Tell Me How It Ends: An Essay in Forty Questions

by Valeria Luiselli, Lizzie Davis (Translator)

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."

Genres: Nonfiction, Essays, Politics, Social Justice, Memoir, Race, Latinx

128 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 2016

About the author

Valeria Luiselli was born in Mexico City in 1983 and grew up in South Africa. Her novels and essays have been translated into many languages and her work has appeared in publications including the New York Times, Granta, and McSweeney’s. Some of her recent projects include a ballet libretto for the choreographer Christopher Wheeldon, performed by the New York City Ballet in Lincoln Center in 2010; a pedestrian sound installation for the Serpentine Gallery in London; and a novella in installments for workers in a juice factory in Mexico. She lives in New York City.

Reviews

[Roxane · Rating 5 out of 5]

An absolutely haunting but necessary book-length essay on children who cross into the US as undocumented immigrants. It’s really damning to see how relevant this book is today and how, in fact, immigration has become an even more dire prospect today.

[Adam Dalva · Rating 4 out of 5]

Sharp, short essay that shines a light on how America treats undocumented children. Luiselli, who's an excellent writer (though emotion veers in and out of this piece in unusual cadence), has worked in the federal immigration system as a translator and cannily structures the essay around the 40 questions that she asked children when trying to pair them with a lawyer. The goal is less about making an argument and more about trying to re-shift the grounds of discussion by breaking down the dangers and indignities of the process.

The ending is particularly strong on the human level, though it's apparent that Trump's election shifted the aim of the essay after the fact (a passionate coda is tacked onto the end, but I wish (understanding this probably wasn't possible) that she'd gone back through and adjusted some earlier sections accordingly). TELL ME HOW IT ENDS is a great primer to a harrowing reality, and though I didn't come out of it with any greater understanding of what future policy should look like, I think it could do a lot of good if it reaches a wider audience.

[Carrie · Rating 5 out of 5]

“It is perhaps not the American Dream they pursue, but rather the more modest aspiration to wake up from the nightmare into which they were born."

I wish I could force every person who chants "build a wall" or asks "why can't they just come here legally" to read this book. The 40 questions from the title are those Luiselli asks of detained children as a volunteer interpreter in federal immigration courts, and she uses this structure to give a concise, impassioned plea for us to recognize these children for what they are -- refugees fleeing unimaginable violence, violence the US has had a significant hand in creating and inflaming. If you've read her fiction, you know she's a brilliant writer, but this is something more; it's gut-wrenching, of course, but it's also a reminder that we don't have any time to lose, and that even our small acts of compassion are crucial.

Just yesterday, in my own community, ICE officers detained a DACA recipient - one of our former students - without a warrant, a man who organizes a food pantry for low-income families, coaches soccer, volunteers at his church and community. Locally, people are rallying in support, as is the ACLU; nevertheless, even with community and legal support, and even as a DACA recipient, he is not safe. My heart breaks for the children Luiselli encounters, who do not have even that support, and for the countless children who never made it at all.

[Thomas · Rating 4 out of 5]

An unsentimental yet compassionate book that centers the ongoing plight of Latin American child migrants in the United States. Valeria Luiselli uses her role as a translator for these children to explore the many misconceptions people have about them (e.g., they’re rapists or drug dealers) and reflect their truer lived experiences (e.g., they’re fleeing from immense hardship, poverty, pain and suffering). When these kids come into the United States, they still encounter such hardship and racism, it’s saddening and angering. I loved how Luiselli honors both the hope and hopelessness surrounding immigration, how she writes about her emotional reactions in her work as a translator while showcasing examples of action to support these children, and how she calls out the United States for our role in perpetuating arms and drug trafficking in Mexico and Central America.

On an odd side note, reading this book reminded me of what a guy I went out on a date with told me once. While the guy and date were boring, he mentioned – I think he had just graduated with his Master’s in Public Policy – that there’s some form of legal thinking in which apparently, laws are supposed to be made to protect the most vulnerable given how all of us could’ve been born into the position of being the most vulnerable, if not for our layers of privilege and power and how society replicates that privilege and power. It’s sad how politicians and others are so intent on maintaining xenophobia and racism when in reality any one of us could have been born into the types of situations Luiselli describes in this book, situations with lots of violence and no security. I’d recommend Tell Me How It Ends to anyone searching for a primer on our broken immigration system.

[El Librero de Valentina · Rating 4 out of 5]

Gran trabajo hace la autora al describir la situación de cientos de miles de niños migrantes. Un tema que, desgraciadamente, nos atraviesa de punta a punta. Triste saber que buscan una mejor calidad de vida en otro lugar ya que el suyo es incapaz de proporcionárselas.

