the way he was everywhere else. [D says hi back. Says he heard there were no devices @ camp.] [Fake News!] [D says ur going 2 get into trouble 4 breaking the rules.] [Tell Eduardo to chillax, it's a summer camp not a prison.] [D says he should've made both of us go to Brownsville.] [AKA Camp BS (Boring Summer)]     It wasn't long before what they saw out the tinted windows turned to miles and miles of dreary coastal plain, dull enough that Orly could nap for twenty minutes and after opening his eyes feel like they'd been moving but were still in the same place. Before, when he used to sit behind his mom, he thought the boredom had to do with only being able to look out at the side of the road and not the road in front of them, but as it turned out, with the exception of spotting some roadkill, he really hadn't been miss­ing all that much. Still, he liked sitting up front like they were in a buddy movie, just the two of them traveling cross-country, even if it meant he had to talk more or listen to his dad's news station and couldn't just put on his headphones or play another round of Clash Royale on his iPad, which he had planned to do for most of the trip. Close to noon they stopped at a Whataburger for lunch and a pee break. "But what if I get bored and there's nothing to do?" They had already ordered at the counter and were waiting for one of the table servers to bring their meal out to them. "That's why you're taking your summer books and your iPad. But you should really be outside doing stuff." "Like what?" "Lots of things. Taking chances and doing fun stuff, not just the things some camp director plans out for you and a bunch of other kids." "But doing what?" "Whatever there is to do," his dad said. "Your own ways to spend your time and have fun, different from mine. Give it a chance and you'll have a good time. Just wait and see." "Were you ever bored in the summer when you were growing up?" "All the time, but then I found things to do. You'll have fun in Brownsville and get to do things on your own. You'll see how dif­ferent it is down there and how good you and your brother have it where you live and the schools you go to, stuff I never had grow­ing up. It's just three weeks to try something new. Your Nina will take good care of you and keep you safe." "What if I hate it or if she's mean?" "Has she been mean to you before when we've gone to visit or she's come to see us in Houston?" "No, but maybe she'll get tired of me being there." "I doubt it--she's been begging me for years for you to go stay with her." "She looks like she could be mean." "Because she's older?" "Maybe." He took a sip of his soda. "You should've seen her when she was young." "What was she like?" "I've only seen pictures, but everybody used to say she was even prettier. I heard that one time she was in the parade and a photog­rapher from San Antonio walked the whole route, like more than a mile, just to give her his phone number and ask if she wanted to be a model." "Wait, seriously, she was a model?" "Not really. She was still in high school and her parents didn't let her." "What about after she graduated?" "I guess she changed her mind." "How come she never got married?" "Who knows? It just didn't work out that way. Not everybody's supposed to be married." When the food showed up there was some confusion about who had ordered which cheeseburger. This was actually the first time Orly had ordered something off the regular menu, which he did only because his dad had invited him to sit up front in the Sub­urban with him and Orly wanted him to think he was older. His dad had even let him get a soft drink, an orange Fanta, something his mom never let him do.   The most frustrating part for Orly was not knowing what hap­pened to her, not having a way to understand why someone would have an aneurysm. Even later that same day, in his room at home, he couldn't immediately look it up on his laptop because he didn't know how to spell the word, which in a stupid way made the whole thing that much worse, his mother dying of something he didn't know how to google. "The doctor said nobody knows why this happened now. Some­times it happens this way with aneurysms." They were eating din­ner at the time they were usually already in bed. Their father had reheated the chicken and pasta soup Maribel had left for them. "No warning at all?" Orly said. "Sometimes, or the person feels like something is wrong but keeps it to himself until it's too late." "Herself," Alex said. "Right," his father said. "Herself." The doctors did all they could to try to save her. At least she hadn't suffered long. This last part was meant to make them feel a little less sad. And of course Orly wouldn't have wanted her to suffer, but he also wasn't sure about her leaving so suddenly, about his finding out when it was already too late, about having to wait until after school because his father needed time to figure out all the things he needed to do next, the arrangements with the funeral home, the death certificate, phone calls to family and certain friends, to her law firm, to his office, before the next thing to do was tell the boys what had happened to their mom. Excerpted from Where We Come From: A Novel by Oscar Cásares All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.