"He wanted to convey to his daughter the price of leaving, though he had difficulty finding the words. What he wanted to say was that something is always lost; even when we are the ones migrating, we end up being occupied."
Patricia Engel's devastating look at the immigrant experience is short but spellbinding, drawing you into the lives of a Colombian family struggling with the pull of home vs. the push of hope abroad.
"Infinite Country" is propelled by beautifully crafted, memorable opening and closing lines, and in between we find a compelling and emotional look at diaspora. The lengths that Mauro and Elena go to -- and endure -- to chase a better life for their family can be gutting, and the matter-of-fact prose pulls no punches.
"Only women knew the strength it took to love men through their evolution to who they thought they were supposed to be."
Engel also spends time fracturing the pervasive myth that America is some sort of Edenic safe haven or promised land, cementing the reality that immigrants are often only trading one set of problems for another.
"What was it about this country that kept everyone hostage to its fantasy? The previous month, on its own soil, an American man went to his job at a plant and gunned down fourteen coworkers, and last spring alone there were four different school shootings. A nation at war with itself, yet people still spoke of it as some kind of paradise."
I question whether the shifts in perspective and narration toward the end serve the novel in the way the author intended, but the overall power of the story asks hard questions, begs closer attention, and shines a spotlight on what we choose to stand for.
"And maybe there is no nation or citizenry; they're just territories mapped in place of family, in place of love, the infinite country."
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