[Rincey · Rating 4 out of 5]

The children who cross the Mexico border and arrive at the U.S. border are not "immigrants," not "illegals," not merely "undocumented minors." Those children are refugees of a war, and, as such, they should all have the right to asylum. But not all of them have it.

Tell me how it ends, Mamma, my daughter asks me.

I don't know.

Tell me what happens next.

Sometimes I make up an ending, a happy one. But most of the time I just say: I don't know how it ends yet.

Watch me discuss it more in my reading vlog: https://youtu.be/upSzTm5QfmQ

[Bart Moeyaert · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ik kies ervoor om alleen verslag uit te brengen van een boek dat ik een aanrader vind. Je kunt maar beter energie steken in iets wat je zinvol vindt. Het lastige is dat ik soms niet meteen weet hoe ik van mijn leeservaring verslag moet doen.

Afgelopen week hield de vraag me bezig waarom je ‘Vertel me het einde’ van Valeria Luiselli moest lezen. Of beter: ik wist wel waarom, maar hoe vertel ik het je?

Ik ben al enige tijd fan van WoodsDoc (www.woodsdoc.com), een ‘nomadisch filmfestival’ dat in Antwerpen meer en meer weerklank krijgt. WoodsDoc programmeert maandelijks een documentaire die je volgens de organisator moet gezien hebben. Inderdaad: na afloop was ik iedere keer opgetogen over het feit dat ik door een deskundig iemand was geïnformeerd — want dat gevoel geeft een goeie documentaire je.

Gisteravond hakte ‘The Wait’ erin, een documentaire over een Afghaans vluchtelingengezin dat in Denemarken zes jaar lang (ik herhaal: zes jaar lang) in onzekerheid leeft. Na afloop kon ik maar moeilijk opgetogen zijn over het feit dat ik door een deskundig iemand was geïnformeerd, om de simpele reden dat de situatie aan het eind van de documentaire schrijnend, om niet te zeggen verschrikkelijk was. Was. Ik hoorde later dat het voor dit gezin ondertussen wél goed afgelopen is.

Je moet ‘Vertel me het einde’ van Valeria Luiselli lezen. Ze betoverde me al eerder met haar proza (haar ‘De geschiedenis van mijn tanden’ bewierookte ik al eerder op mijn site), maar met haar essay schreef ze een documentaire die aan je oog voorbijtrekt, onder je huid kruipt, je een mep verkoopt.

Ik weet niet of je wist dat er kinderen en jongeren hun thuisland Honduras, El Salvador of Guatemala ontvluchten, omdat ze met hun leven bedreigd worden door bendes. Ik weet niet of je wist dat een familielid dat ondertussen in de V.S. woont voor redding zorgt. Ze betalen voor een ‘coyote’, iemand die het kind of de jongere door Mexico begeleidt, om ze uiteindelijk in hun eentje op een trein te zetten die La Bestia heet. “Over La Bestia wordt gezegd: je gaat levend aan boord, maar je stapt uit als een mummie.” En dan ben je nog maar aan de grens met de V.S., en je bent twaalf of zestien, en je geeft jezelf aan bij de grenspolitie, want dat is het beste wat je kunt doen.

Na die hele lijdensweg ontmoet je misschien Valeria Luiselli. Zij tolkt in New York alles wat je zegt, zij stelt je de veertig vragen waarop je moet antwoorden, waarom je asiel aanvraagt. Veertig vragen die je concreet, maar ook koud kunt noemen, en waarvan je je kunt voorstellen dat ze bij jou als twaalf- of zestienjarige wel een en ander losmaken.

Je moet je documenteren voor je je mond opentrekt en een mening spuit. WoodsDoc dwingt me maandelijks tot stilstand, en door Luiselli lees ik het nieuws van vandaag op een andere manier.

‘Vertel me het einde’ is uit het Engels vertaald door Fiep van Bodegom en Merijn Verhulst.

[jenni · Rating 5 out of 5]

i'm such a Valeria Luiselli fangirl. her prose is like honey on the tongue, it's sweet and syrupy and sticky, it's like a pantry good, some delicacy to always have in supply. it's a gift that as readers we are blessed to even have received. i'm serious. i'm a fangirl.

unlike her novels, but also very much like her novels, this piece is afforded a considerable amount of brutality in its reading simply based off subject matter. not only is it concerned with our truly systemic horror show of an immigration system, but specifically it constricts the optic onto the way the system brutalizes migrant children. i cannot imagine the unending agony of working as a translator for spanish-speaking refugee children and maintaining an undue sense of distance and impartiality while assisting them through the bureaucratic grindings of gaining legal entry into the U.S. i feel personally compelled to thank her for doing such heartbreaking and necessary work, especially as she danced around her own slippery immigration status while awaiting her green card. this book was all heart. my heart flared up at her hushed advocacy for these children, for mitigating their pain during the most painful of journeys. my heart broke, became bandaged, became inflamed; it soared.

