Nepantla Familias Wins IPPY Award

The anthology I edited, NEPANTLA FAMILIAS: AN ANTHOLOGY OF MEXICAN AMERICAN LITERATURE ON FAMILIES IN BETWEEN WORLDS (Texas A&M University Press), wins the Bronze Award for Anthologies in the Independent Publisher Book Awards! I'm grateful for the awards and recognition this anthology keeps receiving.

Kirkus Reviews, starred review: "'The either/or proposition that forces you to choose between your community and, say, your country has never been true,' Troncoso writes in the introduction. 'The very skills we learn to cross borders within ourselves help us to cross borders toward others outside our community.' A deeply meaningful collection that navigates important nuances of identity."

https://ippyawards.com/169/medalists/2023-medalists-1-54

Diverse Voices Book Review on Nobody's Pilgrims

Thank you Hopeton Hay for interviewing me about Nobody's Pilgrims for Diverse Voices Book Review. What a great conversation we had! I loved it. These are my favorite conversations to have, with someone who loves books and digs deep into the novel and can appreciate the nuances of the characters and places I write about. So grateful!

 

 https://www.podomatic.com/podcasts/hbhpodcasts/episodes/2022-06-05T05_57_50-07_00

Predicting the Pandemic in Nobody’s Pilgrims

My blog post about NOBODY'S PILGRIMS (Cinco Puntos Press: Lee & Low Books):

 

"Can imagination be a window into a possible future? Yes, indeed it can. I wrote my novel, Nobody’s Pilgrims, before twenty cases of COVID-19 existed in the United States. I actually turned in the final final draft of my novel to my publisher, Cinco Puntos Press, on leap day, February 29, 2020. Moreover, most of the novel had been written even earlier. And what was the novel about? Three runaway teenagers, Turi, Arnulfo, and Molly, pursued by evil people across a dystopian United States collapsing because of a pandemic."

https://blog.leeandlow.com/2022/05/12/predicting-the-pandemic-in-nobodys-pilgrims-a-guest-post-by-sergio-troncoso/

 

Book Riot and Nepantla Familias

Thank you Minerva Laveaga Luna and Book Riot for featuring Nepantla Familias: 

"The book asks readers from any background, whether they are Mexican American or not, 'to see these writers as individuals, to see the characters they have created not as caricatures, but as complex characters. This book is a call to action to open your minds, to take the time to open your hearts, and to meet in the complex and ever-questioning middle ground of Nepantla.'"

 https://bookriot.com/anthologies-cultural-representation/

Austin American-Statesman and Nepantla Familias

Thank you Michael Barnes and the Austin American-Statesman for the extensive interview about Nepantla Familias (Texas A&M University Press and The Wittliff Literary Series), "a fantastic anthology of Mexican American literature." This is what I said, among other things:

Austin American Statesman: How can those groups encourage, train and promote fantastic writers like the ones represented in your book?

 

Sergio Troncoso: "By paying attention to them. By reading their work. By promoting them and putting them in positions of power. It's not that complicated.

 

Many literary institutions in Texas, and beyond, have ignored or stereotyped Mexican American writers. "Nepantla Familias" shows the literary talent we have in our community, talent that is winning national and international awards and fellowships, that is selling hundreds of thousands of books, that is being published in places from the New Yorker to Ploughshares to the Yale Review."

