Showing posts with label philosophical fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label philosophical fiction. Show all posts

Sunday, November 24, 2024

IAIA Chapter House Journal's Review of Nobody's Pilgrims

Thank you Rey M. Rodriguez for reviewing NOBODY’S PILGRIMS in IAIA Chapter House Journal:

 “A masterfully wrought thriller road trip from El Paso, Texas to Kent, Connecticut... Troncoso writes about the new pilgrims of this country. Those who some are calling vermin or saying that immigrants are poisoning the blood of this country. In other words, those people who some people would call nobody’s children.... These immigrants—like Turi, Molly, and Arnulfo—represent as Troncoso has confirmed in his writing and lectures the best values of this country. They show us what it means to work hard and make it on your own. They show us the importance of fighting for your place. They show us that we need each other and we must help others to succeed.”

https://chjournal.com/chapter-house-blog/2024/11/15/book-review-of-nobodys-pilgrims-written-by-sergio-troncoso-by-rey-m-rodrguez

Monday, September 9, 2024

Pleiades Interview with Sergio Troncoso


"There are many hidden philosophical questions and issues in the book. How do you develop character? How do you morph from idealism to realism as you move into adulthood? The book addresses racism, as well. Along the way some people are welcoming to Turi and Arnulfo, but others are racist and xenophobic. They don’t want Mexican Americans or Mexicans living in this country. How do you keep that racist poison from infecting your soul as you are faced with this kind of hate? Turi has to fight for his place in this country rather than to assume he belongs. He has to survive here, and he’s not turning back. Connecticut is where he’ll make his stand. Nobody’s Pilgrims is a thriller."

Thank you to Pleiades Magazine, Jennifer Maritza McCauley, and Rey Rodriguez for this interview.

https://pleiadesmag.com/an-interview-with-sergio-troncoso/

Wednesday, May 4, 2022

Somos En Escrito Interviews Sergio Troncoso

The editors of Somos En Escrito --Armando Rendon, Jenny Irizary, and Scott Duncan Fernandez--
interview Sergio Troncoso about his trajectory as a writer, Chicano literature and the morphing of its readership, changing organizations like the Texas Institute of Letters, and his new novel, Nobody's Pilgrims (Lee & Low Books: Cinco Puntos Press).

Sergio Troncoso: "The novel is about the grit and intelligence and luck of these three teenagers, Turi, Arnulfo, and Molly. They are all people who are ignored, los de abajo. They are working class, or even worse. They find each other, and they don't belong anywhere else. They belong with each other, but not with anyone else. And as things start falling apart, they have to find solutions.... The novel is about creating that togetherness within this small group that maybe we don't have or are losing in this country, how we belong together when we go through very difficult trials."

 

 

Tuesday, July 13, 2021

American Book Review Interview with Sergio Troncoso

Frederick Luis Aldama interviews Sergio Troncoso in American Book Review:

“You are your own best experiment. If you’re digging honestly into yourself, you’re also looking at the problems and issues that that make up the human condition. So I think my ideal reader begins with someone on the border who loves to read. But I also think of readers beyond the border, those who have left and those who have come back, because many do precisely that.”

(Volume 42, Number 4, May/June 2021, pp. 14-28.)

https://sergiotroncoso.com/news/americanbookreview/Sergio-Troncoso-American-Book-Review.pdf

Wednesday, April 8, 2020

Contra Viento Journal Intervews Sergio Troncoso

My interview in Contra Viento Journal was published today. Thank you Gabriel Dozal and Sean McCoy.

"I also think growing up dirt poor on the border had a profound effect on me. My neighborhood in Ysleta hasn’t changed too much: it’s become working-class, when it was actually poorer in the ’60s and ’70s. Not even working class. I believe, and have always believed, in los de abajo, the very poor, and what they have to contribute, the ideas they explore, the importance of their lives, even if so many others just ignore them. If that’s empathy, then I wholeheartedly embrace it. But even that word, ‘empathy,’ seems studied somehow: these are just the people I knew, the people I grew up with, my people."

Tuesday, November 5, 2019

Must Read Fiction Interview with Sergio Troncoso

In this interview, Erin Popelka of Must Read Fiction speaks with Sergio Troncoso, whose most recent book is A Peculiar Kind of Immigrant's Son. Our conversation followed as delightful a range as the stories in this collection: we spoke of questions of home and varied immigrant experiences to stories of his grandmother as she smoked cigarettes and described living through the Mexican Revolution to the challenges he poses to his readers through his writing.