luiselli naturally takes the space to dispel many of the rumors and fictions surrounding public opinion on the migrant crisis that amounts on the southern borders, particularly ours and mexico's. she softly splinters the hideous myth that children come here as listless vagabonds remaining under the radar in order to exploit the resources of america - it turns out that children willfully give themselves over to border patrol agents, they willfully participate in the process of legally navigating the obscurity of immigration that largely works against them - which is precisely where luiselli and her translating comes in.

she also takes the space to condemn, in the most affable of ways, the manner in which the united states has perpetually rebuked their complicity in destabilizing governments in the northern triangle and mexico that aggravated the migrant crisis in the first place. she condemns the opposition with such clarity and cleverness that it hardly reads as though she's yielding scorn to the parties that find it in their god-fearing hearts to politically reproach innocent children caught in the maw of violence and abuse. luiselli, it turns out, is the one here doing god's work.

before the trump era defaced everything i basically ever knew, i didn't really toss around the phrase "this should be required reading" onto many books. but books like this - short, succinct, and sharp - are things that should literally be read, by literally anyone with U.S. citizenship. we need reform, and not the type that this nightmare administration ghoulishly proposes. we need advocacy. we need something, anything, to bring aid and comfort to those most vulnerable and most injured by our poorly outdated and politically neglected systems, to author a postscript of justice that makes the story end well.

[Paul Fulcher · Rating 3 out of 5]

The children’s stories are always shuffled, stuttered, always shattered beyond the repair of a narrative order. The problem with trying to tell their story is that it has no beginning, no middle, and no end.

In 2014, Valeria Luiselli, started writing a novel about the children seeking asylum in the US, and their treatment, including inhumane detention and deportation, by the Obama-administration immigration system, in particular the priority juvenile docket that gave those summoned by court just 21 days to prepare a defence. The novel also was to cover a road trip taken to the border area, and in particular Apachería, with her then husband, novelist Álvaro Enrigue and their children / respective step-children.

I watch our own children sleep in the back seat of the car as we cross the George Washington Bridge into New Jersey. I glance back now and then from the copilot’s seat at my ten-year-old stepson, visiting us from Mexico, and my five-year-old daughter. Behind the wheel, my husband concentrates on the road ahead. It is the summer of 2014. We are waiting for our green cards to be either granted or denied and, in the meantime, we decide to go on a family road trip. We will drive from Harlem, New York, to a town in Cochise County, Arizona, near the U.S.-Mexico border.

When, after this trip, Luiselli's own immigration lawyer resigned from her case as she had volunteered to get involved in pro-bono work for children facing deportation, Luiselli herself ended getting involved as a volunteer translator working in the court system:

Because being aware of what is happening in our era and choosing to do nothing about it has become unacceptable. Because we cannot allow ourselves to go on normalizing horror and violence.

Luiselli's first attempt to novelise her experience was overly literal, polemical and didactic: “using it as a vehicle for my own rage, stuffing it with everything from children’s testimonies to the history of American interventionism in central America ... it just wasn’t working. There’s a different way of assuming a political sense in fiction, I think.”

So she instead documented her experiences and views in this essay, before working her experiences, including the gradual disintegration of her marriage which dated to the road-trip, into her brilliant literary novel Lost Children Archive.

Tell Me How It Ends: An Essay in Forty Questions doesn't live up to the standards of the novel in literary terms but makes for a fascinating companion, to see the origins of Luiselli's novel, as well as an important discourse in its own right.

“Why did you come to the United States?” That’s the first question on the intake questionnaire for unaccompanied child migrants. The questionnaire is used in the federal immigration court in New York City where I started working as a volunteer interpreter in 2015. My task there is a simple one: I interview children, following the intake questionnaire, and then translate their stories from Spanish to English.

The essay is structured around the forty questions from the intake questionnaire. This has been designed by organisations trying to help the children, not by the US authorities, and is intended to draw out experiences that could help the children's cases in court,:

There were seven organizations in that coalition—the Legal Aid Society, The Door, Catholic Charities, Central American Legal Assistance, Make the Road New York, Safe Passage, and Kids in Need of Defense—and together they joined efforts to figure out a way to respond quickly and well to the docket. It was they who put together the questions on the intake questionnaire that my niece and I, along with other volunteers, would be using while we conducted our interviews.

but it doesn't make the process of asking the questions, and listening to the answers, any less harrowing, particularly as the 'right' answers are the most awful ones:

Question seven on the questionnaire is “Did anything happen on your trip to the U.S. that scared you or hurt you?” The children seldom give details of their experiences along the journey through Mexico upon a first screening, and it’s not necessarily useful to push them for more information. What happens to them between their home countries and their arrival in the United States can’t always help their defense before an immigration judge, so the question doesn’t make up a substantial part of the interview. But, as a Mexican, this is the question I feel most ashamed of, because what happens to children during their journey through Mexico is always worse than what happens anywhere else.

followed by a catalogue of rape, abduction, exploitation and murder.