 

https://www.statesman.com/story/news/history/2021/12/21/between-two-worlds-new-anthology-mexican-american-literature/8897245002/

 

 

Humanities Texas and Nepantla Familias

Thank you Humanities Texas for including Nepantla Familias: An Anthology of Mexican American Literature on Families in Between Worlds in your November/December Season's Readings. Here's what I wrote about the anthology I edited:

"I think one of the benefits that Nepantla Familias will have for all readers is to break apart any preconceptions about Mexican American literature and Mexican American authors. What you will find in this anthology is variety, experimentation, metaphysical questions, real-world complexity, tragedy, and comedy.... I think this anthology will stand the test of time for readers across the country and will open their eyes to appreciate that Mexican Americans deserve an essential and important place in American literature."

https://www.humanitiestexas.org/news/articles/seasons-readings

 

 

Nepantla Familias: Must Read Fiction

Erin Popelka of Must Read Fiction talks with Sergio Troncoso and Octavio Solis about Nepantla Familias: An Anthology of Mexican American Literature on Families in between Worlds (Texas A&M University Press). We talk about what nepantla means to both authors, and how this in between creates illusions, conflicting loyalties, and also transcendence. We also talk about both of their pieces in the collection as well as highlights from some of the others writers in the book.

 https://youtu.be/kcOeBjMQkUc

Nepantla Familias: Texas Book Festival's April Book Club

The Texas Book Festival featured Nepantla Familias: An Anthology of Mexican American Literature on Families in between Worlds (Wittliff Literary Series and Texas A&M University Press) for the month of April 2021. Sergio Troncoso moderated a panel with three contributors, including Francisco Cantu, Diana Lopez, and Jose Antonio Rodriguez.

"A deeply meaningful collection that navigates important nuances of identity." —Kirkus Reviews, starred review
 

 

 https://youtu.be/HSeF23Lk65w

Nepantla Familias: Video Interview with Sergio Troncoso

The Wittliff's literary curator, Steve Davis talks to author Sergio Troncoso about his new book, Nepantla Familias (Texas A&M Press and The Wittliff Collections), an anthology of Mexican American authors writing on the topic of families living in between cultures and how their experiences can help us all have more empathy for one another.

Sergio Troncoso, David Dorado Romo, Reyna Grande, Stephanie Elizondo Griest, Francisco Cantú, Rigoberto González, Alex Espinoza, Domingo Martinez, Oscar Cásares, Lorraine M. López, David Dominguez, Stephanie Li, Sheryl Luna, José Antonio Rodríguez, Deborah Paredez, Octavio Quintanilla, Sandra Cisneros, Diana Marie Delgado, Diana López, Severo Perez, Octavio Solis, ire'ne lara silva, Rubén Degollado, Helena María Viramontes, Daniel Chacón, Matt Mendez.

 

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0xAJ2ytvbZs

Nepantla Familias Receives Starred Review from Kirkus Reviews

The anthology I edited, Nepantla Familias (Texas A&M Press and The Wittliff Collections), receives a Starred Review from Kirkus Reviews!

"A deeply meaningful collection that navigates important nuances of identity."
 

Thank you to all the contributors: David Dorado Romo, Reyna Grande, Stephanie Elizondo Griest, Francisco Cantu, Rigoberto Gonzalez, Alex Espinoza, Domingo Martinez, Oscar Casares, Lorraine Lopez, David Dominguez, Stephanie Li, Sheryl Luna, Jose Antonio Rodriguez, Deborah Paredez, Octavio Quintanilla, Sandra Cisneros, Diana Marie Delgado, Diana Lopez, Severo Perez, Octavio Solis, ire'ne lara silva, Ruben Degollado, Helena Maria Viramontes, Daniel Chacon, and Matt Mendez.

https://www.kirkusreviews.com/book-reviews/sergio-troncoso/nepantla-familias/

Albuquerque Journal Review: A Peculiar Kind of Immigrant's Son

"Sergio Troncoso demonstrates in the short-story collection A Peculiar Kind of Immigrant’s Son that he’s a master storyteller but with a special bent."