A few delightful quotes from our conversation: "I'm a little bit of a rebel. I like to unmoor the reader."
From his grandfather: "Don't become a journalist. If you tell the truth, people will hate you forever."

Questions for his readers: "Who are you? Are you who you want to be? What do you keep? What do you discard? Why? How are we going to be a we?"

These questions and rebellions and stories make for a wonderful journey, both in this interview and in the short story collection, A Peculiar Kind of Immigrant's Son.


https://youtu.be/4VcKNdwfoPA

Wednesday, October 2, 2019

Journal of Alta Californa on A Peculiar Kind of Immigrant's Son

From The Journal of Alta California on A Peculiar Kind of Immigrant's Son:


"Chicano literature began with the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, when a sizable Latino population was separated from its land and heritage. Sergio Troncoso has written brilliantly of this disruption and its pull. In his new book of stories, he is sharp in 'Rosary on the Border,' where a New Yorker returns to the El Paso–area village of Ysleta for his father’s funeral, and 'New Englander,' in which an intellectual Chicano must fight a redneck"

https://altaonline.com/fiction-thats-not-for-the-faint-of-heart/

Monday, June 29, 2009

Why I Write Simply

My prose tends to be simple and direct. I don’t use words like ‘ideation,’ ‘deconstructing dynamics of power and authority,’ and ‘synthesizing structure.’ Perhaps when I was at Yale as a graduate student in philosophy, I may have written like that, but I made it a point of eschewing such language forever. I still however use words like ‘eschewing.’ I can’t help it. Why?

When I started writing fiction, which was late in life for a writer, as a grad student, I wanted to get away from the meaningless abstractions of philosophical seminars. This linguistic pretension removed me from my community, from my father and mother, from my abuelita. The first story I wrote, “The Abuelita,” was specifically for readers to remember who my abuelita had been, and to criticize my study of Heidegger and Nietzsche at Yale, for its isolation, for its anti-humanity.

For in classrooms within the Gothic fortress of Yale’s Old Campus (and I suspect at many of the seminars in academies across the country), a human being is a mind, first and foremost. But in Ysleta, my home less than a mile from the Mexican-American border, the human being was, and is, feet. Feet in pain. Callused hands. Adobe houses built by those hands and feet. La gente humilde of Ysleta.

At Yale I was reacting against the elitism of the academy, an elitism that is hard to overcome when you can immerse yourself in books and forget the workers who make that world possible. I was also reacting against myself. I loved reading German and Greek philosophers. They did provide unique, unconventional insights into the human being. I had become an Ivy Leaguer in many ways. I was torn, between the people I loved at home and the ideas I devoured away from home.

I also noticed that many of the practitioners of academic fancy language, as I’ll call it, were individuals who treated people poorly. Their education and facility with argument and power encouraged lying, deception, and manipulation. The nature of truth, the pursuit of abstraction in universities, was a passive aggressive violence. Eliminate your opponent, not by killing him, but by warping arguments to win at any cost, by murdering his mind. The nature of truth was hate.

When you view human beings as abstractions, then it is easy to abuse those abstractions without guilt. Judging a person as a category is the root of racism; it is the root of cruelty. Moreover, writing about the world of people is an exercise in abstraction, and explains my deep ambivalence about being a writer. Too often my writer friends forget themselves in their world of words.

So I took a different tack with my fiction. I wanted to write so my father and mother could understand me. I was writing for them, and to give voice to those from Ysleta. I wrote simply. I also wrote prose obsessed with details, personal stories, to give meat to those understanding my community outside the mainstream. I used myself as an example to provide a meaningful character struggling with complex issues, within the murk between right and wrong.

Yet I also wanted to explore the ideas from Yale, and beyond, which I thought were worthwhile, so I wrote philosophical stories questioning the basis of morality. I wrote stories that asked whether murder was always wrong, or belief in god always holy, or success the root of moral failure. Most importantly, I believed the people of Ysleta had a lot to teach the people at Yale about being good human beings. I still believe that.

But this effort to be clear and direct about difficult questions has sometimes condemned me in academic circles or among those who prize the beauty of language above all. I am also condemned by those who never think beyond the obvious and popular, because I write philosophical stories. You will never find my fiction at Costco.

I am in between. Trying to write to be understood by those who matter to me, yet also trying to push my mind with ideas beyond the everyday. It’s a borderland I inhabit. Not quite here nor there. On good days I feel I am a bridge. On bad days I just feel alone.