Luiselli notes that:

Most children came from Guatemala, El Salvador, and Honduras—the three countries that make up the Northern Triangle—and practically all of them were fleeing gang violence.

and traces the root of much of this back to the US, Cold War support of dictatorial regime, gang warfare in US cities and the demand for drugs in the States.

When causes are discussed, the general consensus and underlying assumption seem to be that the origins are circumscribed to “sending” countries and their many local problems. No one suggests that the causes are deeply embedded in our shared hemispheric history and are therefore not some distant problem in a foreign country that no one can locate on a map, but in fact a transnational problem that includes the United States—not as a distant observer or passive victim that must now deal with thousands of unwanted children arriving at the southern border, but rather as an active historical participant in the circumstances that generated that problem.

But perhaps the most striking aspect is that this all happened in 2014-5 under President Obama - Trump is but a footnote but one whose doubling down was clearly enabled by Obama's own normalisation of hostile polices:

The priority juvenile docket, in sum, was the government’s coldest, cruelest possible answer to the arrival of refugee children.

Read this for background, then read her brilliant novel.

[julieta · Rating 4 out of 5]

Me gusta más que la ficción de Luiselli, no solo porque el tema me parece importante, sino porque por primera vez me parece que es sincera en lo que escribe.

[Radioread · Rating 4 out of 5]

Kayıp Çocuk Arşivi'ne bir ek olabilirmiş. Fakat böyle, kurmacayı gösteren ve bir bakıma tamamlayan özgür bir metin olarak da sevdim. Sicario adlı filmde sınır tanımaz bir vahşet şehri olan Juarez'den (Santa Teresa orası) The Beast - Canavar diye bahsedilir. Bu kitapta öğrendim ki göçmen çocukların binbir belayı göze alarak ABD sınırına seyahat ettikleri yük treninin lakabı da aynıymış: La Bestia. Orta Amerika ne çok canavar üretiyor. Biraz kuzeyde büyük bir üretim merkezi olsa gerek.

[Gumble's Yard - Golden Reviewer · Rating 4 out of 5]

Re-read after Lost Children Archive’s longlisting for the 2019 Booker Prize.

“Why did you come to the United States”. That’s the first question on the intake questionnaire for unaccompanied child migrants. The questionnaire is used in the federal immigration court in New York City where I started working as a volunteer interpreter in 2015. My task there is a simple one: I interview children, following the intake questionnaire, and then translate their stories from Spanish to English.

A short essay by the author Valeria Luiselli, structured around the forty questions on the intake questionnaire and using them to explore the stories of those she questioned.

The book makes a fascinating companion piece to her experimental, novelistic treatment of the same theme Lost Children Archive.

In fact I would go further - it is not possible to properly appreciated Lost Children Archive without reading it. A key part of Lost Children Archive is the inter-textual references - and Tell Me How It Ends functions as an ur-text for the later novel.

It starts briefly in 2014, waiting for the results of their own Green Card application, she, her husband, five year old daughter and 10 year old stepson take a road trip to Cochise County, Arizona near the US-Mexico border. En route, and while they discuss the shared history of Americans, Mexicans and Native Americans they “hear about the first wave of undocumented children, arriving alone and undocumented, at the border …. tens of thousands of children from Mexico and Central America”. They also become increasingly conscious of their own identity and vulnerability as Mexicans.

On their return to New York, Luiselli has to engage an immigration lawyer as, alone of the four, her Green card application is still under investigation. Her lawyer quits for a job acting as a lawyer for the “priority immigration docket” that the Obama regime introduced – and which had the impact of reducing from 12 months to 21 days the time that unaccompanied Central American minors had to assemble a legal case to build a case against deportation (which, presumably deliberately, increased dramatically the number of deportations). Luiselli asks if there is a need for translators and with her 19 year old niece finds herself as a front line interviewer (and subsequent translator) of the children’s stories as part of the attempts to assemble the legal cases.

She shares the stories she hears with her daughter – one story that obsesses her daughter is of a grandmother who sends her two grandchildren to their mother, with her mother’s name sown on the collar of their dresses. In the fictional telling of “Lost Children’s Archive” this story is repurposed to explain the narrators involvement in the legal translation (the mother speaks a rare Mexican language and agrees for it to be recorded in exchange for the narrator helping with some translation of documents).

