As a second-generation Egyptian-American, I often find myself thinking about and sharing stories of pilgrimage. When I say “sharing stories of pilgrimage,” I really mean talking about how difficult it was to get from work to the supermarket because of the amount of traffic, or all the people on the subway, and the one guy who kept sneezing on me while I had nowhere to go because the train was that crowded. I can’t help it — it’s the way my family tells stories: almost always tinged with some bit of humor, or somehow working their way up to some petty complaint.
It might have something to do with the fact that my parents’ lives are stories that I will never be able to visualize — tales of coming to North America at a young age with no parents of their own, renting rooms throughout New York City, hustling to make ends meet and get an education. My parents, like most immigrants, came to the U.S. with dreams of opportunities and success on a much larger scale. They had visions for their future children that were only possible with the freedom and abundance of opportunities available here. But what’s interesting to me is that, because the hard work was already done by immigrating here and starting a family, everything that happened after, no matter how difficult, could be looked at through a humorous, light-hearted lens. That doesn’t mean that life became easier; it means that previous challenges had helped my parents (and my siblings and I, as a result) develop a thick skin, making the daily encounters and difficulties of life far less dire.
And this is why we complain. Because we can.
Our parents exist as stories, to a certain degree. We’ve known them for less time than they’ve been alive, so what we know of their lives before us is based on the stories they tell. Friends and colleagues don’t get to see how my parents react in situations, to make judgments for themselves. They won’t hear my mother’s subtle Arabic accent, or see my father’s beautiful smile that comes out every so often when he feels like it. I often wonder if stories by immigrants, or children of immigrants, are compelled by a need to bear witness to their families, and by extension, their cultures and the places they came from.
Books that tell the stories of immigrants have always interested me. When I was in the fifth grade, I had a teacher tell me that my English wasn’t great because I spoke two languages at home. For a kid, that’s a pretty rough thing to hear, especially since I was an avid reader and writer from a young age. It’s part of the reason I actually decided to work hard at my English speaking and writing skills. I’m a native English speaker, and yet I feel that stories I’ve read by immigrant and foreign writers are the most compelling and beautifully crafted examples of English language. I think there’s something to be said for a certain level of hardship, a certain journey that brings a person or a family from one place of challenge to another.
Here are some of my favorite books that tell a story of some sort of pilgrimage, whether it’s physical or emotional:
I can’t remember exactly when I read this book. I think I was 18, right before I went to college in New York. This was during a time in my life where I was obsessed with the writing of Indian authors. The Namesake is everything everyone says it is — beautiful, moving, humorous — but it’s also about navigation, and specifically, navigating different and new cultures while holding on to past ones in new places.
There are very few books in my life whose lasting impact has drastically changed the way I saw things. Maybe it’s the juxtaposition of humor and reality in this story that feels close to my heart, despite having zero similarities to my own family’s story. Following Oscar feels like I’m following someone in my own life, even though I know nobody exactly like him. His story forces empathy, even on those who are not empathetic. Born into a family that is cursed, yet determined to conquer the odds, Oscar wins over readers’ hearts with an earnest and genuine desire for love. He just wants to fit in. We see his character develop between the Dominican Republic and New Jersey.
Katherine Zoepf has lived among women of the Middle East for over a decade, recording their stories. These stories aren’t necessarily rooted in a migration from one country to another, but more in their growth and journey within their own country. For areas in the world that have non-secular governments, a journey between societal structure and cultural beliefs can be just as harrowing, if not as life-changing, as traveling to start a new life in a new country.
###Sandra Cisneros
Another story from my past, The House on Mango Street is how I’d envision writing my own book, format-wise. This is a classic that depicts moments of the protagonist's life in vignettes. On the surface, this is a story we’ve all heard to some extent: a young girl matures into a woman over the course of a year, and with that maturity comes new awareness of identity and self.
Here’s a slightly different take on the story of immigrant families. You may have recognized Diane Guerrero from Orange is the New Black, where she plays Maritza Ramos, as well as Lina on Jane the Virgin. But you probably didn’t know the story of how the actress was separated from her family at a young age after her parents and older brother were all deported back to Colombia. A heartbreaking story that highlights some of the ways in which the theoretical system in place for residents of this country continues to fail for many, over and over again.
I just finished this Pulitzer Prize-winning book. The sprawling story visits 1930s Prague, New York City during WWII, and the Arctic tundra of northern Canada. Our heroes escape the Holocaust, stake their claim in the burgeoning comic book industry, and encounter the censorship panic of the 1950s. David Colacci’s narration impressively embodies the variety accents and dialects native to long-ago Europe and New York. This 26-hour epic is well worth a credit and the time spent listening. –Scott, ACX Marketing Manager
Adichie says that the title of this book is a Nigerian word for people who travel to the U.S. and return to Nigeria with American habits and behaviors. The lovers in this story meet in Nigeria, and the two of them end up traveling different paths when one goes to the U.S. and the other to London. Race adds another layer of complexity to this story, as the characters learn about what it means to be black in Nigeria vs. being black in other parts of the world.
That thing I was talking about earlier with regards to parents and our perceptions of them being drawn by stories? That’s this book. In two parts, this book weaves together the stories of four Chinese-American mothers, and those of their daughters. The storytelling happens when the women convene for what they’ve called “The Joy Luck Club,” a card-playing/food-eating/story-sharing club. As a writer, I appreciated how the interplay between storytelling and character descriptions built a robust and complex depiction of each personality.