Thank you, Albuquerque Journal and David Steinberg.

https://www.abqjournal.com/1477173/two-story-collections-reflect-the-impact-of-living-and-working-in-the-southwest.html

Remembering Rudy Anaya

My article in the El Paso Times to remember Rudy Anaya. I think it will run in Sunday's print edition in the Opinion section. When the Times asked me to do it earlier this week, I dropped everything. I needed to do it for Rudy. Que descanse en paz.

https://www.elpasotimes.com/story/opinion/2020/07/09/sergio-troncoso-remembers-great-writer-friend-rudolfo-rudy-anaya/5405469002/

Midwest Book Review: A Peculiar Kind of Immigrant's Son

A great review of A Peculiar Kind of Immigrant’s Son (Cinco Puntos Press) from the Midwest Book Review. Thank you.

“An inherently fascinating and compelling read from first page to last, A Peculiar Kind of Immigrant's Son is an extraordinary and deftly written collection, and one that is especially and unreservedly recommended for both community and academic library Hispanic American Literature & Fiction collections.”

http://midwestbookreview.com/wbw/feb_20.htm#GeneralFiction

Texas Monthly: Reinventing the Canon

Texas Monthly: "Born and raised in El Paso, Sergio Troncoso is a prolific short story writer, novelist, and essayist. In From This Wicked Patch of Dust, Pilar and Cuauhtémoc Martínez are raising their four children in Ysleta, a border town. The novel unspools over four decades, and spans from Ysleta to New York City to Tehran in the aftermath of September 11, as the physical, ideological, and religious borders between the family members threaten to separate them for good."

 https://www.texasmonthly.com/the-culture/latinx-texan-literature/

Stories from the Heart of El Paso

Matt Méndez’s Twitching Heart (Floricanto Press) is an evocative collection of stories set in El Paso that challenges the reader to explore the dynamics of relationships, gender roles, politics, and faith. The prose is simple but true, and the stories are suspenseful often without easy conclusions, which encourage the reader to ponder the layers of meaning in Méndez’s prose.

The interlinked stories begin with the title story, with Chuy and Teresa, father and mother to eleven-year-old Oscar, in a frayed relationship. Chuy has cheated and has been thrown out of the house. Yet Chuy agrees to take care of Oscar while the mother is at work, and agrees again to take Oscar to a tile job at a neighbor’s house, where paralyzed Angélica supposedly performs miracles at the behest of her mother María. The parents’ struggle is partly about their son, what kind of man he should become, whether he should learn skills with his hands, or skills for college. The struggle is also within the father Chuy, his life “silent and a stuck way to be.”

In “Tacos Aztecas,” Israel tries to remember how to show Cristina that he loves her, after homophobic thugs killed their son Artemio behind Ben’s Grocery one year ago. Israel believes it is his fault Artemio died, because he encouraged his son “to change his mind about being a sissy.” A big family never happened for Israel and Cristina. Cristina’s mother worried the family would be cursed, because Artemio was conceived before marriage. History is a crushing burden rather than a fount of pride or possibilities. Cristina is also wracked with guilt, because she encouraged Artemio “to deny who he was,” to hide it from his father, instead of defending Artemio like a Matachin. Revealing their sins to each other, Israel and Cristina might create another chance for themselves.

“El Terrible” is a gem of a story for two reasons: the details are terrific—from the father-son relationship to the basic skills of boxing—and the message about what work should mean, not labor, not the 9-to-5 grind, but work as caring about what you do, that message is so important. Martín is cut from the basketball team, and attends a school of “bored looking teachers and students.” His father José, a bus driver, has other plans for his son: to fight The Deacon’s kid—a star quarterback and “the biggest Mexican” Martín had ever seen—and to teach his son the skills and discipline of boxing.

At school, the promise of the fight takes on a life of its own, and Martín can’t back out. At home, Martín thinks his father is crazy and doesn’t know anything about boxing. But among the highlights of their training, José shows his son how waiting is sometimes better than attacking, the crucial lesson of counter-punching. Martín learns something new about his father, and himself, and why seriousness of purpose transforms the meaning of all work.