A key point that comes out of the book is the role of the MS-13 and Calle 18 gangs in the refugee crisis. The M3-13 gang for instance being formed among refugees that fled the CIA-sponsored civial war in El Salvador. Later 1990 anti-immigration policies in the US lead to large scale deportations – which included thousands of “unwanted” MS-13 members and that the deportations became more of a “metastasis than an eradication” with the MS-13 turning into a transnational army in the Northern triangle. The MS-13 and Calle-18 gangs in that area, with arms manufactured in and smuggled from the US, and funded by the supply of drugs due to demand in the US, then in turn create the conditions from which the children are fleeing. This leads to Luiselli’s views that far from being “a distant problem in a foreign country… that the refugee crisis is part of a “shared hemispheric history” and that the “United States …. is not a distant observer or passive victim that must now deal with thousands of unwanted children arriving at [its] Southern border .. but .. an .. active historical participant in the circumstances that generated the problem”.

Overall this is a fascinating book – and one which clearly leads Luselli to start to consider how to really convey the children’s stories, a process which lead to “Lost Children’s Archive”.

But nothing is ever that simple. I hear words, spoken in the mouths of children, threaded in complex narratives. They are delivered with hesitance, sometimes distrust, always with fear. I have to transform them into written words, succinct sentences and barren terms. The children’s stories are always shuffled, stuttered, always shattered beyond the repair of a narrative order. The problem with trying to tell their story is that it has no beginning, no middle and no end.

There are things that can only be understood retrospectively, when many years have ended. In the meantime while the story continues, the only thing to do is to tell is over and over again as it develops, bifurcates, knots around itself. And it must be told, because before anything can be understood , it has to be narrated many times, in many different words and from many different angles, by many different minds

[Lisa (NY) · Rating 4 out of 5]

In these short essays Luiselli weaves her own story in with those of the refugee children and families she worked with as an interpreter in the NY immigration court. As the title indicates, there are more questions than answers - yet the author beautifully illuminates the immigration crisis we are facing.

[Daniel Chaikin · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is what I posted on Litsy about an hour ago:

"It‘s only now, thinking about it, that I begin to feel this book‘s relentless empty chill. American cruelty knows no bounds once it‘s legalized. Here the emotional shocks of how we treat these unaccompanied child refugees come so quickly in this little book that it‘s almost not possible to process while reading, or even at all. What they go through, in the many thousands...the little cruel window Luiselli witnessed...what can you say?"

I finished to book two days ago, and it really does go by quick. Luiselli served as a translator of the US federal immigration court with the role of helping unaccompanied child refugees answer a 40-question official questionnaire. These are standard questions for all refugees, but don't exactly apply to young children who can't comprehend them in any language. Why did they come the United States, How did they get here, where did they enter...they don't know how to answer these questions. Helping one girl, she asks, "Texas? Arizona?" The girl response, "Yes! Texas Arizona."

The road to the US includes a train through Mexico, call La Bestia, for all of them, and they all turned themselves in to US immigration seeking asylum, some desperately because if they aren't picked up, they will die of exposure in the desert. They came from Central America. A Mexican child is deported immediately and has no opportunity to claim refugee status. These children will all be deported unless they find a lawyer that they have to pay for themselves. The few who find lawyers, all working for free, have a fair chance. So, essentially most of these deportations are not the legal system at work, but the legal system broken.

Luiselli starts a question at a time, working in her reflections and, of course, much more aware of the weight of the answers to these questions than the children are. The pace picks up a little, and then suddenly your at question 40 and you have accumulated a huge assortment of unprocessed tragedies to work through, or not I guess. I just put the book down for a few days. What can you say?

-----------------------------------------------

4. Tell Me How It Ends: An Essay in 40 Questions by Valeria Luiselli
introduction: Jon Lee Anderson
translation Lizzie Davis – expanded essays
published: 2016 in English, then translated to Spanish and expanded by Luiselli. The extensions were then translated back to English in 2017 by Davis
format: 119-page Paperback
acquired: January
read: Jan 18-24
time reading: 2 hr 34 min, 1.3 min/page
rating: 4

[Banu Yıldıran Genç · Rating 4 out of 5]

ukrayna’da tüm dünya halklarının karşı olduğu bir savaş başlamışken, iki yüzlü ab rusya’ya müthiş yaptırımlar (!) uygularken dünyanın hep ama hep rezil bir yer olduğunu unutmamamızı sağlayacak bir kitap.
kayıp çocuk arşivi’ni okuyanlar burada anlatılanların hepsini biliyor zaten. aslında luiselli döküman ve olayları nasıl kurmacaya yerleştirmiş ona dikkat etmeli.
diyecek bir şey yok. bu insan soyu bitmeden dünyaya huzur gelmez. çoluk çocuk herkes yok olur da kurtulur. belki hayvanlar rahat eder arkamızdan.
yüzlerce yıldır amerikan yerlilerine, sonra göçmenlere yapılanlar, uyuşturucu kartellerinin cehenneme çevirdiği hayatlar, ölmeyi göze alarak kaçmaya çalışan çocuklar. ki istatistikleri görebilirsiniz fotolarda.
ve bu uyuşturucu ticaretinde en çok abd’nin payı olduğu halde yapılan duvarlar, çekilen dikenli teller, iğrenç politikalar. obama’nın neler yaptığını da bir güzel okuduk.
kirli savaşlarla büyümüş çocukların abd’ye ulaştıklarında hayatta kalabilmek için anayurtlarındaki çete geleneğini devam ettirmeleri de ayrı sorun.
valeria luiselli’nin küçük kızı gibi ben de sormak istiyorum: sonunda ne olacak?
ukrayna’dan göçen beyaz tenli sarışınlar makbul mülteci sayılırken afrikalılar, ortadoğulular ne olacak?
her şeye rağmen TIIA organizasyonunun gençler arasında kuruluşu, manu’nun kurtuluşu sevindiriyor ama o kadar.
seda ersavcı yine kusursuz çevirmiş.

