Valeria Luiselli

I was born in Pachuca, the Beautiful Windy City, with four premature teeth and my body completely covered in a very fine coat of fuzz. But I'm grateful for that inauspicious start because ugliness, as my other uncle, Eurípides López Sánchez, was given to saying, is character forming. Highway is a late-in-life world traveler, yarn spinner, collector, and legendary auctioneer. His most precious possessions are the teeth of the "notorious infamous" like Plato, Petrarch, and Virginia Woolf. Written in collaboration with the workers at a Jumex juice factory, Teeth is an elegant, witty, exhilarating romp through the industrial suburbs of Mexico City and Luiselli's own literary influences.

Por qué viniste a los Estados Unidos? Ésa es la primera pregunta del cuestionario de admisión para los niños indocumentados que cruzan solos la frontera. Utilizando como hilo conductor este cuestionario que determinará su situación, Luiselli se ha adentrado en la realidad de los niños migrantes para mostrarnos una radiografía tanto de sus vidas pasadas, presentes y futuras, como del laberíntico y despiadado sistema migratorio de Estados Unidos. Este libro es un testimonio brutal, íntimo, escrito con una prosa franca, brillante y lúcida, que observa la realidad de los niños migrantes desde una distancia situada entre el deseo de remediar el desamparo existencial en el que se encuentran sumidos y la impotencia que desata la incapacidad para hacerlo.

In the heart of Mexico City, a woman, trapped in a house and a marriage she can neither fully inhabit nor abandon, thinks about her past. She has decided to write a novel about her days at a publishing house in New York; about the strangers who became lovers and the poets and ghosts who once lived in her neighbourhood. In particular, one of the obsessions of her youth - Gilberto Owen - an obscure Mexican poet of the 1920s, a marginal figure of the Harlem Renaissance, a busker on Manhattan's subway platforms, a friend and an enemy of Federico Garca Lorca. As she writes, Gilberto Owen comes to life on the page; a solitary, faceless man living on the edges of Harlem's writing and drinking circles at the beginning of the Great Depression, haunted by the ghostly image of a woman travelling on the New York subway. Mutually distorting mirrors, their two lives connect across the decades between them; forming a single elegy of love and loss.

Structured around the forty questions Luiselli translates and asks undocumented Latin-American children facing deportation, Tell Me How It Ends (an expansion of her 2016 Freeman's essay of the same name) humanizes these young migrants and highlights the contradiction of the idea of America as a fiction for immigrants with the reality of racism and fear both here and back home."

Un matrimonio en plena crisis viaja en coche con sus dos hijos pequeños desde Nueva York hasta Arizona. Ambos son documentalistas y cada uno se concentra en un proyecto propio: él está tras los rastros de la última banda apache en rendirse al poder militar estadounidense; ella busca documentar la diáspora de niños que llega a la frontera sur del país en busca de asilo. Mientras el coche familiar atraviesa el vasto territorio norteamericano, los dos niños, sentados en el asiento trasero, escuchan las conversaciones e historias de sus padres y a su manera confunden noticias de la crisis migratoria con la historia del genocidio de los pueblos originales de Norteamérica. En la imaginación de los niños, las historias de violencia y de resistencia política colisionan, entrelazándose en una aventura que es la historia de una familia, un país y un continente. Desierto sonoro, tercera novela de Valeria Luiselli, combina lo mejor de dos grandes tradiciones literarias, la del viaje y la del éxodo: trasiega por el asfalto y atraviesa horizontes desérticos, se detiene en moteles de carretera y penetra con hondura en los viajes interiores de sus personajes, ofreciendo con precisión una serie de instantáneas que retratan las infinitas capas del paisaje geográfico, sonoro, político y espiritual que conforman la realidad contemporánea. Un relato conmovedor y necesario que muestra la fragilidad con que se definen los lazos familiares, indaga en la manera en que documentamos nuestras existencias y pasamos las historias de mano en mano, de generación en generación, y se pregunta qué significa ser humano en un mundo cada vez más deshumanizado.

From the two-time NBCC Finalist, an emotionally resonant, fiercely imaginative new novel about a family whose road trip across America collides with an immigration crisis at the southwestern border--an indelible journey told with breathtaking imagery, spare lyricism, and profound humanity. A mother and father set out with their two children, a boy and a girl, driving from New York to Arizona in the heat of summer. Their destination: Apacheria, the place the Apaches once called home. Why Apaches? asks the ten-year-old son. Because they were the last of something, answers his father. In their car, they play games and sing along to music. But on the radio, there is news about an "immigration crisis": thousands of kids trying to cross the southwestern border into the United States, but getting detained--or lost in the desert along the way. As the family drives--through Virginia to Tennessee, across Oklahoma and Texas--we sense they are on the brink of a crisis of their own. A fissure is growing between the parents, one the children can almost feel beneath their feet. They are led, inexorably, to a grand, harrowing adventure--both in the desert landscape and within the chambers of their own imaginations. Told through several compelling voices, blending texts, sounds, and images, Lost Children Archive is an astonishing feat of literary virtuosity. It is a richly engaging story of how we document our experiences, and how we remember the things that matter to us the most. With urgency and empathy, it takes us deep into the lives of one remarkable family as it probes the nature of justice and equality today.

Valeria Luiselli is an evening cyclist; a literary tourist in Venice, searching for Joseph Brodsky’s tomb; an excavator of her own artifacts, unpacking from a move. In essays that are as companionable as they are ambitious, she uses the city to exercise a roving, meandering intelligence, seeking out the questions embed- ded in our human landscapes.