The language in Twitching Heart brings the reader to an authentic El Paso: homes are “chantes” and deflowering a young woman is “taking her cherry.” Even the right way to prepare and use thinset for setting floor tile brings you to the ground. Not the literal ground, of course, but that ground of the Chicano working-class too often overlooked in literature. This is the stuff that brings you to a place, and that brings to life a people. This is also what we should never be ashamed to explore, to criticize, and to laugh about: our struggling lives, with their imperfections and idiosyncrasies, our mannerisms and concerns, whether philosophical or stupid.

When we can do that artfully, then we have taken steps to value these lives from El Paso, and simultaneously we have taken steps to understand them and even transcend them. Matt Méndez succeeds on these counts in his admirable debut of stories in Twitching Heart.

(This book review originally appeared in the El Paso Times on February 17, 2013.)

Damaged yet unbeaten heroine from New Orleans

Joy Castro’s new novel, Hell or High Water (Thomas Dunne Books) is a gritty and suspenseful thriller set in post-Katrina New Orleans—damaged yet unbeaten— and told through the eyes of crime reporter Nola Soledad Céspedes.  She is the story as much as she writes the story, as Nola investigates the scary underworld of sex offenders, their many victims, and what if any possibility exists for understanding of and redemption for her tortured past.

Nola is a feisty and savvy 27-year-old reporter for the Times-Picayune, trying to make the leap to serious reporting as she simultaneously struggles to reveal and hide herself to her successful girlfriends.  They don’t know she grew up in the dangerous Desire Projects or that she was fatherless as a child. Nola’s Cuban mother was often drunk even as Mama created “an island of love” amid the muck.  Nola and her mother have also kept many astonishing secrets from each other.

The plot is driven by the abduction of Amber Waybridge, a young tourist who disappears in the shadowy corridors of a restaurant in the French Quarter.  Nola interviews sex offenders about their evil habits and rehabilitation, if any, and empathizes with their victims and the lifelong destruction left behind.  Some of the most suspenseful moments in the novel occur when Nola encounters rich sex offenders as well as poor ones in their own homes.  Issues of class and race transect Nola’s observations about who gets rehabilitation and who does not and the elision of inconvenient history among the well-to-do.  How will Waybridge’s abduction, Nola’s research and newspaper writing, and her history all come together in the end?  For the many sticky situations along the way, Nola packs a Berretta in her handbag.

In Nola Céspedes, Castro has created a character defined by a strong voice, trenchant societal observations, and solitude, as her middle name suggests, Soledad.  What Nola must accomplish she must do so according to her agenda, what she must overcome she must do so alone, and what external and internal demons she must conquer she must do so head-on.   What humanizes Nola in the end is that she recognizes what she wants yet what she lacks.  She is courageous enough to change and act to overcome the real and psychic injustices the world has flung her way.

Hell or High Water is a tightly written thriller where Nola’s first-person perspective and her witty, often cutting dialogue will make the reader believe in the character, and really, care for Nola and what happens to her.  You want to talk to her, you want her to succeed, and even when she is making mistakes you are rooting for her to escape her predicament and survive and defeat her enemies.  Like the city for which she was named, Nola is damaged yet unbeaten.

The novel’s twist at the end reveals that Nola’s primary quest is to heal her own soul.  But to achieve that, like many of us who may have begun with less than nothing and wounds too deep to easily heal, Nola may have to act beyond the boundaries of morality.  Hell or High Water is an exciting, incisive novel.

(This book review originally appeared in the El Paso Times on September 30, 2012.)

Why I Wrote From This Wicked Patch of Dust

Two days ago at the Brooklyn Book Festival a young woman came up to me after my reading, and asked me a simple question: Why did I write my novel, From This Wicked Patch of Dust?  The festival was my first big event to launch the novel, and although what she asked was straightforward, the answer is anything but.  Let me give it a shot.

I wrote From This Wicked Patch of Dust, because I wanted to write about the Mexican-American border, where I grew up.  I wanted to write about the poorest of the poor in a Texas colonia, or shantytown, with a dream of becoming American.  Although the novel is fiction, my family was also dirt poor in Ysleta on the outskirts of El Paso, yet I loved my childhood.  Any voice I have as a writer is in one way or another rooted in communicating what was good, what was struggle, and what we couldn’t answer in Ysleta.