[shakespeareandspice · Rating 5 out of 5]

Review originally posted on A Skeptical Reader.

In Tell Me How It Ends, Valeria Luiselli takes us through the process of reviewing undocumented children stuck in a limbo of red tapes. The book gives us a glimpse of the treacherous journey these children make when crossing the southern borders of the United States. And no, they are not rapists or drug dealers. They are victims of violence and the world needs to start recognizing them as such.

It begins with a very structured form of storytelling. It starts off easy and simple. But as Luiselli beings to involve herself further into their lives, the number of victims and their tragedies begin to weigh on her. The failure of our system to help these children is not surprising given the current state of our politics, but the artificial stigma that we’ve built up to dehumanize them dehumanizes us.

John Kelly likes to think of some of them as ‘too lazy to get off their asses’ but when you’re asking someone, a child or their parent, to hand over their information willingly to a party that labels Nazis as ‘some very fine people’, one might pause to consider that there is a level of trust his President has yet to yearn. This is setting aside the fact that his administration seems to also have a fondness for detaining fathers and mothers as they drop off their kids at school.

Luiselli also fills in the crucial context on why US faces an influx of Latin American immigrants, and how we’ve even contributed to the violence that’s forced immigrants to flee their homes in the first place. And the crossing itself comes with a range of its own horrors—rape, kidnappings, and murder. Those who did not survive have left bones in sand that may never be recovered or returned to their close relatives. Undocumented immigrants are not here to take your jobs, they are merely here to live a little longer.

This is perhaps the most appropriate time to read such a collection—when one party, that controls majority of the government, has decided to hold children hostages for their greedy, racist, white supremacist agenda. Americans need to read this. Read this and then call your senators and reps to take action.

We define how this ends.

[Eric Anderson · Rating 5 out of 5]

This short and powerful nonfiction piece by Valeria Luiselli is such a poignantly constructed insight into the immigration crisis/debate in America now. Luiselli relates her experiences working as a volunteer interviewing thousands of children from Central America who have been smuggled into the United States and are seeking residency/citizenship. She asks them questions from an intake questionnaire created by immigration lawyers that will play a large part in determining if the children will be granted status to remain or face deportation. Going through the questions one at a time she explains the way the immigration system is designed to keep as many people out as possible without accounting for these children’s vulnerable situation or America’s role in the creation of this crisis. At the same time, she relates her personal experiences as a Mexican immigrant whose own ability to work was restricted because of a delay with her visa. It’s an achingly personal book that makes a strong political statement. It skilfully asserts something that shouldn’t need to be stated, but which we need to be reminded of in a political climate that overwhelmingly seeks to vilify immigrants: that these are children who have suffered through hell and that by treating them as criminals we are only adding to their trauma.

Read my full review of Tell Me How It Ends by Valeria Luiselli on LonesomeReader

[merixien · Rating 4 out of 5]

Orta ve Güney Amerika’dan, yüksek bedeller ödeyerek kaçıp Amerikan rüyasına sığınmaya çalışan çocukların gerçek hikayelerini anlatıyor bu sefer.Bir yanda Obama döneminde başlayıp daha da katılaşan göçmenlikle mücadele yasaları, diğer yanda ise çetelerin arasında sıkışan çocukların çaresizliğini ve insani yanını çok net bir şekilde aktarıyor. Okuduğunuz her sayfada, Luiselli’nin içinde biriken öfkeyi hissedebiliyorsunuz. Kayıp Çocuk Arşivi ile göstermek istediklerinin dünyaya yetmediğini fark edip, bu sefer kurguyu bir kenara bırakıp gerçeklerle geliyor. Ayrı bir kitap olmasına gerek var mıydı emin değilim ama her halükarda göçmen “sorunu”nun bir de diğer cephesine bakmak için, okumması faydalı kitaplardan.