Much of our political rhetoric only caricatures poor immigrants, documented and undocumented.  There is rarely a sense of the commonality we, the more established inhabitants of these United States, share with these newcomers.  I wanted to portray characters who come to life, reach out to the reader, and find a place in his or her thoughts, emotions, and even laughter.  I hope you will see the Martínez family clearly, their warts as well as their merits, and believe in these characters.

I also wanted to focus on the dynamics of immigrant families.  If you read From This Wicked Patch of Dust you will experience the lives of Cuauhtémoc and Pilar Martínez, the parents from the ‘old world,’ so to speak, who sometimes, and sometimes do not, see eye-to-eye on whether and how their family should become American.  The children —Julia, Francisco, Marcos, and Ismael— take divergent paths to becoming American, adopt different religions or cultures, and even move to different places across the country.  The siblings are in conflict with each other, they are in conflict with their parents, yet all of them still belong to and love their family.  The Martinez family tries to keep it together as many things, including their own decisions, pull this family apart.  How do we honor who we are, how do we break away from where we began, and what does all of this mean for our families?

Another question at the heart of my novel was: How can I portray the culture of a group, not one individual, but a related group, as in a family?  That is the reason From This Wicked Patch of Dust is told, alternatively, from the six perspectives of each family member.  We live in families, yet each of us experiences being part of a family in a different way.  We are together, yet we are also apart, in a family.  What keeps us together, and what drives us apart?  That’s the drama at the heart of the novel.

How does time fragment the togetherness of a family?  This is why the chapters in From This Wicked Patch of Dust are several years apart.  Our common experiences are the bonds that keep us together for a while, but as we get older, as individuals and as a group, those common experiences become more experiences in the past.  We start living our lives apart, yet we often yearn to come back together, as adult children, as elderly parents, to that togetherness we once had.  Even though the children of Pilar and Cuauhtémoc Martínez end up in different parts of the world, so far from Ysleta in many ways beyond geography, they retain a bit of Ysleta within them.

I imagined the novel as an orchestra piece, where the different perspectives and time fragments would yield a music by the end of the novel that would give a sense to each reader of what is achieved and what is left behind after a family is gone.  Some would call this micro-history, but it is a 'private history' we all experience in one way or another in our lifetime. And this experience has so much to do with what kind of selves we become. Certainly it is a different kind of storytelling than the escapism and neat ending of a typical Hollywood movie, which encourages short-term satisfaction rather than reflection.  As a writer, I hope I have caused my readers to think.

Finally, the allegorical allusions in the novel are focused on this question: Why are we as a country growing further apart?  Why do we have less in common with each other?  Why do we see only ‘the other’ in our neighbor, or in an ethnic group not quite like us, or in a religious group not quite like us?  Admittedly, a country is not a family.  I know that.  But there is a sense when a group feels more together, and when it has ceased to be a group at all and individuals just exist next to each other, ready to take advantage of each other at a moment’s notice.

Have we reached that point in the United States, where we have little in common with each other?  Where Birmingham, New York City, and Reno are as foreign as Cairo and Tel Aviv?  There is no way empirically to prove or disprove this.  I can only point to our bitter political rhetoric, the media manipulation to promote narrow agendas and to divide us, and what I hear and see on the streets of El Paso, New York, Kansas City, San Francisco, and wherever else I travel.

What can bring us back together, if anything?  From This Wicked Patch of Dust has a tentative answer at the end of the novel.  Of course, I am always hopeful.  I will always make the effort to grapple with a question even when it is one such as: Why did you write this novel?  I must have said something coherent to the young woman at the Brooklyn Book Festival.  After I finished talking, she bought the book and asked me to sign it to ‘Meryl.’