[Michael Livingston · Rating 5 out of 5]

An utterly heartbreaking essay about refugee children heading into the USA from Central America. Luiselli worked as an interpreter at a NY court hearing applications to be allowed to stay and she structures this powerful essay around the 40 question intake interview the kids have to answer. It's almost incomprehensibly dreadful - the failures of domestic and international policy that have led us here are complex and many, but the fundamental inhumanity of our systems is on full display here. Unbearable, but essential.

[Julie Ehlers · Rating 5 out of 5]

In this brief book that takes place during the Obama administration, novelist Valeria Luiselli recounts her experience volunteering as a translator/interpreter for refugee children in NYC immigration court. Tell Me How It Ends is one of those books that doesn't need a long summary or analysis, or at least I don't feel the need to provide one. Unless you already know a lot about this topic, you should read this book. The information it imparts is information everyone should have.

[Julie · Rating 5 out of 5]

Shattering and vital.

"Numbers and maps tell horror stories, but the stories of deepest horror are perhaps those for which there are no numbers, no maps, no possible accountability, no words ever written or spoken, And perhaps the only way to grant any justice—were that even possible— is by hearing and recording those stories over and over again, so that they come back, always to haunt and shame us. Because being aware of what is happening in our era and choosing to do nothing about it has become unacceptable. Because we cannot allow ourselves to go on normalizing horror and violence. Because we can all be held accountable if something happens under our noses and we don't dare even look."

In the spring of 2015, Mexican writer Valeria Luiselli, while her own immigration status was under review, began working as a Spanish-language interpreter for the New York immigration court. Her task was to conduct a forty question interview of children who had arrived in the United States illegally, crossing the US-Mexico border. Nearly all of these children had fled their home countries of Guatemala, Honduras, El Salvador, and Mexico to escape crime, poverty, abuse, making the perilous crossing with paid coyotes, risking rape, enslavement, and the desert elements. Once in the United States, they are at the mercy of ICE and the civil court system.

This slim books recounts the ways in which children responded to the questions posed by Luiselli during the court intake interview and the contemporary history of the immigration crisis in America, which has become a veritable shitstorm under the Trump Administration, aided and abetted by all previous administrations, and of course, the United States's decades-long meddling in every aspect of Central America's affairs, leaving a bloody and intractable mess in their wake.

This book came to my attention in the long list of What to Read Instead of American Dirt, and as a study guide/precursor to Luiselli's recent novel Lost Children Archive which Forty Questions inspired. Please read.

[Come Musica · Rating 5 out of 5]

Questo libro è un pugno nello stomaco. 90 pagine dense di dolore, di denuncia, di voglia di cambiare le cose.

Il tema è quello della migrazione dei bambini dal Messico negli USA. È un fenomeno che urla agli adulti una presa di responsabilità e di coscienza: “Perché essere consapevoli di ciò che sta accadendo nel nostro tempo e scegliere di non fare niente in proposito è diventato inaccettabile. Perché non possiamo più permetterci di considerare normale l’orrore e la violenza. Perché tutti quanti saremo chiamati a render conto di ciò che succede sotto i nostri occhi senza che nemmeno osiamo guardare.”

I migranti scappano via dal loro Paese per stare meglio altrove; ma poi arrivano davvero da qualche parte? “So che i migranti, quando sono ancora in viaggio, imparano la Preghiera del Migrante. Un amico che ha passato qualche giorno sulla Bestia per girare un documentario, una volta me l’ha letta. Non la so tutta a memoria, ma ricordo queste righe: “Partir es morir un poco / Llegar nunca es llegar”, “Partire è un po’ morire / Arrivare non è mai arrivare.””

Eppure qualcuno di questi bambini pensa che da qualche parte si arrivi. “Per quale motivo sei venuta qui? ho chiesto una volta a una bambina. Perché volevo arrivare.”

In coda al libro Valeria Luiselli apre alla speranza: “Se ce la faremo tutti quanti a superare i prossimi anni, sarà grazie ai giovani che sono disposti a offrire le loro menti, i loro cuori e i loro corpi per cambiare le cose.
[.]
E un’altra ragazza che dice: forza Prof, dobbiamo trasformare tutta questa merda emotiva in capitale politico!”

[Laurence · Rating 4 out of 5]

De grote kracht van dit boek (essay) is dat het de menselijke kant toont van de vluchtelingencrisis. Want in de parade van termen als de grenzen sluiten, illegalen en (vrijwillige) repatriëring vergeten we gemakshalve dat het om echte mensen gaat, op de vlucht voor een onleefbare situatie.
Ik zou dit boek aan iedereen willen aanraden, maar helaas, diegenen die het zullen lezen zijn niet diegenen die het eigenlijk zouden moeten lezen.

[Steph · Rating 4 out of 5]

And perhaps the only way to grant any justice - were that even possible - is by hearing and recording those stories over and over again so that they come back, always, to haunt and shame us. Because being aware of what is happening in our era and choosing to do nothing about it has become unacceptable. Because we cannot allow ourselves to go on normalizing horror and violence. Because we can all be held accountable if something happens under our noses and we don't dare even look.

▴▴▴

this sharp little book packs a punch with its incisive commentary on the immigration crisis, and specifically the plights of unaccompanied children who cross into the US. not an easy read, but a hugely important one. luiselli is compassionate, but doesn't hold back on describing horrifying realities.

it's somewhat eerie to read in 2025, when things have only gotten worse for immigrants in this country since 2016. i'm glad it got me thinking about things in a different way. it felt particularly important to learn about the culpability of the US for the poor conditions of guatemala, el salvador, and honduras. the strife in those countries then leads to surges in immigration - it's a horrible cycle. without accountability and empathy, i don't know how we will collectively answer luiselli's titular question.

[A. Raca · Rating 4 out of 5]

Mülteci çocuklar için gönüllü tercümanlık yapan Luiselli'den gerçek hikayeler...
Göçmen hikayeleri her yerde çok aynı çok acı, o çocukların Amerika'ya gitme hayalleri, yoldaki zorluklar, tek başına hayatta kalma savaşları...

"Katman katman ötekilik üzerinize çoktan sımsıkı yapışsa da Amerika'da yeniden kendiniz olmanın an meselesi olduğuna ikna ediyorsunuz kendinizi. Ama bir daha asla eskiden olduğunuz kişi olmak istemeyeceksiniz belki de. Sizi bu yeni hayata bağlayan çok fazla şey var. "

🌟

[Ken]

If you're curious / upset / bewildered by the border problems between the US and Mexico, this little book will provide some perspective. It was written during the Obama Administration, yet it describes thousands and thousands of children who arrive at the border without parents -- mostly from Honduras, El Salvador, and Guatemala. Sound familiar?

So yes, the current crisis isn't current so much as ongoing. Luiselli's argument, based on her volunteer work as an intake interviewer, is that these kids are akin to war refugees, given what they are fleeing in their home countries. Not just poverty, but often gangs, rape, murder. M-13 and Barrio 18 in particular, with no recourse from their own government or police forces. Imagine that here.

She also describes what the journey is like, what rights the children do and don't have, how the odds are stacked against them. She argues that a lot of our troubles are hemispheric, specifically due to the drug trade, which is fueled by demand in the US, meaning the problem must be addressed by all countries involved equally. But it doesn't seem to be looked at that way.

In any event, some balance and perspective no matter where you stand. Set aside emotions and preconceived ideas and take it in, maybe.

P.S. I just saw in the NY TIMES that now there is an uptick in PANDEMIC REFUGEES trying to come to America. Two prominent countries mentioned are India and Brazil, which are, Covid-wise, "One Big" and "Mess."

[Murat Dural · Rating 4 out of 5]

Valeria Luiselli'yi mi yoksa Luiselli çevirilerinin eş sesi, çevirmen Seda Ersavcı'yı mı daha fazla öveyim bilemedim. Valeria bana Seda tarafından tanıtılan ve müptelası olduğum, duru dili, en zor konuları anlatmaktaki mahareti ile vazgeçilmezim diyebileceğim modern bir kadın yazar. Kitap yazarın müthiş eseri "Kayıp Çocuk Arşivi"ne yapılacak önemli bir ek. Okumak üzücü ama Amerika, Meksika, mülteci krizi konularında el kitabı adeta. "Kayıp Çocuk Arşivi" okuma listenizdeyse önden ya da sonradan destekleyici bir eser olarak okuyabilirsiniz.

[Karla · Rating 3 out of 5]

*PopSugar2019 Reto #36: Basado en una historia real*

"Las historias de los niños perdidos son la historia de una infancia perdida. Los niños perdidos son niños a quienes les quitaron el derecho a la niñez. Sus historias no tienen final"

[jeremy · Rating 4 out of 5]

with gifted prose and a compassionate, but penetrating gaze, luiselli personalizes the ongoing plight of latin american child migrants in the united states. her own immersion as a translator informs a trenchant first-hand account of the labyrinthine legal processes and inevitable bureaucratic indifference faced by undocumented youth. humane yet often horrifying, tell me how it ends offers a compelling, intimate look at a continuing crisis – and its ongoing cost in an age of increasing urgency.

if someone were to draw a map of the hemisphere and chart a child's story and his or her individual route of immigration, then do the same with another child, and another, and then dozens of others, and then the hundreds and thousands that came before and that will come after, the map would collapse into a single line—a fissure, a rift, one long continental scar.

[Kayle · Rating 3 out of 5]

Important information, didn't care for the execution or organization, but still worth reading for an illuminating, if heartbreaking primer on our broken immigration system as it relates to the least of these.